#the singular content tag is all you're getting for now

[cr1mson5returns]

Not to brag or anything but this new AU @afewnovelideas has been helping me develop is gonna rock your shit

[killerlookz]

Just Friends pt. II | Joost Klein

part two to Just Friends

description: Joost Klein x f! reader- following Joost's confession, him and reader decide to explore their newfound feelings in the comfort of his hotel bed.

content: 18+ NSFW, MDNI... thigh riding, dry humping (truly a lost art), unprotected P in V, creampie (we need a better word for this im sorry) much fluff throughout! this fic contains rpf and has been tagged as such, do not continue if that makes you uncomfortable, and please block the rpf tag

word count: 3.1k

"Not if you don't want us to be."

"What?" The simple, short, singular word leaves your lips much harsher than you had anticipated. Your body is suddenly rigid despite Joost's prior attempts to get you to relax.

"I wouldn't mind..." Joost trails off, his hand lightly gliding over your upper arm.

It doesn't take much to squirm out of Joost's gentle grasp, flipping over so you're now facing him. You notice the proximity between the two of you, if either of you were to move forward slightly your lips would surely collide.

Joost's lips flatten into a tight, sheepish smile. You're unsure of what to say, afraid that anything that comes out of your mouth will sound all too desperate.

"Being more than friends?" Your voice is just above a whisper, trembling as you search for confirmation that Joost had really been asking you what you thought he did.

He nods, his eyes afire with an emotion you hadn't recognized in him before. You bite your lip at his confirmation- it had all seemed so apparent now, and had you really ever been just friends?

"I don't think I'd mind either," Your smile is soft, the muscles of your mouth just barely stretching to curl themselves upwards. You hadn't been sure if at that moment you had just accepted anything, if he was truly asking you out, if your words right then and there made you his girlfriend. But with the way your stomach tightens, and your whole body vibrates with an energy you have yet to experience before you are certain something has changed between the two of you.

Joost's hand gently brushes against your face, cupping your cheek with his palm. Your blood runs hot, and your body feels like it is on fire as Joost's thumb brushes against your lips, forcing them into a pout.

Suddenly his lips replace his thumb, just about swallowing you in a hungry kiss. A slight whimper escapes your mouth at the contact just before you engage him back.

Any gap between the two of you is immediately closed, now chest to chest as your lips slot together perfectly. But it wasn't enough, with each kiss you're left wanting more and more, and despite your physical proximity you still feel so far from him.

You snake one of your legs around him, his knee slipping between your thighs, allowing you to at least become marginally closer, your hips now pressing against his.

The kiss is slow and dizzying, your brain feeling like it was turning to nothing but mush as Joost's lips continued to work against yours. But you need something more.

You hardly recognize your own movements as your hips sputter forward, it seems almost involuntary as you search for whatever that "more" you needed was. A delightful friction arises as your crotch brushes against Joost's thigh. You had found it, that feeling you had been missing. You rock your hips back and forth, slowly, as to wait for a confirmation that what you had been doing was okay.

Joost raised his leg a little higher, to a position that was perfectly slotted between your upper thighs, one where you wouldn't have to strain so much to rub against him. You took that as the confirmation you needed to quicken your pace, rolling your hips to feel the delicious friction of his thigh against your clit, the thin fabric of your pajama shorts and lacy panties did little to stifle the feeling. Still- you're eager to feel more of him.

Soft gasps leave your mouth between kisses, making it all the more apparent how you had been using Joost to get yourself off. Never had you felt more desperate for someone than you did at this moment, your actions only further solidified that feeling you'd had all this week, Joost had made you feel like you were a teenager falling in love again. And now, something about this had made you feel like you were a virgin again, inexperienced and fiending to be touched.

Joost pulls back from you, causing your eyes to flutter open. His pink, swollen lips curl into a smirk, clearly enjoying whatever sensation it was he was causing you.

His hand had not left your face, and he had now been gently caressing your cheek, rubbing soft circles with his palm.

"Do you want to um-," He stops, and for a moment you swear he's flustered himself, he blinks a few times before starting over, "Do you want to take your shorts off?"

You nod quick and wordlessly, you remove your leg from where it had been wrapped around Joost's, eager to pull at the tight fabric of your shorts.

As you're kicking off your shorts, Joost turns to lie on his back, and he urges you to get on top of him as soon as your bottoms are thrown about somewhere else in the room.

With some hesitance you climb on top of Joost, sitting on his thighs as you straddle him. He places both of his hands on your hips,

"You can come closer," He beckons, his voice soft and sweet.

You lean over into a position that isn't necessarily comfortable, your chest on top of his as you rest your head on his shoulder. Joost's arms tighten around your waist, keeping you close to him.

You can hear your own heartbeat in your ears as the room is still for a moment, neither of you daring to move or say a word.

"Can you move up a little?" Joost asks with hesitance in his voice, but you don't question it, instead, you quickly oblige with his request.

As you push your hips forward to shift upward you can suddenly feel him. A tightness forms in your stomach as you notice how he strains against the fabric of his boxers. What he had actually been asking you to do had made itself clear, and you lift your hips to position yourself on top of his hardened cock.

A small whimper escapes you as your hips lower, your cunt covered in nothing but flimsy panties, slick with your own arousal, brushing against his hardness. You wondered if he could possibly feel how wet you were, certain you'd leave a wet spot on his underwear.

"Feel how much I want you?" He asks, his voice low and sultry.

"Mhmfuck," You whisper, rutting your hips in an effort to feel more of him. The friction was intoxicating, your layers of clothes just minimal enough for you to feel what you wanted.

Your eyes are shut tight, your fingers digging into Joost's bare shoulders as soft moans leave your mouth. With his arms still wrapped around your waist, Joost gently guided your hips up and down at a pace that felt good for both of you.

"Just like that," He breathes out.

You don't know how to tell him you want even more, fearing you had already been treading some sort of line now. However, you're not sure how much longer you can hold on if you don't change what you're doing now.

Your fingers dig deeper into Joost's shoulders, your hips reaching a staccato as you grind against the length of his dick.

"Joost," his name falls from your lips in a strained whisper, like you're begging for him.

"You okay, liefje?" You had become accustomed to Joost's simple pet names, aware that his short musings towards you in Dutch were a show of affection, though you didn't always know exactly what he was saying.

You were more than okay.

"Need you," You whimper out, somewhat pathetically as the movement of your hips loses any sort of pace.

He's suddenly holding you a lot tighter, forcing your movements to slow until you can't move anymore. A pained whine leaves your mouth at the loss of sensation, your poor cunt throbbing just above his cock.

"Roll over," Joost prompts, his voice is not exactly commanding, but you're eager to do what he asks of you as soon as his words meet your ears, slipping off of him, letting your back hit the firm mattress below you.

And suddenly, he's the one on top now, gazing down at you as his arms prop himself on either side of your head. You stare back up at him, gazing on what you considered to be utter perfection. You're in awe of the way the dim, warm light of the hotel room is able to capture his features, the way his glossy lips part so perfectly, how his piercing blue eyes twinkle with adoration, how his white-blond hair forms a soft halo around his head. You could get used to this view.

"Are you sure-"

"Yes," You cut him off, not having to hear the rest of his sentence, just yes.

"You don't even know what I was asking." He chuckles.

You swallow down hard, preparing for what you're about to say next,

"I want you to fuck me." You stare deeply into his eyes, using all your courage to keep focused on him, to not curl up and cower in shame.

A smile ghosts over Joost's face before his tongue darts from his mouth, wetting his lips,

"Will you settle for me making love to you?"

Your body grows warm, butterflies pulsing in your lower stomach- god he was so corny, and he wore a face like he knew it too.

You nod, feeling your own words had been too crass for the situation anyway- you wouldn't mind taking things slow, making them more romantic.

Joost sits up, resting on his knees between your legs. The pads of his fingers swipe over the waistband of your panties, the slight touch tickling you, making you release a stifled breath of air from your nose.

He leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your lower stomach, and another right above the elastic of your underwear. You feel your core start to ache as his kisses trail lower, a kiss to your pubic bone before finally placing a kiss to your clit through the fabric of your panties. The contact has you wanting to squeeze your thighs together, but with Joost between them now that would prove to be a difficult challenge.

It isn't long before his fingers are hooked into the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. You suck in a sharp gasp as the cold air that surrounds you hits your soaked cunt, a sudden reminder of how exposed you were.

Your panties are tossed somewhere in the room much like your pajama shorts had been some time ago, and Joost returns to you, fingers pulling at the hem of the T-shirt you wore, begging to pull it over your head.

You don't cause much fuss, raising your arms above your head so Joost can continue to undress you. You can't help but feel a little stunned now, absolutely bearing it all to Joost as your shirt lands on the floor.

The world seems to stop for a minute as Joost stares down at you, drinking in every inch of your naked body. He shakes his head, almost in disbelief at you in front of him,

"So beautiful," He muses, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss against your cheek, "And all for me." He continues.

The small claim of possession has you feeling dizzy as anticipation eats at you. You smile up at Joost, batting your eyelashes, inviting him to take the moment to where you both know you had wanted it to go.

He's able to take your small hint, leaning back so he can pull down his underwear, sliding the elastic waistband down to his thighs, allowing for his stiff cock to spring from the fabric.

As you bite at your lip it's hard not to be impressed with what you're working with. Instinctively, you bend your knees, spreading your legs as you do so, allowing Joost the access to you that he needs.

He props himself up with one arm next to your head, the both of you staring down intently at where he's lining himself up with your entrance. Joost's eyes flick to yours briefly,

"Are you sure?" He asks once more

"Yes, please." You breathe out, arching your back, just begging for some contact between the two of you. The way you ache for him seems indescribable with words like it's some sort of primal instinct that you just have.

Holding the base of his cock firmly in his hand, Joost guides the tip to your entrance, teasing at first, before finally lining himself up to thrust into you. He looks down at you intently as he drives his hips forward, your pussy immediately stretching to compensate for him now being inside of you.

Your eyes screw tight at the initial stretch, needing a moment to adjust to his size, but Joost moves slowly, waiting until you seem ready to push in any further.

However, you adjust quickly, and your arousal makes it easy for Joost to slide into you, bottoming out with a loud grunt. He stays still for a moment, the two of you locked in a passionate stare. Just as slowly as he entered you, he pulls out until only the head is inside, before pushing in once more, this time at a slightly faster pace.

In only a few strokes you can already swear this is the best sex you've ever had.

You're a mess as your pussy stretches around Joost's cock, the mix of your arousal and Joost's movements filling the room with a lewd, wet sound, tangled with the strangled moans that emerge from each of your throats. You engage him in a slow, passionate kiss as he leans forward, continuing to thrust into you as his lips engulf yours, fucking you so perfectly that you nearly want to tell him you love him.

You almost can't believe the way he's making you feel, if it wasn't for the fact that his lips were planted firmly against yours- you would surely be screaming out his name with each gentle thrust forward.

He pulls away briefly from the kiss to mumble to you,

"S'like you were made for me." His voice is strained, clear he was in a state of bliss similar to yours. And you couldn't help but echo his sentiment, the way he fucked into you seemed all too perfect.

Unable to keep his head up much longer Joost pulls back from the kiss, his head dipping down to hang next to yours, his hair gently tickling your shoulder.

His long, drawn-out moans are no longer stifled by your kisses, and his low noises are like music to your ears. Especially as they combine with your soft whimpers, making it clear just how good you had been making each other feel.

Sensing the tightness that had been building inside of you beginning to reach a breaking point, your pussy clenches, causing Joost to react with a sharp, pointed, "Fuck," Jumping from his lips.

The noises he makes only act as further fuel to propel you towards your eventual orgasm.

You wrap both your arms around Joost, pulling him towards you as much as you possibly can, eager for even more contact. Your fingernails dig into his back, scratching down his soft flesh as Joost's cock repeatedly hits that perfect spot inside of you.

With a cried-out moan, you're tipping your head, and your back arches, knowing you're not going to be able to take much more of this as you begin to tremble, your hips bucking wildly to attempt to meet Joost's movements.

"Joost," You whine, "I'm so close-fuck-so close." You barely stutter the words out as your pleasure begins to take complete control of your body.

"Come on," He urges, "That's okay, cum all over me."

And with that, you can feel yourself letting go, everything all of a sudden becoming overwhelming as you bite Joost's name into your tongue. Your legs fight to close around Joost's hips as your hips spasm, your pussy pulsing around the length of Joost's cock as your orgasm finally hits you.

You could nearly cry at what you're feeling, your entire body trembling as the most intense wave of pleasure rolls over you. You cannot help the moans that leap from your throat as your release coats Joost's cock.

Joost's movements become sloppy as he gets closer to finishing himself, the added wetness only allowing him to fuck into you at a wilder pace.

Your head flops to the side, legs still trembling as your pleasure turns to overstimulation. You bite your lip to keep yourself from crying out at the sensation, although it all feels like way too much.

"Please," Joost begs, "Just a few more seconds."

You can't do much but nod as his hips begin to slam into you.

You yelp as his hips meet yours for one final time, and with some mumbled curses Joost spills into you, followed by a long string of praises in a mix of Dutch and English making it hard to understand exactly what he had said.

With an exhale Joost collapses onto you, the two of you struggling to catch your breaths. You can't think of much to say, no word seemed appropriate for how you had been feeling, no praise high enough had been invented yet to share the full depth of what you were experiencing.

All you can do is revel in the sweet afterglow, overwhelmed by these newfound feelings.

Finally, after catching his breath to the best of his ability, Joost slowly pulls out of you, the lingering contact making you whine as your eyes screw shut.

You can feel his warm release spilling onto your things as Joost flops down on his back. With a sharp inhale he begins to speak,

"Let me get something to clean you up."

୨୧┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈୨୧

Laying comfortably under the thick linnens of Joost's hotel bed, you sigh with contentment, resting your head against his chest. Your eyelids rest heavily over your eyes, tired from your prior activities, and even more exhausted from the week as a whole.

You're confident tonight you're going to have the greatest sleep of your life as Joost pulls you into a tight hug. The stress of the competition and the invasive press had all seemed to melt away as you listened to the soft thud of Joost's heart beating right under where your head lay against his chest.

A soft kiss ghosts over the crown of your head, as a half-asleep Joost mumbles something in Dutch, what you can maybe make out as goodnight, and not much past that.

You sigh once more, nuzzling your cheek to Joost's chest, yearning for as much contact with him as you could get before mumbling out yourself

"Goodnight, Joost."

[yoditopascal]

Like A Prayer (Part 2)

summary: best friends with wade you’re always being dragged into something even when he’s not trying to, what are you to do when you find the fate of your timeline in the hands of yourself, your chaotic merc and an angry wolverine who’s hellbent on drinking himself to death?

content warning: romance, some angst, a little fluff, character deaths, canon-typical violence, smut, lots of cussing, mutual pining, found family, drug and alcohol use, reader insert but with no use of y/n cuz I hate that shit, deadpool being deadpool, mentions of poor mental health (depression anxiety and ptsd mostly), scent marking, the honda odyssey scene needs a warning all on its own MINORS DNI

a/n: I wanted to get up to the part where you finally meet Logan but it was too long 😭 and I ended up deciding to split the chapter up. In the mean time I hope this enough to tide you over. <3

tag list: sorry if you weren’t tagged I tried tagging everyone that asked but some usernames didn’t work! @allmyn1ghts, @blooket-scares-me, @amararosesblog, @talanyra, @spideybv28

Previous Chapter//Next Chapter

Wolverining is Hard

When you come to, your arms are tightly secured behind your back. Sitting up you try to take in your surroundings as you wiggle around trying to free yourself. The room you’re in is dark with a metal table and a singular chair in the middle and smelled strongly of disinfectant.

Just as you felt like you were making progress with your restraints, really you had just dislocated your hand, a door opens up on your right flooding your vision with a blinding light.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Came an accented voice, it sounded British. Just as your eyes had started to adjust to the light you were harshly hoisted up to your feet and dragged away into another room before being dumped unceremoniously at the feet of a pair of red and black boots

“Pookie you’re alive!” said Wade dressed in a new and improved Deadpool suit. Where did he get that? You thought to yourself. “I thought these TVA fucks ate you or something!

Helping you to your feet Wade pats you on top of the head before gesturing between your restrained hands and a guy holding what looked like a giant remote in his hands.

Rolling his eyes the guy snaps his fingers and you’re manhandled again as your restraints are roughly yanked off.

Taking in your surroundings you notice you’re in what looks to be an office with office workers and a floating platform above it. On the platform, where you all were standing, are a bunch of monitors all showing different scenes of you and your friends.

“Where are we Wade? What is this place?” You asked confused as you rubbed at your sore wrists, getting closer to him.

“You, baby girl, have just been upgraded to first disciple! Congratulations!” He said jokingly, just as he was about to say something else he was interrupted by an accented voice, the same one you had heard before.

“As you can see Mr. Wilson your friend is alive and well mostly well.” Said the man from behind Wade with the British accent, he eerily reminded you of Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. Frowning, the man watched you with a disgusted expression as you flicked your hand popping your wrist back into place as you sucked in a breath in pain. You had definitely dislocated it earlier.

“Now as much as I hate to cut the reunion short it’s time for her to go back home.” He said snapping his fingers again, suddenly you're surrounded by men in body armor again, one reaches out quickly to grab you but you stumble back into Wade who pushes you behind him.

“Wait wait wait….you’re just gonna send her home? To die?” He turns to ask the man behind him. He could feel you pressed against his back, like you were trying to get under his skin. You were scared and he couldn’t blame you, you still had no idea what was going on.

“Die? What are you talking about?” You asked looking back and forth between the man and Wade until a gloved finger fell on your lips silencing you.

“Shush child Marvel Jesus is talking.”

“What the fuck?” You whispered, pushing his hand away.

“You can’t send her back Paradox.”

“Oh I can and I will.” The man, Paradox, had said as one of his armed men came up to him handing him one of those electric baton stick things you had seen earlier. You immediately tensed up, as he started to approach you with it, not knowing what it would do to you on contact.

“No wait wait wait please just hang on a fucking second!” Wade shouted, it was one of rare times he got serious and it made your hair stand on end

“What now Mr. Wilson?” Mr. Paradox asked, groaning dramatically, as if all of this was just a giant waste of his time

“W-what can I do to fix it? The timeline?”

Timeline? What the fuck was happening? You thought confused as you looked back at Wade again as he stared down Mr. Paradox

“Nothing unless you can bring Wolverine back to life in the next,” he says nonchalantly as if it were the most obvious thing in the world as he checks his watch “96 hours. But that’s impossible to-“

That little bit of information was enough to get the cogs in Wade’s brain turning as he hatched a play.

“Say less, I’m on it like a car bonnet!” Wade said cheerfully, you had no idea what the fuck that many but whatever it was Wade had set his mind too it and once his mind was set nothing was going to get in his way.

“Mr. Wilson-“ Mr. Paradox had started to say but before he could get another word out, Wade lunges forward and headbutts him full force, breaking his nose on contact, knocking him out as he snatched up the strange remote device Paradox had had in his hands.

Before you could even blink, Wade grabs you, scooping you up into his side, right under his armpit, as he opens up another one of those orange portal doors and jumps right through it with you.

The other side of the portal opens up midair and you crash land in the middle of a frozen forest. The ground and trees around you, covered in a powdery dusting of snow as a harsh wind blows over you causing you to shiver slightly, as you go to sit up you find yourself unable to move as a sharp pain shoots up your right arm.

It took a few moments to realize Wade had landed with you, more like on top of you it seemed, until you heard him groan from your back.

“I gotta get better at opening those things.” He groans, getting up.

“Sorry sugar lumps, we didn't really stick the landing there.” He said stretching his sore limbs as he gestured to your arm. It was bent at an awkward angle behind you, most definitely broken. Standing to your feet you grab at the injured appendage, popping it back into place with a loud snap and a yelp before it has a chance to heal wrong

“Ok Wade I’ve had enough of this Leon and Helena bullshit-“ you panted out still reeling from the pain of your arm.

“Ha! Resident Evil 6 humor!”

“Enough! Please just tell me what’s going on?!” You finally snap as you pull your cardigan around yourself in an attempt to block out the cold. Wade looks you over as if contemplating what to say next before he groans, running a gloved hand over his mask.

“Ah shit where do I even start?” He says as he sits down on a pile of rocks that had a makeshift stick x on top that looks suspiciously like a grave, you chose not to comment on it, as he begins to explain what had transpired over the last hour.

Apparently he was Marvel Jesus, you still didn’t get that part, and your timeline was dying. How? You weren’t entirely sure but Wade kept mumbling under his breath about some “Aussie fuck stealing his thunder from down under”, and that Mr. Paradox guy, who’s in charge of those TVA bastards that kidnapped you and Wade, was in charge of overseeing it but instead of letting it die out naturally over the next hundred years or so was going to speed up the process and now Wade only had 96 hours to fix it before everyone you knew and loved died.

“Which is why we’re here!” He said cheerfully pulling two shovels out of nowhere. Looking behind him to see where the shovels had intact come from you missed as he took a sip from his newly acquired ‘I Like Me’ mug through his mask before tossing it. “Grab your shovel jelly bean, we're hunting a Wolverine!” He said tossing the second shovel at your feet as he pulls the makeshift x grave marker from the pile of stones and starts to dig.

As soon as he said that you felt your stomach drop to your ass. That was a grave behind him, and it wasn’t just anyone’s… it was the Wolverine’s. You were digging up Wolverine to save your timeline?

“Holy shit.”

To say you idolized the guy was an understatement. When you were a kid you had all kinds of Wolverine comics and stickers, hell you still had a pair of Wolverine underwear to this day. Digging up his grave after all this time, after all that he went through in life just felt…wrong.

“You can cream your spinach later, right now we need to see if widdle Wolvie is really taking a dirt nap or not.” Chunks of dirt flew through the air as Wade kept digging, completely absorbed in his task.

“Wade this is-“ Not right you wanted to say. You start feeling your anxiety bubble up in your chest. “I can’t-!”

The sound of his shovel hitting something metal, adamantium, stopped you in your place. Tapping his shovel twice more to make sure he had actually hit something and that it wasn’t just his imagination, Wade looked over to you before turning back to what he had found, wiping away the dirt, he stared down at the now exposed decaying metallic skull of the Wolverine.

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched Wade stare at the corpse for a moment, lost in thought, before he raised his shovel over his head and bought it down on Wolverine’s skull over and over again, not stopping until he got even frustrated and snapped the wooden handle over his knee, no doubt breaking it in the process.

“Damn it! Son of a bitch! Fuck! Motherfucker! My world is fucked!”

He screamed, throwing the pieces of the shovel and swinging his arms as he punched at the air. It had been a long time since you had seen him this serious, albeit the last time you were quite literally dying, and it was honestly terrifying.

Your stomach sank even further at his words. Hugging your arms to yourself in an attempt to make yourself smaller you slowly approached Wade just as he was pulling the adamantium skeleton fully from the grave, dragging it over to a downed tree as he propped it up to sit cross legged by him.

“That was weird. I’m much calmer now.” He says with a chuckle, you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or the corpse. “Look, I’m not a man of science, but you seem incredibly passed away. But it’s good to see ya.” he pats the corpse on the knee causing you to wrinkle your nose up in disgust as bile rises in your throat. You’d seen Wade do a lot of strange shit over the years of knowing him, but exhuming a grave of a fallen hero and having a one on one with his dead body was a whole new world for you.

“I gotta be honest, I’ve always wanted to ride with you, Logan. You and me, getting into everything. Just fucking shit up. Can you imagine the fun, the chaos, the residuals?”

You didn’t even want to know what he meant by that as you crept up next to Wade, kneeling down by his side.

“G’day, mate? There’s nothing that’ll bring me back to life faster than a big bag of metal cash.” Wade placed a finger under the corpse’s chin making its mandible move up and down as if he was talking to him, you put your arm on his to get him to stop but he just kept going as he moved to hold his masked head in his hands.

“No, no, no, no, uuuugh!” He groans dramatically as he throws his head back, thumping it on the tree trunk behind him. “He had to get all noble and die for real. God damn it! We coulda really used your help right about now Hugh.”

“Wade,” you said softly as you reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder, “we’ll figure something out, there’s got to be another way right?”

Wade’s masked face turns to look at you, deep in thought, before the sound of multiple approaching footsteps pulls him out of his head. Pulling you until you were tucked between him and the tree truck, he peeks over the tree before ducking back down just as fast, cursing under his breath.

“Wade Winston Wilson! You’re under arrest by the Time Variance Authority for too many crimes to count, come out!” Came a booming voice over the chill of the air. You and Wade look at each other for a moment as if deciding what to do.

“This is your last chance! Throw out your weapons and come out peacefully!” The voice said again as he and a bunch of other TVA agents began to surround you.

You look Wade in his eyes again and nod, knowing he’s going to have to fight to get you both out of there. Looking around himself for anything you could use to defend yourself, his eyes land on the adamantium skeleton sitting nearby and he gets a horribly morbid idea.

“I’m not gonna give you my weapons! But I promise not to use them.” He shouts back as he turns back towards you, placing a hand on your head. “Ok Nugget you know the drill.” He says so that only you can hear.

“You go right, I go left.” You nod your head towards the tree line in the background on your left.

“Good girl.” He pats you on the head one last time, tucking baby knife into your hand. “Maximum effort.” He grunted as you both stood, jumping into action. You break to the left as fast as your feet can carry you just as Wade jumps over the tree trunk pulling Wolverine's body with him.

Hearing rapid footfalls following close behind you try to pick up the pace, your lungs burning as you run, just as you reach the woods a gloved hand reaches out tangling itself in your locs before yanking you backwards. You hit the snow covered ground with an audible thud. Your head ringing and vision blurred from the impact. Just as your eyes were starting to clear, that rapid thumping noise from before came back with a vengeance.

Shaking your head to clear it you try and get back up to your feet until a black boot, steps down on your shoulder harshly. Above you stood a TVA agent, his stick pointed right at you as he glared down at you. Just as he began to lower it, you pulled baby knife from your boot, stabbing it as hard as you could through his foot.

He screams in pain as he stumbles backwards falling on his ass as he goes to pull out the knife. Scrambling back up you yank the knife from his foot before embedding it in his exposed neck. Pulling the knife back out again the fall back on your ass in shock at what you just did. You killed someone and hadn’t even hesitated. Sure you had see your fair share of people dying, thanks mostly to Wade, but never had you actually been the one doing the killing.

Before you have a chance to wallow anymore to yourself, you hear a body thud next to you and jump.

“My bad!” Wade calls as he smacks a TVA agent across the face with something that looked suspiciously like a metal femur, shattering his helmet and mostly his face on impact. “Wolverining is hard!”

“Wolverine was a hero and the only thing worth a shit to ever come out of Canada!” Shouted a voice from in front of you two, it was the same guy from before, the one who you tackled through the portal earlier, and he looked pissed. Before he had a chance to say anything else a katana goes bouncing off the ground and right through the guy’s mouth.

“Get my country’s name out of your fucking mouth.” Wade said as he walked up to the still standing body, pulling his sword out of his mouth. “And my sword, gimme that.”

Cleaning off the blade with his sleeve, Wade looks you over, checking you for injuries, something he couldn’t break himself from doing, no matter how much you told him you could heal, before pulling you to your feet.

“We gotta find us another Logan, an alive one.” He said looking around himself assessing the overall damage.

“How?” You question still trying to quiet the pounding in your head, it was starting to fade out now, only being a low murmur at the point, but it still made it hard to focus.

Pulling something from his belt, Wade holds up the remote looking device he had stolen from Mr. Paradox earlier between wiggling fingers.

“This my dear bestest pal is how.” He said opening it up and hitting a few buttons. Another orange portal opens and you stare at it in contemplation, nervousness grips your stomach as you think about what the two of you would get into on the other side of the portal. Wade goes through first holding out a hand for you from the other side. Swallowing down rising anxiety, you take up his hand following him through.

On the other side of the portal the atmosphere is much warmer, you're both in a club, a nice one at that, surrounded by other people as they mingle and converse by the bar.

“Logan I’m gonna need you to come with us!” Wade spoke over the music. Looking around the room, you wonder which of these people he was talking to, none of them really looked like a Wolverine to you.

“Who’s asking?” came a familiar voice from the bar. Turning to look to see who it was that said that, you were shocked to see a guy, about your height, with a crazy hairy torso, wearing a tight fitted black v-neck.

His face definitely screamed Wolverine to you but there was something about this man that just struck you as off.

“Look at this little Mary Lou Retton. Did you stick the landing little guy? Yes, you did, comic-accurate short king.” Wade cooed to him from your side in a baby voice as he crouched down dramatically.

You frowned up as Wade as he mocked him, definitely planning to ream him out later when you, yourself, was the same height as the man he was making fun of. This Wolverine stares at you, recognition and another emotion in his eyes, that you weren’t sure of as his nostrils flared and they took in yours and Wade’s, no doubt horrific, scents. Just as you were about to tell Wade that this Wolverine would work, another orange portal opens up behind you and he dragging you inside with him.

“Cue the fucking montage, baby.”

[delphi-shield]

a lover's guide to defusing time bombs // leon s. kennedy

Leon x afab!Reader Smut wc: 5,661 mdni - 18+

i'm having technical difficulties help why is this fic such a problem child. bout to give up and send it to the dumpster. shout out to tumblr support for fixing this yay my stupid smut is in the tags now. loosely proofread and edited. merry christmas xoxo

summary: Leon doesn’t love crowds. He hates them, actually, but he’s braving the annual Christmas parade for you. Ever vigilant, he scans for threats, ensures the giant clydesdales aren’t secretly agents of chaos, narrows his eyes to be absolutely positive that Santa isn’t concealing a weapon. You have got to find a way to make him relax.

content: afab!reader, mindless fluff, leon’s pov, vague depiction of an anxiety attack, discussions of leon’s mental health, established relationship, secular celebration of christmas, chestnuts roasting on an open fire (literally), leon’s dissociating through a lot of this, fingering (reader receiving), piv (reader receiving), doggy, a singular spank (reader receiving), use of toys (reader receiving), creampie, switchy leon & reader. the smut starts about halfway through if that’s what you’re here for.

Life with Leon can be divided up neatly into ‘Can't’ and ‘Won’t’.

He had crawled home to you at five in the afternoon, fresh off an assignment in Manhattan. He can’t tell you the details, all wrapped up in red tape, and he won’t let you get acquainted with the new ghosts that will haunt the darkened corners of your apartment. You're dozing so soundly in the living room. Prettiest thing he’s ever come home to, curled up under a blanket, colorful lights of the Christmas tree warming your skin. His hands are cold and battered when they brush against your forehead, smirch your warm skin with the grime that never washes off his skin.

He’s torn between waking you and letting you rest. He needs the rest himself, and it would be so easy to pick up your sleeping form and lay you back down against his chest, to drift off into a nap in the glow of the Christmas tree.

But he won’t break a promise to you, not if he doesn’t have to. He promised to take you to see the Christmas parade - and for once, he’s actually back in time to make good on his word.

Leon checks his watch. Back in time, but not by much. The parade starts in an hour. He rouses you, a strong hand gentle on your shoulder. It’s almost meditative, watching the way you wake. The way you take your time, curling into yourself like a cat before you finally unfurl, the slow blink of your eyes struggling to focus. You’re here. You’re safe. You don’t jolt awake the way that he does. You don’t jerk at his touch. You’re safe from the monsters that stalk him. For once, he’s kept something safe.

Leon came back from Spain a little different, but he can’t- and won’t - tell you jack about shit, as usual. He’s not sure if he’s changed for the better or the worse. There’s moments where the light is back in his eye, where all his jagged edges seem to soften. It’s the first time he’s ever come back from a ‘business trip’, as he likes to call them, and been able to say he’d done something good. Something worthwhile, beyond the nebulous concept of his servitude - something tangible. A life saved, not a country served.

The light’s dim today, but it shines when your eyes lock onto him. You light up, every ounce of weariness fleeing your body at the sight of him. You rocket forward. Your arms are tight and warm around his neck, and he rocks backward at the force of your affection. A laugh passes his lips, pressed into the top of your head along with a kiss.

“I could get used to that greeting,” he says when you part. Not all the way, of course. Your hand rests on his wrist, desperate for the contact. Like you think he might float away if you don’t keep him grounded.

“You better not,” you warn him, the seriousness in your tone as convincing as it is menacing - not at all.

He urges you to get up and get ready. You’re going to miss the parade. Probably missed most of the craft fair already, but he’s privately glad that you hadn’t gone without him. An ache opens up in his chest to think of you going alone.

“We don't have to go,” you assure him. It must be the fifth time you’ve tried to give him an out. You’re hopping on one foot, trying to stuff your feet into your warm boots, but he still recognizes the guilt in your eyes. He’s felt it many times himself, and he’s tired of seeing that part of himself reflected in your eyes. He won't make you feel like you’re stealing time away from him ever again.

“I promised.” He adjusts your scarf for you once you’ve stopped hopping. There was nothing wrong with the way you had it done. It’s just another excuse to touch you. He needs those. He needs reasons, real or invented. Touch has never been easy for him the way it has been for you.

Ushering you into the car is easy. You don’t put up any real resistance, other than babbling about how you don’t mind driving, honest, because he must be so tired. What he feels goes so far past tired that it wraps back around into restlessness, but he won’t tell you that. It seems like the sort of thing that would make you worry more, not less. Besides - he wants to watch you from the corner of his eye while he drives. He wants to see your head sway gently to the Christmas carols on the radio. He wants you to point out overdecorated houses and coo over Christmas decorations.

Leon needed this. He missed it, the peaceful quiet between the two of you. It doesn’t last terribly long. When you see how awful the parking situation is downtown, you burst into complaints. He doesn’t mind those either, the ghost of a smile glued to his lips while he drives circles around every parking lot in a four block radius.

He has to parallel park - something that makes you so nervous that you grip his arm while he wedges into the parking spot. Sure, he turns a three-point turn into something closer to a 36-point turn, but the important part is, he didn’t hit anyone. Besides - he kinda likes it when you cling to him like that.

He likes it more than the way you’re watching him, that’s for sure. You look like you’re waiting for him to fall apart. In fact, he’s not sure you’re even trying to hide your worry this time, got your heart bleeding on your sleeve for everyone to see. You take his hand clumsily, your movements big and ungainly in your mittens, and guide him through downtown.

It gets worse when you actually arrive at the parade route. The whole damn city must be out tonight. Families with gaggles of children, some sat on their father’s shoulders, carolers struggling to be heard over the noise of the crowd. Your hand squeezes his. He fights down his irritation. He knows it’s irrational. He doesn’t want to take it out on you.

It’s just a lot.

Leon likes to walk around with his head held high, pretending that he has no long-lasting quirks from his career. He can handle it. That’s the kind of man he is. He doesn't think less of you for how little you can carry in return. His shoulders are broad, he reminds you. He can carry what you can’t - hell, he feels useless when you don’t let him.

You can see it in the way his eyes never stop roving, the way his fingers curl near his hip – he knows you can. You’re more perceptive than he gives you credit for. Might wear your heart out for everyone to see, but you’re observant as all hell. He keeps a hand glued to the curve of your waist, keeps his head on a swivel for all threats, real and imagined.

He’s just being cautious, he tells himself. There’s nothing wrong with being aware of your surroundings. Especially not in a big crowd like this. His trained mind whirls. It throws him off-kilter. He’s not on the clock, but he’s acting like it. Big celebrations like this are perfect targets for terrorists looking to make a statement.

There’s a rolodex in his head filled to the brim with the kinds of intel that would make you never want to step outside again. He can’t tell you that - not just for the sake of national security, but for the sake of your peace of mind.

You say something - something about a vendor, your hand pointing across the street. His head moves first, humming acknowledgement he doesn’t mean, his eyes following slow to see what you’re looking at. No clue. You’re looking at him expectantly, arm tucked in the crook of his, so he just nods, agrees aimlessly.

Leon’s all wrapped up in his head, standing shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the crowd, staring down at himself from above. Float after float goes by - horses, a flock of sheep decked out in festive trimmings, shepherded by a gaggle of men and boys dressed in anachronist robes - and he’s pretty sure he saw an actual, honest-to-god reindeer, but the static spreading from his mind to his limbs turns everything around him into a nauseating blur.

“Hey.” You nudge him with an elbow, tucking your scarf below your chin. “C’mon.”

Your words seem so muffled. He’s starting to wonder if that action hero lifestyle is already catching up to him. He’s got to get his damned ears checked. You curl your hand around his bicep and urge him away from the crowd.

He’s too slow to think to protest. You had wanted to see the parade. He can’t take this away from you, not when you had been so excited. The guilt claws at his heart. He tugs your hand to pull you back toward the crowd, but you dig your heels in and give him this stern look that all but forces him to yield. You drag him down a quieter street, where vendors are packing their things up, the crowds having fled to watch the parade. 

If he could know your thoughts, he’d know you wished to press your thumb gently against the well of his eye and swipe away the darkness that hangs there, press a kiss to his bruised skin and watch his blush paint over the hurt. You press a hot chocolate into his hands instead. The warmth spreads through his gloves.

For a long moment, Leon just holds the drink in his hands. He rolls the paper cup back and forth, back and forth, walks with you as you pace the street. You pause to speak with a woman standing over an open grill.

The scent pulls him back to earth. He lifts the cup of hot chocolate to his face and inhales deeply. Sweet and chocolatey, Leon knows it’s probably Swiss Miss bought in bulk for the sole purpose of being handed out to parade-goers. He takes a sip, lets the cheap, watered down hot chocolate warm him. The noise of the parade is far away now, not just in his mind but in reality. The bells and the carols, the clop of hooves on cobblestone, it stays muted, but it doesn’t threaten to overwhelm him anymore.

His hand squeezes yours. You don’t stop speaking with the woman, but your eyes cut towards him, and your smile bright - a beacon that says welcome back.

For the first time, he realizes how cold his hands are. He slips the hand not holding the hot chocolate into the pocket of your jacket. He knows you’ve got a handwarmer in there. Lo and behold, he’s right. Your pocket may as well be heated.

Another scent stands out to him. His eyes focus on the dying embers still glowing faintly in the belly of the grill. An earthy, nutty smell drifts up to him. You’ve got something in your hands, he realizes - round little balls, their dark brown shells split and cracked, light golden interior peeking through.

You wave, say goodbye to the vendor, and tug him down the street - in the vague direction of the car, he realizes. Another stab of guilt. You’d wanted to see this parade so badly. He knows why you’re leaving.

“Try it,” you chirp, cheeks darkened by the cold air. You tip your hand towards his, drop one of the little nuts you're carrying into his hand. You smile so brightly, like you don’t realize that he’s ruined this for you. “It should be cool enough now.”

“What is it?” He asks, rolling it in his palm.

“A roasted chestnut. S’really good!” He looks over at you, fighting the urge to laugh. You’re already chewing the damn thing. He watches you slip the shell off of another chestnut.

“What are you, five? Close your mouth when you eat.” He bumps your shoulder with his, no heat behind his words.

He slips the shell off the chestnut, the way he had watched you do moments before. He pops it into his mouth and makes a noise of surprise. He’d expected it to be hard and crunchy, but it’s soft - buttery, almost. Sweet, in the same way as a sweet potato. He holds his hand out for another, and you drop it into his palm, chuckling triumphantly to yourself.

The walk back to his car is near silent, trading chestnuts and jabs back and forth. The restlessness that had filled his limbs earlier has melted into a sleepy, dull-edged tiredness that wears at his bones. He opens your door for you, guides you inside with a hand at the small of your back.

He wants to apologize. It’s all Leon can think about while he’s trying to get out of this goddamn parking spot. It takes him long enough. He’s crafting a script in his head. He knows exactly what he has to say.

But when you’re finally back on the road, he’s speechless. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, laden with the sweetness of the chestnuts and oily against his teeth. He can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips again, the road melting away as he guides you home by muscle memory alone.

“Thanks for coming with me.”

God, you’re an angel, breaking the silence like that. He glances over at you, the pounding of his heart quieting in his ears at the sight of your smile, your eyes soft and your hair messed. Your hat lays in your lap, your mittens peeled off and tossed to god-knows-where for him to find later on.

Leon nods. He feels like kicking himself. How the hell did he ever pull you? 

After a too-long silence, he says, “No problem. Sorry. For, uh –”

For making us leave. For ruining this. For not having my shit together.

You’re too nice to think any of those things about him. He knows that. That doesn’t mean Leon doesn’t think it about himself.

“Don’t worry about it. I had fun. Besides, I kinda wanted to spend time with you, anyway. Just you.”

He looks to you at a stoplight, tries to gauge if there’s any irritation hidden under your expression. You settle your hand on his knee. You smile blithely out the window, your eyes catching his in the reflection, crinkling at the corners when you smile wider. His heart pounds again - not panic, but a warm, comfortable squeeze.

He can’t believe he’s this lucky.

“We could watch a Christmas movie,” he offers. A small balm for the hurt he feels he’s caused.

You hum. Indifferent. You turn your head back to him as the light turns green, your hand sliding up to his thigh and squeezing. It sends a thrill through his gut, his breath catching. He wasn’t away that long, but it felt like forever without your touch.

“I was kinda thinking we could just hang out,” you say, your voice deceptively innocent. “I missed you.”

The car behind him honks. He wrests his thoughts out of the gutter, forces himself to actually drive. Your hand stays on his thigh, drifts even higher, your little laugh flushing all the blood out of his head.

“That’s, uh – yeah. Fantastic.”

The drive home is a blur. He tries to make conversation, honest to God, he does, but you’re so damn distracting. You know it, too. He can see that sadistic little twinkle in your eye. He’s lucky you’ve got enough mercy in you not to tease him while he drives. You’ve already got him wrapped around your finger, you have to know that by now.

Leon practically jumps out of the car. He should be embarrassed by the way you have him hopping around like some horny virgin. You slip out of the car with much more grace and press yourself to his side. His arm wraps around your waist, finds a way to tug you even closer while he fumbles with his keys.

The door is barely open, and you’re on him. He doesn't even have time to strip his jacket off before you press yourself against him. You urge his back against the door, shutting it with a thud. Your hands roam all over him, shucking his jacket off and letting it pool on the floor. Your lips press to his, trading the taste of hot chocolate and chestnuts. You move to his neck. His gasps are barely restrained. His pulse races under your touch. His head rocks back, smacks against the door and he groans. You chuckle, take his hand and pull him further into the apartment.

The backs of your knees hit the couch and he takes the invitation to tip you over the edge, his body covering yours without a moment of hesitation. Your lips are back on his skin, tongue laving a hot path wherever you can reach. Greedy. He shudders against the hands that grip his sides. 

"Not too tired?" You ask between kisses. Your teeth nip at the thin skin of his neck and his breath damn near stops. He should tell you to quit. It's not professional. He's gonna show up to his next briefing covered in hickeys and then everyone will know how good Kennedy is getting it at home. He's not sure he minds. He thinks he wants everyone to know just how fucking good he's got it.

"No way," he says, his voice lighter than he meant. He wanted to sound gravely, masculine - instead he sounds like he's about to cum his pants. Goddamn, the things you do to him.

"How do you want it?"

Oh, so it's up to him now? He wishes you'd take the choice from him. You press your hips up against him and, fuck, he wishes you'd take everything from him.

You pull back, your lips leaving his skin, and the chill settles over him again, the distance between you too much for him to handle. His hands grip your hips, slide under you and tug you into him so you can feel the way his cock fills out his jeans. It's hot and tight and goddammit, he wants to be in you - in a better kind of hot and tight rather than this denim prison that's fucking killing him.

You press your hand to his shoulder, force the distance. You level him with a look, like a school teacher discipling a naughty student. (Hot. Gonna have to keep that one in mind, if he ever works the nerve up to ask you to try some roleplay. He’ll bet you could really wreak havoc with a ruler, rap it across his knuckles -- better yet, his ass, let the sting spike over his skin. Make him indignant or obedient - he won't know what sort of mood he's in until he's there.)

You're waiting for an answer. That much is clear. No more love bites until he speaks up. You're a dead weight in his arms and he knows how to make you come to life again.

He sits back on his thighs, hands turning you. "Face in the cushions."

"You got the energy for that?"

You don't even mean to be a brat, he’s sure. It's not an honest challenge. You just sound genuinely surprised. He nods. He's got all the energy for the world if it means being with you.

That gets you moving at least. You squirm under him, limbs awkward and trapped between his thighs. He peels you out of your jeans and rolls his eyes when he sees you've got a second pair of pants underneath.

"It was cold out!" You protest, raising your hips to help him get the layers off.

"It's not that cold out. You got long johns on under these, too?"

"Keep this up and you won't find out."

That shuts him up.

His stomach lurches, arousal hot and tight from the way you're swinging your hips at him. He fumbles with his belt, unwraps himself and tosses the packaging off to the side, where it lands under the tree with the rest of the presents. His fingers tease along your slit, nudging the wet patch you've left along your panties. He wants to bury his nose in you, surround himself with your scent and your taste, shake his head and burrow as deep as he can get.

But when his fingers curl under the elastic of your waistband, you click your tongue. He stills, frozen by your directive.

"Can you ask nicely?"

He wants to scoff. Impatience and irritation are bubbling in his gut, but your demand makes his cock twitch and he could have sworn he felt his fucking balls draw up.

"Please." He drones, fingers tugging at your panties.

"You can do better than that."

"I could just leave you here."

He's not going to do that. You both know that’s an empty threat. Leon grips the fullness of your ass, squeezes it under his palm. His hand draws back quick, a sharp smack filling the room. He hears you muffle your squeal into the cushions. He sees your fingers clench, sees you drag the nearest pillow closer, hugging it to your chest. So easy.

"Ask." That's not a request. It's a demand. You're doing your best to sound tough, your face buried in the pillow, ass still wagging at him like a bitch in heat. He hums, weighs his options.

"Can I fuck your pussy?" He presses his chest to your back, lets you feel the weight of him. You've told him so many times how you like that- you like the feeling of him surrounding you. You like being trapped under his weight, the way he pins you down. His cock strains against your clothed pussy. He wraps an arm around your waist, skims his hand up your chest, in the valley between your tits. His thumb strokes over a peaked nipple, plucks it to a point, and pinches. "Please. I'll make you cum first."

If the way your back arches is any indication, that may just have been the selling point.

"Gonna cum inside?"

"We'll see."

That must be your final straw. He's pushed you too far. You turn your head, cheek cushioned cutely against the couch.

"You cum inside or not at all." Your voice is firm, dark. He wishes he hadn't been so adamant on pressing against you, because he knows you felt the way his cock kicked. He sees your lips twist into a smirk.

Leon's in no mood to wipe it off your face. His baby wanted him to stuff that pretty pussy, who was he to argue? Give him five minutes to recharge, he'll paint your back, too. Maybe your chest.

His lips press to the back of your shoulder. The fingers pinching your nipple relent. He strokes your breasts reverently instead.

"Okay," he agrees, breathless. "Inside."

Your eyes linger on him, watching to see how serious he is. He does his best to look honest. His fingers smooth over his harsh touches, the devotion pouring from his fingertips. You grab his wrist, bring his hand to your mouth and wet his fingers for him, drink it down.

He leans back just enough to squirm his hand underneath the soaked fabric of your panties, slick fingers parting your folds again and again, pressing deeper each pass.

The way you sigh makes his gut tighten and squirm. He dips his fingers in you, the first sliding in so smooth that he adds the second after the first pump. His mouth lathers the nape of your neck with kisses, his breath hot and terse against your skin. Try as you might to seem unaffected, he sees the way that your skin pricks. 

Leon sets a steady pace, works you up to three fingers. Gotta get you ready for him – though the way you moan and rock, you clearly needed this more than you let on.

"Vibrator's in the drawer." He knows a command when he hears one. Doesn't have to be told twice. His superiors always liked that about him, and you appreciate it too. He commits the way your voice quivers to memory, banks that one for his nights away. He leans back, opening the drawer of the side table. He doesn't even question it until it's on and humming in his hand.

"The side table, huh..?"

Leon’s voice wobbles with laughter. That's not where this little guy usually lived. His fingers resume their pace, pumping into you steadily. He presses the head of the vibrator just above your clit, watches the way that you squirm. He can't take much more of this, not when he sees your pretty, kiss swollen lips part and hears you moan like that.

“Got lonely without you,” you admit. Your voice drives him insane, heat pulsing through him with every pump of his heart. Got that airy, whiny quality to it, your thighs quivering like you aren't sure whether to squirm away or chase after all the sensation.

He crooks his fingers inside you, feels you squeeze him and pulse. His cock aches. You bury your face into the pillows to smother the way you moan his name. He needs another hand. He needs fist his hand in your hair and drag you up so he can hear you cry his name over and over.

Not now. Later. Focus, Leon. Your pussy's got him high, lost in the pull of your body. He keeps the vibrator firm to your body, doesn't let you run from the way he’s making you feel. Your back bows, chest pressing to the couch, and he chases you down, lips smattering you neck with sloppy kisses, nipping at your skin, encouraging you with sighed praises – “There you go, baby, just like that, let go, I got you, just let go, cum for me –” and the pride he feels when you shake under him, squeeze his fingers to hard he’s surprised he still has circulation, has him panting.

Goddamn. You’re dripping down his arm, pussy squelching so obscenely around his fingers. He lifts the vibrator away from your clit to give you a break, turns it down just enough to keep you wound up. Doesn’t want it to hurt - not this time.

"I have to be inside you," he groans. You whine, legs spreading wider. Your knee slips off the couch, and rather than put it back up, you brace your foot against the floor to stay spread for him.

"Yeah," you breathe out. Poor baby. That's all you can manage, isn't it?

He shoves his boxers down mid-thigh, fingers drawing out of you. He sits back and lifts his hand to his face, makes a show of licking your mess from his wrist and fingers. That little whine you let out drives him fucking crazy. His fingers curl, sticky with remnants of your juices and his spit, against your hip, leave a tacky wet splotch against your skin. He draws the head of his cock through the wetness of your pussy, slow and torturous. The glide is effortless. He hasn’t prayed in years, but thank god for your cunt.

His hips nudge, head teasing your messy hole, and – Jesus Christ – he just meant to tease you, but your pussy pulls him in, warm and wet around the tip of his cock.

He pulls out, his body and his brain screaming at him – traitor – for pulling away from you. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Blow his load then and there? Hell no. You’d never let him live it down.

You whine again, needy and insistent. The noise is  muffled and frustrated in the press of the pillow. He needs more hands. Wants to pull your hair, force your head up from that pillow so he can hear you properly - but he's got to keep hold of your hips. He presses the vibrator back to your clit, and it’s got you squirming away from him. Leon was trying to buy himself some time to calm down, but this isn’t helping. He’s got to be inside of you right now, or he’s going to explode - and he promised he’d do that inside of you.

He positions himself at your entrance again, almost frantic. The first rock of his hips is clumsy, has him sliding up through the cleft of your ass. He tries again, slides through your folds again, the weeping head of his cock nudging at your clit. The vibrations ripple through his cock, and the whimper he lets out is humiliating. He swears under his breath. He doesn't have the control to pretend that was on purpose. 

His hand drags from your hip to guide himself into you in a series of quick, jerky thrusts. Leon sighs, stairstepping, relief flooding his veins, when your walls finally take him. His pace evens out into something slow and steady. It's a struggle to remember to keep the vibrator where you like it, the way his brain is so fogged with the way you squeeze him. He leans back, hand on the globe of your ass, spreading you apart to watch the way you take him. So wet and messy, sloppy noises driving him crazy. This is the kind of shit that keeps him up at night, that has him fucking his fist and cumming on his stomach in some remote corner of the world, painfully far from you.

He tosses the vibrator aside, the way it skips and jitters against the floor lost to him in the chorus of your moans and the slap of his hips against your ass. Leon feels what little hold he has over himself slipping from his grasp. He can't control the way that his hips rut against you, the push of his cock against the velvet walls of your cunt. He could lose himself in you, spend all his days buried to the hilt in you, balls slapping, teeth wearing at your shoulder, burning memories of this moment into your skin.

His breath comes quick and hard, his forehead buried in the crook of your neck, his moans a litany of your name. He wants you, needs you, can't stop the way his pace has quickened to a frantic beat. His teeth find your earlobe, tugging insistently just to hear your moans sharpen into a keen.

You tighten and pulse around him, a gush of fluid slicking his cock, and he's not certain that he's still on this earth. Your voice breaks on his name and his vision blurs. His fingers find your clit in the haze of pleasure that clouds his mind. It’s a clumsy replacement for the vibrator, but they're his, warm, rough pads that press against you, send your head spinnin. Leon doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath. He wants you panting, breathless, boneless, wants you limp in the cushions below him while he pounds into you gooey cunt.

It doesn't take him long. You're whimpering and soft below him, trying fruitlessly to match his thrusts, your fingers clenching and unclenching against the pillow. He's lost in the haze of your body, and his orgasm almost takes him by surprise. He slows to a grind, rolling his hips deep into you again and again, the head of his cock pressing deep, his load spurting against your walls. His moan is broken, high-pitched - a whimper that will burn into your memory, your name sweet on his tongue.

Leon collapses against your back, his chest heaving. He tries to keep his weight off of you, but his limbs are too heavy. His hands slip down your sides, grasp your hips, and turn you, press your back to the couch.

"Good boy," you murmur. He huffs a laugh, kisses that teasing smile on your lips. You pat his shoulder limply.

Good, he thinks, still catching his breath. Got you all fucked out.

His hands slip back up your sides, craddling your ribs. His thumbs trace gentle arches across the curve of your ribs, his head nestled in the valley between your breasts. Your hand returns to his hair, much softer, petting him gently.

It feels like home. He's made it back. He won't leave, not for a while. He's not sure that he can. His eyes slip shut, the warm glow of the Christmas tree lights and the warm pull of your body lulling him into security. Dully, he remembers grab the vibrator from the floor and click it off. The silence that floods the apartment blankets over the both of you.

He doesn’t want to break the serenity of this moment. Your hair pet his hair, nearly lull him to sleep then and there. All his grand plans of round two, of making a mess of you, are slipping through his fingers in the warm glow of your apartment.

“You wanna open your presents now?” You ask him, voice heavy. Another swell of pride. It sounds like he’s worn you out. Maybe he could go for another round.

“It’s not Christmas yet.”

“I know,” you whine, “but I’m too excited.”

“I haven’t even wrapped yours yet.”

“Don’t care. Just open yours.”

He feels you squirm under him, trying to shuffle off of the couch. No doubt you want to fetch his gifts, force him to open them. Leon presses his full weight down onto you, pinning you under him.

“Nope.”

Your protests fall on deaf ears. He’s won’t give in, not this time. He already messed up the parade, he’s not messing up the gifts. He wiggles his fingers against your ribs, trying to silence your bargaining by making you squirm.

Your laugh fills the apartment. Leon smiles against your skin. That’s the sound that makes this place home.

[ms--lobotomy]

FUCK YOU (literally) you get a Leman-Magnus sandwich. Well, it would be a you sandwich, with them as a bread. AAAAAAAAaaaah.

Summary: Sandwich. You are the meat. Leman and Magnus are the bread.

Word Count: 966

Content Warnings: SMUT, 2 Primarchs doing it (I don't see it as Primarch/Primarch shipping because the focus is on the reader), reader's got 2 holes but is referred to with gender neutral pronouns, impossibly large wieners, Leman's fat like the gods INTENDED, belly bulge, I'm letting the impulsive thoughts win this one, oh yeah also Leman has a knot because DUH

Image Credit: squishyowl (their focus is on the reader but I don't want you to be uncomfortable, so I'm not tagging you this time)

Leman's fangs glinted in the low light as he grinned at Magnus. He was pulling you down on him as you cried out, grasping his sides like a lifeline. He was big; taller than Magnus normally stood, and wide too. He was warm against you, inhumanly so, but it wasn't uncomfortable per se. You could hear a quiet hiss as Magnus gripped the sides of his chair, his hands smoldering. At this transgression, Leman opened his mouth to speak again.

"You can't join in until you get those flames under control," he chided between grunts.

You looked down at your belly. A bulge was beginning to show up, a bulge where Leman had entered you. You looked back up at him. He looked back down on you, as if feeling your gaze on him. Your face scrunched up as you tried to get out some words, but all that came out was incoherent moaning. Leman looked back up at Magnus as he pressed your head to him with his free hand.

""They don't need you, Mags," he said as Magnus glared at him. "They're doing just fine without you." "

You turned around for naught but a second before Leman pressed your head to his again as his knot entered you with a wet pop. You cried out before he took you up a little bit, throwing you up and down on him. Magnus shifted in his seat a little, growing ever so taller. He must've started at around 10 feet when he got here, now he was closer to 13. Hell, he might even be taller than Leman now.

Magnus said your name, his voice deep and penetrating. You shuddered, and Leman grabbed onto you harder. He repeated your name before he continued. "...will be fine."

"Let's ask them," Leman mused, stopping inside of you for a minute. "Hey, do you think Magnus should join in?"

Before you could say anything, Leman began to move your lips and speak in a high-pitched voice. "No, Leman, we don't need him, you're a much better lay."

Magnus simmered again as Leman chuckled and resumed activity. Before long, though, you heard a voice in your head. Magnus's voice. You looked behind you, confused as his lips remained shut.

"Do you want me to join in?" he'd asked you.

Before Leman could turn your head back, you'd nodded.

You could feel Magnus's smug grin on the back of your neck as he stood up from the chair. He sat behind you on the bed, slightly taller than Leman, and grabbed at your waist. He started to grind against your ass, already hard. You leaned back onto him. He was warm against you, close to burning hot but not quite there.

Leman grabbed you and pulled you in close to him again as he thrust harder and faster into you. He was growling, too, but he made no effort to push Magnus away. Magnus chuckled as he slid in behind you, steadily finding a rhythm with Leman. Magnus wasn't very big at the moment. Rather, he grew to accommodate the rest of him in time.

Your fists clenched and your head rolled back in Leman's arms as you climaxed around him, clenching him and spilling all over him. "Agh, fuck, Leman... Magnus..." you groaned, looking up at Leman.

"Hah! They said my name first," remarked Leman with a shit-eating smirk.

"They didn't cum when it was only you in the picture," said Magnus. You couldn't see it, but his expression was much more thoughtful, his singular crimson eye staring down at you with reverence. "It's quite sorry, actually."

Leman snarled at Magnus. "You tomato-headed fuck--" he started as one of his hands left you and curled up into a fist. As you grabbed for his hand, he looked down at you and cleared his throat.

"Maybe I'll knock your block off after I... we... finish," he said, wrapping his other hand around your head.

You could feel Magnus speeding up the tempo between the two of them, and you cried out. "Fuck... Magnus..."

"Ha!" shouted Magnus before biting his lip. "Nngh..."

"You're cumming, aren't you?" asked Leman. As if on cue, Magnus spilled himself in you with a loud grunt. He said your name with reverence and care as he finished. Leman, funnily enough, didn't fight Magnus as he kept you on him, throbbing into your backside before releasing you onto Leman.

Leman wasn't long either. He grunted over the top of your head as he came in you, his knot swelling to keep the sticky white liquid inside of you. He kept you on him, leaning down to rest his head on top of yours. You could feel his large body around you, pressing you to the bed as he lay down next to you.

Magnus shoved his way in behind you, back to around 10 feet tall. He wrapped his arms around you lower than Leman's, and pressed you back to him. You groaned, trying to flop onto your back, and the two of them released their arms far enough for you to do so. You wrapped an arm around each of them, even if they were so big against you.

"How are you feeling?" asked Leman, running his hand along your side.

"You both did great," you mumbled, staring at the ceiling while absentmindedly playing with their hair.

Magnus grinned. "Wonderful," he said.

"Although," you continued. "I might need a bit of pain meds in a little bit."

Leman and Magnus both instantly untangled their arms from you and sprinted towards the nearby bathroom. "I can give better aftercare, at least!" Leman exclaimed.

"Over my rotting corpse," replied Leman.

You rolled over, watching them with a slight smile on your face. They would be back soon, you knew.

Taglist: @bispecsual@justeverythingnothingelse@bleedingichorhearts @nekotaetae@historitor-bookshelf

[split-spectrum]

Pretty Young Thing

One-shot

Pairing: Obi-Wan/FemReader

Warnings/Tags: Explicit content. Just filth. PWP. Listen, I just wanted to give this man a break. He deserves gratuitous sex and alcohol.

"No names."

It was the singular rule he had, in all the years you'd known him.

Was 'known' the right word? Did you consider yourself an acquaintance if you know exactly how slow he likes to fuck, but you don't ask him where his newest scar came from, and he doesn't ask you why you've moved apartments?

☆☆☆

Sometimes he had you repeat it back to him when you first started meeting; a sort of reassurance for him that nothing could follow him back to his life - back to reality. You would whisper it to him without hesitation.

"No names," he would remind you breathlessly while shedding his clothing, one hand remaining on your skin, his mouth inches from your ear.

"Don't worry," you would assure him.

He'd rake his fingers over your shoulders, pulling you closer and pressing his mouth urgently against yours. "Say it- say it back."

You would grin, always uncertain if he was asking to make sure you understood, or just working himself up more. He liked to hear the words, and you always knew by the way his body responded when you said them. 

"No names."

Tonight, the words ring in your head as you lean against the bar, replaying the images of past nights in the back of your mind, waiting. You were always waiting on him.

That afternoon you'd heard he was back on Coruscant, and your last meeting of the day couldn't end soon enough. You both knew the time and place. If he was on the planet, you never missed the spot. Some nights he left you waiting until the bar closed, never making an appearance. But you knew if he could come, he would. And he was always worth the wait.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

You're surrounded by pulsing bodies and throbbing music which makes it nearly impossible to hear one individual over all the noise. But that voice will always get your attention. 

He leans in closer as you tilt your gaze in his direction. "Or were you waiting for someone?"

You smile. "I was, but he's disappointed me before. I was just about to leave."

His eyebrows raise. "Anyone who would disappoint you must be very foolish." He pauses. "Or exceedingly disappointed, himself. The only thing that could be more important than a night with you would be the fate of the galaxy."

He adds another pause while your mouth twists in feigned displeasure. "...one would imagine."

His mouth slides into a grin, and you can't help but return it, the way his eyes sparkle when they meet yours. He pulls his attention away to signal the bartender, and when you take your drink and leave, he follows you to a dark corner. You turn to face him when you reach the wall, away from prying eyes.

You take a sip, while he downs half of his drink in a single, greedy swallow. He places the glass on a nearby table and stands next to you, first curling one arm around your back, slowly, then following it with the rest of his body to move behind you. He rests the back of a finger against your shoulder and smooths it down your bare arm as you continue to sip. 

A shiver runs through you at his touch, and you keep staring forward. "Your hair is so long, now."

You feel him smile against your cheek when he presses himself closer to you. "Haven't had much time for a cut, I'm afraid."

"I like it," you tell him. "Makes you look younger."

He laughs, and you love the way it feels, the vibrations leaving his chest and sinking into your back. "I suppose I need all the help I can get."

A new song begins, changing the atmosphere from loud and fast-paced to a darker mood, more intense. His body starts to move against yours, rolling from his shoulders down to his waist. You lean into him, eyes closing when he lets his head come down to your shoulder and his beard tickles your neck. His rich, clean scent saturates your brain with thoughts only of him, and how much you've missed the feel of him against you. 

You both get lost in the music for a long time, enjoying the escape of dancing without thinking. His arms surround you, and you turn to look at his face. The sickly lights of the scummy bar reflect over his features and he's positively radiant, as usual. You lean in for a kiss. His mouth welcomes you as it always does, perfect and soft, the taste of him as sweet as ever, even through the notes of liquor on his breath. 

He returns your kiss with a languid swipe of his tongue, only breaking hesitantly away after a long moment to check your surroundings. You know he's looking to see if anyone is staring, but you take the opportunity to flag down someone walking past, carrying a tray of drinks. You exchange a few credits and press the shot into his hand. 

"You need to loosen up."

He gives you another grin, his teeth glinting in the dim light as he throws back the shot. He doesn't react, doesn't squint, doesn't pause. It might well have been water, the way he instantly goes back to kissing you. 

When his lips meet yours, everything else becomes a blur - the bar, the street outside, the back of the cab, your apartment. Details. Unimportant when he's tugging on your bottom lip, swiping his tongue over yours, parting your mouths to softly brush his thumb over your jaw. Only a brief moment seems to pass, and all at once you're keying in the code to the front door of your apartment.

You tumble through the door, kicking it closed behind you, and he's already pulling off his clothes. He drops his grey cloak at the door, stepping over it to push you toward the seating area of your living room. His hands fall to the waist of his pants, carelessly tugging at the hem of his shapeless blue shirt, pulling it over his head before you can even ask. His mouth is back at your neck as soon as he's free, his bare shoulders crowding you, pressing you down into the couch. 

Your arms slide down his back and you suppress a whine at the way his fingers impatiently unfasten the front of your shirt. As soon as you feel his bare skin on yours, your hand plummets downward desperately. His hands have finished their work, pulling the front of your shirt open just as you make contact. He stops, back hunched, and drops his head forward. The way his locks of hair fall forward over his face is immaculate, and you take your time, just soaking in the sight of him. 

His eyes are closed, brows furrowed. The shadows of his eyelashes darken his face. You brush your hand over the length of him through his pants. His mouth falls open.

"Touch me," he whispers, leaning in to close his mouth over yours. "Touch me."

You pull your palm over the front of his pants, enjoying the shape of him, then dip your fingers below his waistband and start to stroke him, finally making contact with the warmth of his skin. You revel in the way he instantly thrusts against your open hand. You've barely grazed him and he's already bucking earnestly for more. 

"I'm going to put on some music," you murmur into his ear, leaning upward and taking your hand out of the front of his clothes. 

"Ngh?" he makes a desperate noise at the loss of contact and you smile at the way his gorgeous blue eyes gloss over with confusion, following your movements as you reach for a remote on the table nearby. You know he tends to lose himself even more when you play music for him. 

It reminds you of the first time you did this. Years ago, when he was a fresh knight, barely more than a padawan, and you were just a senator's intern, newly arrived on the planet. He'd been so shy, so unsure of himself. So unsure of what he wanted. You'd chatted all night, and when you'd mentioned your love for music he'd invited you to listen to him play the quetarra back in his quarters. Of course he'd said he wasn't any good, only an amateur, but he'd played beautifully. Since that night you'd met at every opportunity throughout the changing of your respective careers. And never once had he asked your name. He insisted it kept him from forming an attachment, and you were only so happy to oblige, so long as he kept coming back.

The music is playing now, filling the apartment with quiet pulses of bass. No sooner have you put down the remote than he's sliding his leg between your knees, spreading them on the couch, and kissing your neck. His hand deftly unfastens the clasp of your belt and moves it to the side, slipping beneath the waist of your pants. He lets out a soft breath when his fingers drop easily between your legs. You're almost embarrassed at the way his hand is slicked with you, but he makes a quiet "Oh..." sound against your neck and it's instantly clear how much it turns him on.

He pulls back to look down at you, locking his eyes onto yours as he pushes two fingers inside you, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he grins wickedly at your response. You gasp, gripping the side of his forearm, muscles there tight as he starts to work his fingers inside you, brushing up against the perfect spot he knows will melt you into a whimpering mess. 

It doesn't take long before you're biting back pitiful noises, writhing against him as he pulls your sanity apart. You're not above begging when it comes to him, and he knows it. He's waiting for it. 

"Please..."

He cups your jaw in his hand and kisses you deeply, still pumping his fingers diligently, maddeningly.

"Anything. What is it?"

"Need you. Please. Please, fuck me."

All the lightness leaves his face at once. He's no longer in a playful mood when he tugs the front of your remaining clothes down, pressing one hand into the couch beside your head while the other wraps around his cock. His knees keep your legs spread, and in one fluid motion, he's inside you. 

He doesn't even stop to let you process the sensation of him. He's inside you and his pace is immediate and perfect. Slow, steady, gorgeous. The only sound he makes when you're finally wrapped around him is a quiet panting, the usual rigid air about him being incrementally replaced with an animalistic state of zen. 

You feel every inch of him, the way he gives it to you as if each movement is an artistic choice, building and building the warmth inside you until you're shamelessly moaning for more. You arch your back, giving him more room to fill you, and his pace finally stutters. You smirk at the way his eyes roll back. 

"You feel incredible."

His hips start to snap, his rhythm faltering. "Don't...  don't say things like that, or I won't... last..."

You can't help it. A groan escapes you at his admission and you buck your hips upward to meet him. "So good. So fucking... good."

"Stars," he gasps, mouth open and eyes squeezed shut. "Shit-"

He pauses, clenching his jaw as if concentrating deeply, holding back. Finally, he rasps, "Darling, come for me."

He slides a hand between your legs and gently works his thumb over you, bringing you screaming over the edge all at once, your hands flying up to grip his neck, desperately grasping to make sure he keeps pounding into you while you whimper out your bliss. 

He keeps his rhythm steady, working out every last drop of your orgasm until you're spent and gasping for air, before he finally begins to lose his composure, raggedly grinding into you. He brings a hand behind your head, fingers tangling into your hair while he finishes, his cock sliding in and out of you as his cum spills out between your legs, coating the insides of your thighs in a sticky, beautiful mess. 

He stays inside you like this for a long time, arms shaking, as you both catch your breath. His face is glowing when he looks down at you, catching your lips in a messy half-smiling kiss.

You let out a deep sigh, brushing your hands through his hair when he finally slides out of you and collapses beside you. You're going to lie like this for as long as you can. Breathless, thoughtless, nameless, and wrapped in the arms of Obi Wan fucking Kenobi, you're going to fall asleep.

[thatspookyagent]

Dating Heimdall (Black!GN!Reader) would include...

Warnings: Typical assholery and bastard behaviour lmao otherwise none

a/n: First time writing for a video game franchise and I hope that y’all enjoy this! Heimdall is easily my favorite GOW character besides Freyr and Angrboda. There’s not much fanfiction out there for GOW: Ragnarok right now, let alone for Heimdall, and like none for a Black!Reader specifically. So this is me PUTTING that content out there in the void for someone to find, read, and share! Side note: I am yet again writing Black!Reader headcanons with a darker skinned!reader and 4 type hair!reader in mind unapologetically. <3

If you want to be tagged in any of my content, don’t be afraid to tell me via my ask box or through messages! Just remember to be clear about what specific kinds of content, characters, and fandoms you want me to tag you in or if you want to be put on my general tag list! I’m always looking to add more people and I’d be more than happy to add you (if you wish)! :3

If you were to describe Heimdall with just one word it would aggy lmfao

No really, he makes you want to kick both his ass and those grills in his teeth all the way to the Light of Alfheim

But regardless you fell for him because Reasons™

When you reflect upon why and how you did so, you can’t really come up with a definitive singular answer

Maybe it's because he treats you differently especially when it comes to teasing 

It’s more playful than brutal like he is with others and it gives you boy who pulled your hair back in kindergarten cause he secretly likes you vibes

Whenever Heimdall does tease you, his body language is different as well

Less condensing and try me and more goading and trying to vy for your attention kinda thing

That and he smiles relentless while he does it, like a genuine heartwarming smile not I’ll eat your kids and your pets smile

Just imagine him walking backwards slowly on his heels while swinging his arms and bringing them forward occasionally to make a soft clapping sound

He’s poking fun at you tripping earlier and thinking that nobody saw you when he absolutely did

Your comeback is to ask him why he was staring at you in the first place

He replies with “I just liked what I saw.”

You jab back with "If I only liked what I see now back."

That’s another reason why he really likes you, you always have a comeback to his remarks when most don’t

You really don’t take his comments lying down and actively engage in fun spirited banter with him whether you're starting or finishing it

While others shy away from it and avoid that man like the PLAGUE

To be fair his demeanor and vibe with you is MUCH less hostile with others so nobody wanting to be around him is very understandable lmao

Even then when there’s moments were Heimdall steps outta line (and there are), you don’t hesitate to push back and check him

He NEEDS a s/o who can do that cause otherwise Heimdall won’t read, understand, or internalize boundaries and will eventually continue to keep going

Those moments where you check him are usually answered by long periods of silence from Heimdall or curt nods, he knows your limits, and chooses to respect them

Partly because you do the same with him, which for you is mainly out of respect, and cause you like him

On another note, Gulltoppr is y’all’s child I said what I said

You were deathly scared of them at first cause who the hell smuggled a whole ThunderCat into Asgard hELLO???

But after awhile you warmed up to the battle cat since Gulltoppr can see just how much Heimdall cares for you and if you’re good enough for Heimdall, you’re good enough for them

Heimdall often scolds you for feeding Gulltoppr apples and cheese a lot but you also scold Heimdall for not giving enough treats to them cause how else do you remind them that they’re doing a good job protecting Asgard???

When he’s not looking you like to give Gulltoppr head pats and belly rubs cause they do NOT get enough of those in their life

You’ve managed to persuade Heimdall to snuggle with you and Gulltoppr while he reads on his breaks and you bet that there’s even more cheese and apples involved in that

Now onto some stuff that’s more Black!Reader specific-

This man is a bit OBSESSED with your hair don’t @ me !!!

If your hair is longer, especially long enough to be in box braids or have extensions in, he will be in total and complete awe at them

Catch him staring at your hair whenever you’re in the Asgardian mess hall together

At some point the staring gets so frequent that you sorta call him out on it and he’ll just...freeze

Later on when you two are more alone he’ll go “So...how does THAT work?” and motion towards your head

Sure Heimdall braids his own hair from time to time but his braids are different in many ways

Speaking of Heimdall and braids, you bet your ass you braid his hair stop playin !!!

You’re kind of a whizz at it and he doesn’t let ANYONE touch his scalp so you’re fumbling with a gold mine here

Heimdall only trusts you to mess around with his golden locs and will only really allow you to see him with his hair down OR messy

Speaking of hair down, he’s down for you to do or help him in his hair care routine lmao

Washing it, brushing it, putting some kind of good smelling product in it, you name it

Also if you leave your hair care products just lying around he WILL sniff and try them out

SO if you’ve got some expensive stuff that’s really for your hair type usage only, you better hide it better next time

For revenge you can put his hair in cornrows and then watch it fall out the next day sksksk

Now back to your hair, even if you hair is short or you use wigs, he will still be intrigued by it

Imagine Heimdall being dumbfounded at your waves like WHy is the ocean on your head and HOw?

He will return the hair care time favour and learn how to take care of your hair if you wish

Will steal your bonnets, durags, and head scarves BEWARE

He claims that it was just “lying around” and that he needs to protect his hair too <3

You roll your eyes and just make sure to order more protective hair fabric for the both of you

If you ask him if he has any design requests, anything with gold ornate on it will suffice (similar to his outfit that he wears)

That way y’all can tell your stuff from one another’s and he can color coordinate with his own natural hair color

Also he WILL throw at you and or remind you to put on a bonnet, durag, or head scarf if you aren’t wearing one before you go to bed

Something else that he admires about you is definitely how different colors of clothing make your skin tone stand out

Heimdall always stands out honestly due to being albino and having gold teeth like even for an Aesir God

It admittedly is different and a bit unfamiliar for him to see someone with darker skin and textured hair

Though don’t get him wrong, he welcomes it with open arms

Especially whenever the two of you are in bed together, cuddling, and just lying there together

He likes to have the windows open and have you on whatever side of the bed is facing that particular window

Cause it means that when he wakes up before the sun rises, he gets to watch the sun come up, and bounce light off of your melanin <3

He will absodoodley lay with you in bed all day (for as long as he can get away with it) while he brushes his hands against certain parts of your skin that are being lit up by the sun

He’ll only get up to get you some food or shower, basically basic needs until he has no choice but to get up cause he’s The Watcher of Asgard™ n all that

You know that his love for you has to run DEEP if he’s slacking off on watching Asgard cause he’s too busy giving you the attention that he deserves

And his love does indeed run deeper than a Jotunn’s ass crack for you truly if Odin doesn’t really approve of his relationship with you and he still actively decides to continue it anyways knowing this

Regardless of what other people think, he knows where his love lies, with him every morning and night, in front of sunny windows while he caresses and admires them

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Track Marks And Dial Tones I

Summary: A late night call from your informant sets off an unexpected avalanche of gut-wrenching events…

Pairing: Clay Roach x fem!cop!Reader

Word Content: ~ 2.5k

Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat!, 18+!, Lots Of Hurt And Hardly Any Comfort, Slow Burn, Addiction (Duh), Substance Abuse (Obviously), Used Needles, A Belt Used As Tourniquet, Clay's Disgusting Living Situation, Clay Being Absolutely Fucking Miserable, Crying…So Much Crying, Talk About A Wilfully Induced OD, ANGSTY AF

A/N: The dove isn't just dead anymore, it actually started decomposing a while ago…

I'll add the appropriate content warnings with the progress of this story!

For anybody interested: I've made a Spotify playlist to go along with the fic!

Find Part II here!

Tagging the horde:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @cc-luvr @icarus-star @milaeth @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @blueberrypancakesworld @rocketqueen-world @r0ttenmess @doddernix @svgarcaine

Somewhere darker, talkin' the same shite

I need a partner, well, are you out tonight?

It's harder and harder to get you to listen

More I get through the gears

Incapable of makin' alright decisions, and havin' bad ideas

- Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High? By Arctic Monkeys

"Shitbum." Pale, white letters on the screen of your vibrating phone proclaimed for the 3rd time tonight.

With each new buzz of vibrations passing by, your eyes narrowed down on the display. There wouldn't be anything good in store for you if you picked up, that much you knew for sure, but him calling three times in the span of an hour and not in one manic rush of back to back calls that ended in nothing but halfway nodded out gibberish on your voicemail was something new. Not one singular voicemail had been left so far and after your mobile phone fell back into motionless silence you waited for a notification to pop up, for the screen to inform you that "You have one unattended voicemail by Caller ID: Shitbum." But nothing like that happened. Just another unanswered call in the purgatory of your push-up notifications.

With curiously arched brows, you forced yourself to take your gaze from the phone and redirect it to your bedtime read. It wasn’t an entirely fruitless attempt, you even managed to read half a page before the screen of your phone flickered up again. You saw the display glowing in the corner of your eye and all of your attention shot right back to the device.

"Jesus, fuck…" You muttered under your breath as you rolled your tired eyes at yourself while practically snatching the phone from the nightstand.

"I need you, please." The message read as soon as you unlocked the display.

For a moment you just stared at the words, frowning and your lips subconscious pursing slightly.

"Help." The cold casing vibrated again in your touch and you felt your stomach dropping.

Clay had never asked for help before, never, not once. He might have been a dope-sick informant but he always carried his head high in his very own way of snarky arrogance and stubbornness.

"Shit, Clay. What did you do?" It shot right out of your mouth as you slid out from underneath your warm duvet and reached for your thick police jacket.

Right now you couldn't be bothered to change out of your checkered PJs, everything happened automatically; your phone got shoved into the jacket while your other hand searched through a drawer as your feet pushed themselves into a pair of sturdy winter boots.

Your fingers held onto as many clean rigs as they could while your pockets got stuffed with FTS kits, the usual you brought with you when you stopped by to check in on Clay. It happened maybe once or twice a month and absolutely nobody at the Boston PD would be pleased with knowing about it but you didn't really care. You saw something in him, something more than just a fucked up addict.

The pockets of your jacked nearly teared open with how full you had stuffed them as you leaned down to tie your shoes before rushing downstairs to grab the keys to your car from the kitchen table. Your mind was almost blank, no thoughts just operating as you threw the door behind you shut and nearly ran towards your car.

At this time of night the streets were practically empty and you very clearly speeded down the set of blocks separating you from Clay's flat...if you could even call it that. His housing situation was that of a stuffy, damp bunker that's been trashed and vandalized for god knows how long. Clean or organized were attributes that didn't exist in his realm of clutter, debris and moldy dishes.

Cold wind hit you right in the face as you left the comforting warmth of your car and hastily stepped down a flight of stairs to the subterranean flat.

"Clay? It's me. Can I come in?" You spoke through the old, creaky door and knocked loudly to make your presence known.

No response. You knocked again.

"Clay?" You heard the tremble in your own voice and you were met with nothing but silence again.

"Fuck that shit." You huffed, took a step back and kicked your heavy boot against the door with such vigor that it easily cracked out of its lock.

The fact that your intrusion wasn't accompanied by just any reaction whatsoever had your stomach dropping and twitching in every possible direction. Jumping right into that nervous cramping right beneath your lungs, a pungent yet sweet stench of decay swept out of the open door right into your nostrils.

"Oh god..", You gagged and dry heaved, stumbling back and coughing a lump of saliva onto the wet pavement, "Oh fuck…ew."

You tried to cover your mouth and nose with the sleeve of your jacket but it was little to no avail, the foul odor nearly burned in your nose as you took careful steps through the trash filled hallway.

"Clay?" You called out again, receiving no answer once more.

As soon as you turned a corner into the hellhole that could be described as his "living room", you learned why.

"Oh no! You better fucking not you fucking idiot!" It rambled out of your trembling lips as you saw his statue propped against the wall, head dangling to the side, unresponsive.

With your heart hammering against your ribcage, you practically jumped over all the rubbish piles and crouched down in front of him.

"Clay! Hey!" Your hand touched his sweaty, cold to the touch cheek before all your self-control left you and you smacked him right in the face. No reaction.

"You better fucking talk to me, Clay!" Your fingers searched for his pulse point under strands of knotted, unkempt hair as your professionalism crumbled into nothingness and a flash of tears dreaded to erupt from your lower lash line. You forced them back with every ounce of countenance you could gather whilst a sharp breath escaped your mouth as you felt his pulse. Low and slow, but still very much there.

"The fuck you think nodding out on me like that, shitbum?" You scoffed, plopping down on your ass with a heavy sigh, a bunch of music and TV magazines crumpling under you.

"Let's get this mess here sorted out.." With a wrinkled nose and furrowed brows, your gaze wandered to his left arm, the sleeve being rolled up until above the crook of his elbow.

"Okay, here we go…" You murmured, hoping, imagining that he could hear you as you raised your fingers to slowly loosen up and carefully pull the black leather belt, he had used as a tourniquet, off his arm.

"Almost done…" You placed the belt next to you before you turned back to him and drew the plastic body of an empty syringe out of his arm.

For a brief moment you just looked at it, in anger and in fear to equal parts, fighting the inner urge to just smash the needle into the ground until it would break. Instead, you placed it with the belt and sat back down, taking a look around. The flat was…bad, even for Clay's standards downright messy. It gave the heavy impression that he'd lost the plot since the last time you had seen him about 2 weeks ago. Your mind hardly knew how to respond to your eyes recognising his floor being littered with used fentanyl test strips but it brought an awkwardly lopsided, faint smile to your lips. At least something. He was using them for a minimum of harm reduction.

As you let your eyes roam through the room, you eventually discovered the source of the deathlike stench filling the flat. Even from afar you saw a thick layer of not only green but black mold practically growing out and eating through the thick paper package of some Chinese takeaway you'd brought him 2 weeks ago.

"I paid for those noodles, asshole." You huffed under your breath, a desperate attempt to ease yourself from some of the relentless anxiety raging in your chest.

The box of rotten noodles wasn't the only thing that doused this room in its odor. Countless small cardboard boxes of strawberry milk with their counterpart straws were piled up high in a corner close to the open arch leading into the dirty misery that had been something resembling a kitchen once.

From early on, you had learned that cheap stir-fried noodles and strawberry milk of all things acted as the two main pillars of Clay's cranky diet and you never really tried to change anything about it. Who were you to tell him what to do only because he worked as your informant? Overall, you just felt content knowing that his still severely malnourished body got any sort of culinary input at all.

"What am I gonna do with you now, huh? Jesus, Clay. Freaked the shit out of me." You turned your body back towards his statue, your fingers carefully rolling his sweater back down to his wrist, your fingertips lingering on his sweaty hand for a moment before pulling back.

For a good few minutes, you just looked at him and pondered over what to do now. He'd freak the hell out if you'd drive him to the ER and the ER would most likely just not give much of a fuck since he wasn't straight up ODing. You also didn’t want to leave him here like that. There must’ve been a reason for him to call and text you the way he had and you'd do jackshit before you knew what all this was about.

"Mhmmm…." Your ears perked up the very second you heard the dragged out, low groan trickling out of Clay's mouth.

"Hey there…" You practically whispered to him, careful not to spook him.

"The fuck…are you doing here?" His speech was a little slurred but he seemed to come back slowly.

"You called and texted me, Clay." You answered to him calmly whilst pulling your phone from your pocket.

Before you turned the unlocked display towards his face, you tuned down the brightness.

"Remember?" He swiped his hair out of his face and squinted at the screen, pupils blown out wide.

Clay didn't answer right away, his fogged up mind trying to piece together what had happened during the last 2 hours. The expression on his face told you that he clearly didn't like what his jumbled thoughts came up with.

"Oh….oh, no…." He stammered, sluggishly trying to sit himself up straight again, the features of his face contorting into a pained frown.

While still holding up your phone, you looked at him attentively, following how he clenched his jaws as his eyes got covered by a watery sheene, indicating the growing distress he found himself in.

"It's okay, I promise. I'm here now and I'll help you." You sought to calm him down as you put the phone back into your jacket and tried to smile at him.

It wasn’t a happy smile by far but one of affirmation and understanding.

"No…no, no…" Clay suddenly started to scurry away from you, unaware that his back was already pressed against the lifeless concrete wall.

"No, what? Please talk to me." You felt your brows arching up in worry.

"This is pathetic.", It ruptured out of his mouth in a choked back sob, "You shouldn't…I wasn't…fuck."

"Hey, now.", You carefully scooted a little closer to the dirty mess of a mattress he was sitting on, "Clay, take a breath and please talk to me about what's going on."

"Fuck off!" He spat back, turning his head away from you but you still could see a few vagrant tears running down his cheeks.

"No." You stated bluntly, stopping in your movements to give him room.

"I-...I can't do this shit anymore..", Clay's voice rendered sore and out of breath with every word, "Fuck…I-...I wasn't supposed to wake up."

At his sudden confession all the pieces in your mind fell into place and you were painfully sure to feel something breaking inside of you. A jolt of emotional hurt and plain dread ruptured through your chest, threatening to knock the air out of your lungs as the man in front of you lost his posture entirely and slumped into you, wailing and crying violently.

You caught him in a loose embrace, you recognised your body doing it but your mind could hardly catch up with what was happening.

"Oh God…I should've texted you back. Should've picked up the damn phone. Fucking hell, shit, Clay, I'm so sorry." Your own voice started cracking and flailing dangerously as the weight of what had presumably happened doubled down on you.

"No…no. I'm not your…not your problem." He sniffled into your shoulder, his weak body shaking with every heavy sob erupting from the depths of his lungs.

His croaked out words served yet another fatal hit against your already rapidly crumbling composure. You felt like simply breaking down right here, too, the need for crying and screaming all the pain and guilt out of you growing stronger with every desperate whimper of his that cut right to your bones. However, you forced yourself to keep your shit together, simply had to for Clay right now.

"Issok…", You hummed into the crown of his head, carefully tightening your embrace around his slender shoulders, "You're not a problem or a burden to me. Don't you ever think that, Clay."

Your tender words were only met by a new, reckless wave of breathless cries.

"Help me, please, help me." He whined out, the realization about the reality of his own situation heavy in his voice.

"I will, I promise. You heard that?! I promise!"

[discords-morgan]

"And if I should falter,"

Jounouchi runs from his old man late at night, and takes refuge with the Mutous. He asks a favour from the spirit of the puzzle.

2am fever dream two nights in a row let's go 🎉🎉🎉

We need more Jou angst I stg THERE IS NEVER ENOUGH

Content warning, implied drinking/phys abuse because Jou's dad is a pos amirite <3333

“Thanks for this, Mrs Mutou. Really.”

“You're welcome. Just keep it down after ten o’clock and don't stay up too late. Breakfast is normally at seven,” Mrs Mutou explained, in a stern but kindly tone as she placed the last pillow neatly on top of the blankets in Jounouchi’s arms. He simply nodded. 

“Got it.”

“Good. Yugi will have set up the futon by now, I think, so you can head up. Let me know if you need anything.” 

“Sure thing, ma’am,” Jounouchi gave her a crooked smile (though not his brightest, he’d be the first to admit) and turned to head up the stairs, missing Mrs Mutou’s soft frown. The adrenaline from the run here had begun to wear off, and he was exhausted. Not to mention that Yugi’s mom had calming vibes for days, it was nearly impossible to freak out with her around.

Nearly.

Jou knew how Yugi could get. He’d gotten a lot better, but the odd panic attack still got to him sometimes. Jounouchi wasn't any better, though.

Especially not tonight.

As much as Jounouchi loved hanging out with Yugi and his family (tag-along puzzle spirit included), he absolutely despised having to bother them like this. It was eight o’clock at night. Long past sundown, and definitely past any normal visiting hours. Yet Jounouchi had sprinted all the way here anyway like a stag in the woods, running from a hunter.

A drunk hunter. With a broken beer bottle instead of a rifle.

“Yug’, your mom is a badass,��� Jounouchi sighed, stepping into Yugi’s bedroom and closing the door behind him with his ankle. The futon was laid out, ready for as many blankets and pillows they could fit. Yugi just giggled.

“Yeah, she's pretty cool.”

Jounouchi dumped the stack of pillows and blankets Mrs Mutou had ladened him with onto the squishy futon, and he and Yugi set to work on straightening out the instant mess. Unfolding blankets and fluffing pillows.

“She’d never turn you away, y’know. None of us would,” Yugi looked up from tucking blankets, and Jounouchi regretted meeting his gaze. The biggest, roundest violet eyes stared directly into his soul, using every ounce of puppy-eyes powered persuasion possible. Jounouchi managed to rip his attention away and back to pillows. 

“I know, man. Don't worry about me.”

If Jounouchi was honest, ‘don’t worry' was the worst thing you could ever say to a Mutou, especially Yugi and the spirit. But it was the only thing Jounouchi could bring himself to say.

Yugi hummed quietly and followed suit, continuing to make the small temporary bed. 

A soft shine caught Jounouchi’s eye and he glanced up to Yugi’s desk - the culprit being the golden puzzle, its singular eye staring down at them. If he didn't know any better, he’d think it was watching him with something akin to a wide-eyed caution. Like he was the dangerous one.

But he did know better, and the truth was the spirit was probably watching them from some high up perch on the set of drawers or the bookshelf, rather than in the puzzle. He’d probably be way more obviously tense and worried than Yugi would ever appear, ready to leap to Jounouchi's defence in some crazy game at a moment’s notice.

…then Jounouchi had a thought.

He frowned and shook his head, as if the motion would force the offending thoughts to come trailing out of his ears and far away from him. 

“You okay, Jou?” 

Jounouchi looked up, doing his best to smooth over the sudden frown. Yugi was back to looking so heartbreakingly worried, and Jou was starting to think he might not make it through the night without cracking. His eyes stung, and he forced a small smile. 

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Yugi didn't look convinced.

~

That morning had been fine. The old man had been a bit cranky, but nothing too bad. Jou could handle it. Thankfully he’d had school, so the afternoon was fine too. 

The evening was worse.

The old man had started drinking before he’d even gotten back, and was half-unconscious. Stumbling around the apartment, searching. His car keys (sold), spare cash or coins (not a bit left, except for Jounouchi’s secret stash under the carpet in his wardrobe), or another beer. Something somehow pissed him off, beyond Jounouchi’s comprehension. 

Maybe it was because he’d caught Jou actually attempting to do some homework for once, or the fact that it was Mother’s Day a week ago. Maybe it was just the debt he was yelling about, having grown exponentially in the few days Jounouchi had been gone for the Battle City finals.

It didn't matter. Jounouchi didn't really remember anyway - the smashed beer bottle swinging in his face had made him shut down, run on auto-pilot. He’d gotten away and booked it before he realised what he was doing.

He hadn't had to run that fast in ages. He didn't really have a designated Somewhere™ to go. Honda was visiting his grandparents (of course, what timing), Anzu and Miho were totally off-limits, and Ryou had no idea what his dad was like. So his legs had carried him to Yugi’s place, and Jounouchi didn't really care if it was on purpose or not.

Safest place in town had to be the spot with the only-slightly-crazy, severely overprotective ghost haunting it.

Jounouchi would know. He didn't personally see the guy in action during his more murderous heyday, but he saw the wreckage he left behind when he decided he was bored and done playing.

The spirit only went after those who had done something wrong, though. Those who went down a darker, crueller path, and Jounouchi was sure there was some irony there. Those who specifically wronged Yugi, nine-and-a-half times out of ten. The last remaining half was when someone had wronged them - a teacher that had it out for Anzu, or an older student that sabotaged Miho. 

Though, those generally earned much milder punishments. 

It was dark, now - the lights were off and the only way to see was by the softly glowing stars stuck to the ceiling. Remnants from when Yugi was much younger, probably. Less gothic.

Yugi was asleep, as far as Jounouchi could tell. Curled up tight around pillows and blankets in his bed, startlingly peaceful considering the day-to-day life he lived. 

Jounouchi, meanwhile, wasn't sleepy at all despite his total exhaustion, physical and emotional. He could only stare at the glowing stars on the ceiling, hoping the fluffy blankets and pillows stuffed in around him would eventually smother him and then he would finally know peace.

He could honestly say that he’d prefer to be in a room with just Seto Kaiba than alone with his own thoughts right now. Putting up with Kaiba sounded easy when contrasted with reliving all the shouting and beating and the-

“...hey, spirit? Yami? Are you here right now?” Jounouchi whispered, feeling like the biggest idiot for talking to what was probably an empty room. What did he know, maybe ghosts needed sleep too and he was being insensitive. Was he being an asshole for just calling him ‘spirit’? What if Yami was just Yugi’s name for him and-

Ugh, was this what it felt like for Yugi before he and Anzu took on the roles of Social Protectors™? This was exhausting and so frustrating he could punch something.

Jounouchi just sighed into the night time silence, turning on his side. Who knows, maybe spirits dream of counting ghost sh-

“Jeezus, man, warn a guy next time,” Jounouchi hissed, his heart pounding in his chest from the sudden spook. The dark outline of Yugi that had suddenly swung upright in bed quietly perched on the edge of the mattress, legs crossed. Scarlet eyes glanced away to the side, in what Jounouchi couldn't tell was either a little shame or mild amusement. Probably both, but he had a frustrating poker face.

He’d always appeared a little taller than Yugi - whether it was just how he held himself or some other magic shenanigans, Jounouchi didn't know. Or maybe it was the wild bedhead of his hair when in the thick of a game, too enraptured to really care about how he looked.

That sounded more like him.

“...sorry.” Shame it was, then.

“‘s okay, not your fault,” Jounouchi sat up as well, hugging a plushie scapegoat tight to his chest. It was honestly a little surprising that he’d appeared so quickly, or at all. “Thanks for bein’ here.”

The spirit - Yami - nodded, looking back at Jou. Jounouchi resisted the urge to shudder under his silently observant gaze. He honestly had no idea if he’d ever talked to him one on one before - Yugi was always there, watching and listening in just in case either of them needed back up. He knew Anzu had taken the spirit out for the day once, though. That was when Battle City launched.

“...is Yugi listening?”

“No, he’s still sleeping,” Yami shook his head a little, his voice unnaturally quiet but audible. It was a little weird, Jounouchi really only heard him talk when they were in trouble and they needed his help. His overwhelming confidence and righteous anger was contagious, and that energy was matched in his voice in a way that was almost regal.

He sounded so soft spoken now. Closer to what Yugi or Ryou sounded like - or it was just that he actually sounded like the isolated, amnesiac, slightly-awkward ghost boy he’d turned out to be. Jounouchi could almost forget he was the same ghost boy as the one that had driven several other students insane, and tortured several more in the name of his own brand of justice.

But that was why he wanted to talk to him.

“Is there something wrong? No one has approached the front or back doors, if that's what you're worried about,” Yami added, his pale face naturally settling into his signature focused frown - more concerned than determined. “I would know.”

“Wait, you’ve been watching them the whole time?” Jounouchi asked, eyes wide. Yami nodded, and Jou could only blink at him for the next few seconds, stunned. It made sense, that was probably why Yugi had seemed a little spacey in conversation earlier. He’d been listening out for Yami just in case. 

There was a sharp pang in his chest, and Jounouchi hugged the scapegoat plushie a little tighter. 

“...thanks, man. Really, it means a lot.”

Yami nodded silently. What would he do without these two, really? Well, if he were honest with himself, he’d probably be dead in a ditch somewhere. Either at someone else’s hand, or…

“You didn't answer my question.”

Jounouchi looked up at Yami under blond bangs, like his hair could deflect his concerned stare away from him. Right. He didn't answer his question. He’d been so caught off-guard by what the spirit had been doing that he’d forgotten.

“Right, sorry. Nah, nothin’s wrong, just… thinkin’.”

“Mm. A dangerous game indeed.”

Joey snorted, a smile appearing on his face despite himself. He rocked back a little on his hips, feeling a little lighter. Banter was all in the line of work, but jokes of this calibre? Outside of all the action, late at night with just the two of them? With seemingly no other purpose, other than to make Jou smile just a little? That tugged on his heartstrings. 

“Yeah, it is.” 

Jounouchi thought he saw Yami smirking too.

Then Jounouchi took a deep breath, drawing his knees up to his chest. Both their smiles faded, and the mood of the conversation levelled out again - more pensive, a patient silence.

“Did- Did Yugi ever tell you why my old man is the way he is?” Jounouchi asked, keeping his eyes fixed on one spot in the blankets. There was a tiny little hole in the fleece, probably from the worrying and poking of Tiny Yugi fingers. Threads had started to come loose, and it seemed exactly like something that would bug him.

It took a lot of effort to stay focused on that tiny little spot, instead of on Yami, sitting tense and at attention. Probably sifting through any memories of his own to check, just in case.

“...I know a little, just from watching. Yugi wouldn't want to explain anything without your permission.” 

Jounouchi couldn't tell whether that was some comfort or less comfort. 

He took another deep breath - just like a bandaid.

“Right- long story short, he drinks a lot and he’s got a lot of debt. Gamblin’ and stuff,” Jounouchi explained, trailing off. He couldn't remember the old man without the drinking, or the cards and dice. The chips and roulette counters. 

“After today, I thought… well, I remembered I’ve got cards. Graceful Dice, Roulette Spider, Time Wizard,” Once he started talking, he couldn't stop. He saw the spirit move, but he couldn't bring himself to so much as blink, let alone look him in the eye. “I just started thinkin’, I’m already half-way there. What if I turn into him? An’ start hurting people?”

“Hurting you guys, and Shizuka? Mai?” Jounouchi was vaguely aware he was shaking now - the scapegoat was trembling in his arms. His eyes stung, but he still didn't blink. “I couldn't live with myself, man. I couldn't.”

“Which is why you gotta promise me somethin’, Yami,” He heard the bed creak but it sounded so far away. At the other end of a distant tunnel. Was he still breathing? Yeah, probably. It was fine. He couldn't feel his toes anymore but that was fine too. 

“If I ever go bad - not like I was before you, I mean bad bad - I want you to get rid of me. Penalty game or mind crush me or whatever the thing is that you did to Kaiba, and Ushio, and Hirotani, and whoever else,” Jounouchi finally wrenched his watery stare up from the hole in the blanket, up to where Yami was, now standing above him. Staring at him with an expression Jou had never seen on him before. 

“Please. Promise me.”

It was an odd expression - somewhere between sadness and mild surprise. Disbelief, even. What made it odd was that he was so clearly doing his utmost to maintain a flawless poker face, which meant that if Jounouchi could read that much from this look alone, whatever he was actually feeling was so much bigger.

Total, heartbroken, devastation.

Jounouchi almost regretted saying anything at all, but he needed to know. He needed to know that everyone he cared about so deeply would be safe, even from him. 

The poker face repaired itself, his expression blank and even again, and Jounouchi allowed himself some hope. 

Yami raised his hand slowly, and he fought the deep-seated urge to flinch away as he pressed the heel of his palm to Jounouchi’s forehead, his fingers threaded in his hair. His hand was cold, and it nearly made him shiver. 

A moment later, a soft, gold glow appeared, outlining a symbol on Yami’s forehead. An eye, much like the one on the puzzle hanging around his neck. The light threw the shadows of the room into harsh relief around his face, void of expression. 

Gone was Yugi’s other half, the infinitely worried, slightly awkward ghost boy from earlier. In his place was this, judge, jury, executioner rolled in one. The devil gamer with a chip on his shoulder and traps aplenty.

The sight alone was terrifying. Enough to make Jounouchi’s blood run cold and his lungs fall still.

“I swear it. If one day you do bring harm to those that care for you, I promise I will not hesitate to serve due punishment.”

His words were whispered, but they carried enough weight to feel like a firm oath. Like each breath commanded the darkness to bend to his will.

Brief terror melted into relief, and Jounouchi finally forced himself to exhale.

The golden glow melted away, the darkness receded, and the lamp on the desk flickered to life, though Jounouchi couldn't recall either of them turning it on. Yami knelt in front of him, lowering his hand. Gone the devil gamer, returned the ghost boy. 

“I don't believe your fears will be realised, Jou. There has never been true darkness in your soul, and there never will be,” Yami whispered, and it seemed like he almost wilted in front of him. The poker face was failing again, and this time he didn't try to fix it. 

“You are strong. The love and care you have for your friends and family is second to none. You are safe with them, and they are safe with you.”

Joey sniffed and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his old hoodie, willing himself not to cry more. It was harder to breathe now than earlier, though now it was because of all the feelings and emotions swirling around in his chest, constructing his ribcage. He felt a light hand on his shoulder, and he put his own hand over it. 

“...Jou? How are you feeling?”

Jounouchi could almost crack a smile. Poor guy sounded so nervous. He’d never heard Yami nervous before.

“Better. Thanks, man.” 

Jounouchi finished drying his eyes of the old tears and lowered his arm, just barely managing to stop any new ones from falling. Yami nodded slightly in response, the look on his face so stricken with care that it made Jounouchi’s chest hurt again.

“You should get some sleep, Jou. I'll be here,” Yami began, and Jounouchi let him pull his hand away. He nodded and slumped back against the pillows and plushies on the futon as Yami got up and walked back to bed. He felt lighter, more free. Like he could breath after being stuck underwater. 

The desk light switched off on its own, and Jounouchi thought he could see the dark shape of crossed legs and wild hair on top of the dresser. A soft smile crossed Jou’s face and he snuggled back into the futon, drifting off to sleep at last.

_____________________________________________

This is the product of many posts that settled and made a home in my lil brain space. Jou's situation arguably being the most tragic, his dad's gambling paired with the fact that he uses a Lot of gambling/luck based cards? Jou's already more than willing to throw down, but What If, y'know? Yugi and Yami Care™ for Jou very very much like all their friends, but I think Yami has a soft spot for Jounouchi specifically. They're just lil guys :3c

Also very sorry if I forgor anything it's been so long and I have no idea about tumblr's fic etiquette

[spacexfucker]

I wish I'd had the wherewithal at the time to properly document in real-time the influx of new people into Fandom spaces online during the start of the pandemic.

There's a very interesting set of people who, because they were spending so much time indoors, decided to navigate online spaces for more content of their favorite media. And, in doing so, dipped their toes in the first few inches of Fandom space.

I've seen most of these types of people on tiktok where it's fairly easy to access introductory Fandom content like fan edits and what are essentially AMVs. Because of the nature of those searches, most of the results at first are very surface-level. Nothing too crazy, just screen grabs, scene breakdowns, thirst traps, etc.

But, as is the nature of getting into a tag on tiktok, eventually the algorithm starts pushing you deeper content the more you interact with a tag. And suddenly, you're getting in-depth breakdowns, shipping content, and then, slowly, content that starts slipping away from strict canon.

So these people, who likely didn't necessarily anticipate the depth of Fandom or understand its quirks and layers, are thrown off. You see "discourse" at this level by people who have never been in Fandom before getting really pissy about things like crack ships, aus, or anything that isn't very strictly canon/explicitly said. Purists who don't want to be associated with the other people who have been in Fandom spaces for longer.

Now, this happens all the time even before the pandemic but because of both the pandemic and the popularization of titkok, this particular fan is a much larger part of Fandom. There's a lot of them and new ones every day and none of them know how Fandom works, what the like general rules and etiquette are, and a good chunk are very resistant to critiques on how they interact with fandom spaces.

The biggest culprit are people who, through tiktok, have literally been influenced to find fanfic. But not based on what they actually would like to read, but what they hear that everyone else has read or is reading again. Unfortunately, the fic that has had the most traction and spread on tiktok is Manacled, a Harry Potter fic. Anyone familiar with ao3 can look this up if you don't already know about it. And if you'd read the tags, I'm sure you could piece together why exactly a fresh new Fandom recruit or even just a regular person who happened to enjoy HP years ago would come across something that is being passed around as good and enjoyable and a way to relieve their favorite series may have terrible consequences.

Then there was this frankly huge influx of people who had never read fic before and had no idea how to parse the system of tags on ao3 reading a book about their favorite characters in a very dark, riddled with triggers, extreme AU. A lot of these people were basically following a trend. And most of the videos I saw talk about Manacled did not really do it justice in terms of preparing their audience for exactly what this fic had in it, nor how to properly interact with the Fandom space and ao3.

People were reading Manacled but not paying attention to tags and then making videos basically slandering the author for the story, hate reading it to talk shit and make hate content. But, on the flip side, there are people who loved it and wanted physical copies.

Unfortunately, this is where a singular tiktok comes into play in which a friend videoed gifting her friend a bound copy she'd made herself of Manacled. And like on tumblr, when certain posts get a threshold of interactions, it breaks containment. This caused another small influx of people who had never been introduced to Fandom, let alone fic, to flock to ao3.

At this point, we start getting into you-all-are-going-to-get-sued territory.

A large number of people read Manacled and other, mostly very popular dramoine, fanfiction. An undetermined amount of those people then, after seeing the video of the binding, began searching for ways to purchase a physically bound copy for themselves. For whatever reason, most were not willing to do this themselves, and so this is where the etsy listings came in.

There was a small boom of etsy listings for bound copies of mostly Mancled. In fact, you can still find these up. This, obviously, is both very illegal and very fucking insulting. This is a very big legal issue. In response, at least at the time, several of the bigger, popular fics took down their work from ao3. Which unfortunately didn't do much because in response, people who had downloaded the first prior were sharing those downloads with heartbroken fans.

You'd think that after being told that selling fic is illegal that people would stop. But they don't. If you take a look at one of the etsy listings, some of these are being sold for over 100 dollars. There's been a small push by parts of Fandom that have been around for a while to go to etsy occasionally and mass report these listings, but it's not really stopped anyone yet.

Fic authors have made a ton of requests either on tiktok or through ao3 for people to not do this. But, because most of these people don't know Fandom etiquette or even care about actual law or respecting authors, these requests have been mostly ignored.

Over the years as an author and someone who has also just read a lot of fic, there is a ratio involved in fic metrics. Generally, you can usually expect about 10% of the hits value for kudos and anything from 1% to 5% of the hits value for comments.

Due to the influx of people with no understanding of fic Fandom etiquette, if you look at the metrics for Mancled, it has over 8,300,000 hits. But its kudos and comments do not reflect the usual ratio.

There is even a strange crossover with goodreads where you can literally find reviews for Manacled. Which is honestly probably one of the most interesting things Ive seen. There are actually several dramione fics you can review on goodreads.

I'm still trying to process how some people's first introduction to fic was Manacled. I'm not saying the story isn't good or isn't well written. But, you have to admit it's a very strong first foray into fanfiction.

All of this to say, when you run into someone starting fights in Fandom space about canon or shipping, I'd say there's a good chance that you're interacting with someone fresh into the space who's entire online experience has likely just been Facebook and fan edits on tiktok. Metaphorically, a group of people who only have ever used salt and pepper on tv dinners arguing about your wine pairings, seasonings, and why you deviated from Marie Callender's fettuccine Alfredo recipe.

As a disclaimer, not all new additions to Fandom are bad. It's great to grow. It is interesting to see how a lot of antis come into the space, though.

[imanopossum]

maybe people are just blocking you because you're spamming the henry tag with irrelevent drama? tumblr isn't like twitter or tiktok. no one really cares about that kind of stuff here. most of us just find it bothersome. we tend to adhere to "don't like, don't read" or "block and move on" or "fiction ≠reality". I can see why that might not be intuitive to a newly-adult teenage fan, given how twitter and tiktok work, but we really do like the rules from the golden era of fandom around here.

anyway yeah. people will absolutely enjoy your content until you become more bothersome than it's worth. that's kind of how tumblr works. most of us are over 20 years old, and a good portion are out of college and have a full time job. we just want to see posts about our faves, not a tag full of wank and beef over a non-issue. it kills the mood. none of us want to come home after an 8 hour shift to a tag full of needless negativity. it's just tiring, aggravating, and yes, annoying.

the vibe in the henry tag was really chill before you started picking fights and clogging the tags with posts mocking people for blocking you.

if anyone's bitching about you, they're not doing it in the tag, thank god. i don't think i could handle two people beefing in the tag incessantly.

ok tagging i can understand, and yeah i did just get tumblr. so you’re right about that, i don’t hesitate to agree when you have a valid point. but fiction≠reality isn’t entirely true, it can still affect people in real life.

the issue is if if it was one person, yeah just block and move on. but somehow, the entire henry tag is littered with content of an extremely problematic ship which somehow people don’t understand is problematic. so now i have no choice but to either leave the fandom entirely, which would suck because this is such a niche fandom and i wish i could interact with normal people who enjoy what i enjoy, or call out how weird this ship is. and yeah, when i get on tumblr i want to see good silly posts about my favorite characters too. i don’t want to see his abuse be romanticized all lana del rey core. i don’t want to see everybody calling henry brenner’s malewife after everything brenner has done to him. and vastly incorrect interpretations of characters who get hate for no reason other than that (when the fuck did patty sexually abuse henry? did we see the same goddamn play? did you not see how her saying she loved him snapped him out of mind flayer control and he said he loved her back? i’m genuinely so confused and bewildered by that.)(also, i don’t really care if people headcanon henry as gay, but EVERYONE is so gung ho about it and treat it like it’s fact when it’s not, it’s an opinion, and that’s fine but if someone has the audacity to say he’s not they get attacked and get called homophobic, and that’s not a reason to hate patty.), yet any time i log onto the tag i see that and can’t avoid it. and i’m sick of it

and how am i the one picking fights when all i did was one singular vague post and then certain people have been incessantly posting about me and victimizing themselves and invalidating other peoples traumas ever since

(also if you assume a vague post is about you, and say you were waiting for people to criticize a certain fic you’re writing, maybe that’s a sign you shouldn’t be writing it and know you’re the problem?)

[inscrutable-shadow]

WIP Intro: An Umbral Arena

An Umbral Arena by Coy Chambers

part of the ieiunusverse series

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Sci-fi, New Adult, LGBTQ+, Whump

Estimated Length: 50-70k

Features: Lady Whump, Vampires, Lesbians, Vampire Lesbians, Thanatos is a Wife Guy, Rhys is Wondering Why He is Even Here, The Author is Aware Avrae is a Mary Sue, Homosexual Pining, Stoic Whumpees, Rival Teams, Environmental Whump, Team Combat, Field Medicine

Posting: On Tumblr and AO3! Not going to commit to a schedule because it's me, but hoping to have at least one chapter out a month! (my chapters can be between 4k and 10k so it'll be worth the wait I swear)

Summary:

Avrae's always been a soldier. She is now very firmly retired, of course, content to casually hunt petty criminals and read gothic literature, but when the closest person she has to an "old friend" knocks at her door, does she really have a choice but to drop everything and risk her life in an intergalactic blood-sporting competition she will almost certainly fail to return from? Of course not. The Umbral Arena is designed to break you down until you can't pick yourself up again, but the biggest challenge will be managing a collection of vampires who unequivocally hate each other and keep them working as a unit until it's complete. There really is no rest for the wicked.

Cast:

Avrae Tenebrus - (she/they genderfluid bi lesbian) - two thousand years old and about tired of your bullshit, a mall goth/punk who values getting a job done and having fun while you're doing it (and if you can't, getting it over with as quickly as possible)

Beatrice Nocta - (she/her cis demiromantic lesbian who doesn't know it yet) - six thousand years old and has spent five thousand of those in administration, a victorian goth who values stoicism and practicality, sponsor of the Arena team

Thanatos Iuventus - (he/him cis? homoromantic bisexual) - four thousand years old and not intending on cutting that short any time soon, a dark academic who'd much rather be writing a philosophy treatise than anything involving being stabbed or shot at, dedicated Wife Guy whose husband is the manifestation of Reality itself so write that down, have you seen aer? look this is my husband isn't ae beautiful?

Rhys Velancier - (he/him cis bisexual) - a fresh-faced five hundred year old on the field trip of a lifetime, happy to be anywhere he gets to slash open arteries with his scythe

Emsy O'Connor - (they/them) - the twenty-nine year old empty-shell reader insert from the original ieiunus has a bit more personality than a reader insert should really have, an aspiring novelist working as a barista who sucks in any and all supernatural-related knowledge

World Eater Less - (it/its) - a sentient singularity orphaned at a young (for a singularity) age, fond of Rhys and consuming new objects to understand them

The Archfey, Reality - (ae/aer) - the manifestation of Reality itself/one of the Twin Divines, Thanatos' partner and host for Emsy and Less during the events of the Arena

and more....

Excerpt:

"What do you need so badly that you'd give me a transwarp and a second hunting planet to get it for you?" Beatrice takes a sip of Blanc, steadying herself. She'd probably rather be anywhere but here begging Avrae for help. Av doesn't talk about other vampires much, but from what I can tell, they kind of hate each other by nature. "My house is dying." ... "You need the prize… Bea, it could kill you." "Yes. It could." "We'd probably be destroyed before we ever got that far." "It's possible." "You're sure about this? This isn't something you can back out from." "I am aware of the risks. I have offered sufficient compensation for the assumption that you are also aware of them." ... "I'll do it. Not for the hunting planet, obviously. For you."

Tag List:

@albatris, @robinbugbanned, @painful-pooch, @milkshakes-lust-and-chiral-dust, @thethistlegirl

Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

[artvmisia]

TAG GAME

GET TO KNOW ME :) or don't lmao

I was tagged by @lovememadly92, thank you for the tag!

NAME:

I prefer not to use my real name on the internet, so you can abbreviate my url and call me artemis.

PRONOUNS:

She/her

STAR SIGN:

I'm a Libra and I love having my birthday during spooky season.

FANDOMS:

I have a lot of interests but would only say I'm a true fan of certain series. When it comes to TV/movies, my current obsession is with The Boys in the Boat, I also enjoy Band of Brothers a lot (I had a whole BoB sideblog for 6 months in 2013). I watch the Lord of the Rings Extended Editions at least once a year. I have really enjoyed House of the Dragon (I'm a big fan of the ASoIaF books and read Fire and Blood), The Queen's Gambit, The Mandalorian, Andor, and A Series of Unfortunate Events (major childhood favorite), to list some shows from recent years. My favorite movies of all time are both Wes Anderson movies: Fantastic Mr. Fox and The Grand Budapest Hotel.

I'm also a gamer, and Kingdom Hearts, The Legend of Zelda, and Fire Emblem are among my top favorites.

FAVOURITE COLOUR:

Pastel pink, and black.

FAVOURITE SONG:

I don't have a singular favorite song (does anybody?), but I do have ones that always put me in a good mood: Baby Good Night by B1A4 (kpop) and Bitter Song to Sugar Step by Unison Square Garden (jpop)

FAVOURITE AUTHOR (OF ANYTHING READABLE - BOOKS, FANFICS, ZINES, WEBTOONS, WHATEVER!):

I don't really have a favorite author these days but if I had to answer, Lemony Snicket/Daniel Handler is the one whose writing style I admire the most and has continued to influence my artistry from childhood on.

FAVOURITE FIC TYPE:

Mutual pining? One-sided is also good although I don't read many fics.

FAVOURITE HOLIDAY:

Halloween and Christmas.

HOBBIES:

Gaming, reading, occasionally making art. I call myself a writer but haven't written anything in over a year so I need to get on that.

FUN FACTS ABOUT ME:

I've technically been on tumblr since 2011/2012, but after around 2016 I gave up my original blog and jumped around a few others. Back to multifandom/personal blogging now and hoping it'll stick.

I was never a tumblr content creator until now, the first and last time I made a gif was in 2013. Boys in the Boat fandom, you're welcome.

Non-fandom interests of mine: ornithology, historical costuming, Victorian/Gilded Age/Edwardian social history

Tagging my bitb mutuals, @foxhollow18, @sidraofthewildflowers, @dustyjumpwjngs, @gnfard, @xxluckystrike

[truckfreaks]

Something I feel like people are actively ignoring is that the creator didn't even say "u can't do that!" ... All they asked was that people hold off on posting it in tags until he gets a wrangle on the situation. That also isn't carte blanche to do whatever you want. But... Nobody's saying "don't do it" or "you cant". However, you also need to recognize that this is this singular person's livelihood, and often times that can be somewhat detrimental to one's personal and professional opportunities... and safety. Really all anyone is asking is that you slow down for a second and/or at least just keep it to a private 18+ disc or something, FOR NOW, until some kind of nsfw tag is defined.

And nsfw doesn't just mean sexual content, so the argument of purity culture here is not entirely valid in my opinion. Nsfw also is in regards to horror elements, of which we still don't have a clear definition of within the universe of Welcome Home. So if you're going to create content for something the creator goes out of their way to try to tag and make blockable for people who are uncomfortable with certain triggers, you should also be mindfully tagging and/or including content warnings for those items as well. At the end of the day yes, we all curate our own online experiences, but a fandom isn't going to suffer horribly if people just take an extra step or two to make it a safer place for everyone involved - as in, the people who want to see and create that content, and the people who do not. Like, the creator is (again) not asking you not to do something, but just that you are mindful and respectful of *all* the members of your community. Because that's how a good community grows.

Ultimately we can't curate our experience if things aren't being properly tagged or proper warnings aren't being disclosed. So it isn't fair to put the onus on either side - "do" or "do not" participate, that is - and the only thing that really makes an iota of sense is slowing down until the fervor blows over and, additionally, being mindful of how the elements of your content might affect others. And part of that is recognizing that right now, the fandom is insanely huge and confusing and sprawling and messy - which is okay, it's new, it's exciting, whatever. I get it. I've seen this happen over and over and over. But you also gotta respect that the creator of the content that you're policing in either direction is just one person, and was not even informed ahead of time that his content would be posted on a massive YouTube channel. Please take a moment to empathize with how scary, confusing, and overwhelming that must feel.

In short - give each other more grace. Stop slinging insults at each other that this one is a puritan or that one is unsafe. Stop getting mad at someone for trying to get a hold on their feelings and ensuring their safety (and by extension, the safety of their fans) after amassing a following literally overnight. I understand it is hard sometimes when you are very excited about something, but a group of tens of thousands of people brought together by the same interest are bound to be full of many different kinds of folks! And there's gonna be disagreements! But if we work together to be respectful of one another, we can move forward in a way that allows all of us to curate our experience within the context of our shared interest.

I don't speak for anyone else, only myself, but I think this is what makes the most sense moving forward and I hope other people agree. I love Welcome Home very much, just like everyone else here, and I think the fandom is more viable if we work towards helping one another rather than getting angry and misconstruing things.

[ouran101]

hq!! ctt [log 2]

log one | you are here | three

Tools: a [p]hysical 3DS with homebrew/CFW = to get the game files (I have no idea if you can do this on emulator.) the game [p] = I have a physical game. Amazing. GodMode9 = to extract the game files off of the cartridge microSD card reader [p] = yeah my 3DS has a small card so i need one for my computer QuickBMS = to get rid of the "ustarc/ustcomp" prefix on the ARC files two decompression files = found on GBATemp, this actually lets me access the data in the ARC file Karameru (within Kuriimu) = reads and imports/extracts the (S)ARC file Kukkii (within Kuriimu) = reads and imports/extracts the BFLIM file

Step 5.5: oh god the "script" folder

romfs/test/script has DAT files... and more folders.

/companion has INCS files... and a TXT file at the end with a "file_list" of all the INCS files, so I assume that acts as a checker.

All of the folders have the same format of being all INCS files except for a singular TXT file.

The folders are (companion,) epilogue, event, last, normal, story, system, and test.

Judging by the folder names, this seems to be where the actual content is. Speaking of text...

Step 6: I can't use scans text for this can i

Okay, to preface this, I have a file from a long time ago. There are two important points to make. First, this game doesn't use their own in-game keyboard, it uses the 3DS system's keyboard.

Second, because the 3DS is region locked, you only get keyboards in your region. I have an NA 3DS because why wouldn't i living in NA

The first two search results really just said "get a Japanese 3DS," huh. You don't actually want to change the region of your 3DS--even with homebrew--because that has a lot of problems involved.

Thankfully, result three is the coolest option with "3DS-custom-keyboard." There is a warning to not uninstall CFW, but who would do that in this day and age

Although, all this might be unnecessary.

Going back to the "I have an old save file" point, the game does take English characters. My character's name is "Shujin," because that's close enough to the JPN word for protagonist lol

From what I know of the DS days of JPN>ENG fan translations, it's kinda stupid hard to use custom font in the text box. If you look at the TMGS3/Tenipuri translation by jjjewel, there's a section of text that's probably like two letters squished to make something like "Ki" and "Li." The size of the text needs to be able to fit in the box.

(Side note: Their website is down, and I think it's because Google Sites made some kind of change. I honestly don't know if they'll ever come back to restore it tbh)

Um. The point is, HQ!!CTT has English characters in it already, so it shouldn't be really necessary for a keyboard change. The real problem is you only have 6 letters to use for a name.

And the really real problem is I need to see how big the EN text is in relation to the JPN text.

Step 6.5: gaming

So, the intro of this game is that Momijihara High School was once a powerhouse like Karasuno. With the third years retiring, you are left all alone.

Your club advisor gets a call from Takeda--the Fukurodani Group is coming to Miyagi, so Karasuno is also inviting other nearby schools to practice match. You're only one person, but...

For now, you head to Karasuno.. Even if they say no, you can see how they play. Turns out, Nekoma's come early so they're doing a practice match.

Hinata, hearing your story, knows. Volleyball is played with 6 people on the court. They'll have to discuss with the other schools, and you won't be able to participate in every practice, but it's basically agreed that you can join in.

oh god they haven't said my name once, which is sad because i've decided to name him "Haikyu" this time around

So far with the name tag on the top screen text box, it looks like one hiragana = one letter. Which is... bad. It makes sense if "Hinata Shoyo" is equivalent to "Haikyu." lol

(3DS Screenshot tool is built into Luma, but there is a top/bottom screen merger tool. Originally made here, and improved here.)

Anyways, with Fukurodani's sudden arrival, it's decided that Karasuno will just have a practice match, with you joining their player mix.

BABYSITTER TANAKA I AM SO SORRY LOLOLOLOL

OH okay i get it

At the beginning of the match, you flip a coin to see if you serve first. If you get volleyball, that's heads and you serve. If you get the word "volleyball," that's tails and you receive.

[on defense] So you press X to see the current rotation. At the beginning of the rally, they will note a dangerous player. (In this case, Asahi because of his spikes duh)

When you receive the ball, you have to hit Y, B, or A to give it to the setter. The same thing happens when setting to the spiker. Oh my god, you have to choose a receiver to target? I'm so sorry ennoshita

[on offense] Okay, now I have to serve, great. Also, Daichi is the dangerous player now because of his receives ofc. In this case, you can choose a type of serve to do. Tanaka only has an Overhead Serve, but I assume Yamaguchi would have the Jump Floater. I type these with capitals like they're special moves.

damn i made suga receive so that he couldn't toss to asahi but kinoshita got it up

oh shit i got yamaguchi to block it, but I wasn't fast enough to make Tanaka react to the receive. The crosshair moves faster depending on the ball, which, okay, yeah, that makes sense (resets game)

oh i was on offense and then I made Suga receive it again, Narita set this time--OH NO ASAHI FREE--thanks for receiving kageyama but who will toss--ME ME I'LL DO IT--i fucked it up (turns power off)

listen, I said i'd take it, and then i fucked up the toss. like, kageyama's thing--my bias's thing. i made an absolute dogshit cake. do not come to the castle.

btw there isn't a soft reset like Pokemon in this game, so you're probably better off playing the whole match and learning reaction timing, then reloading the save and trying again.

this game is so inaccurate. hinata could never get a service ace on suga /hj

There is straight up "Bad/Fail" when you miss the button press, "Good" for... good, and then "Just" for perfect timing.

When you get perfect timing, you fill up the Tension meter. Then while the ball is being passed to the next person, you can then use X to use a skill by using Tension.

Skills are dependent on certain things. (e.g. Kageyama was in the front row, but Hinata was in the back, so I couldn't make them do the broad attack. But Kageyama could do the dump/two-attack.)

(e.g. obviously, Tsukishima cannot block if he's in the back row.)

Step 7: stop gaming. text.

(obligatory eating break)

Okay, so I've gotten to the point where you go out with a character to a location, so uh, I'll just assume they never say my name. RIP my protagonist Haikyu-kun

(I think it's because a lot of lines in this game are voiced. That's why I got this game in the first place)

(But if Oikawa comes over and calls me Haikyu-chan I will laugh and cry)

Okay, I'm going to go into the romfs/main/name_entry folder because it gives you a preview of your name on the top screen.

So theoretically, there should be some kind of file that has all the text somewhere. My second guess is the romfs/main/common folder because that has stuff like "chara_data" and the potential cash money file: "hiq2_text."

Side note, that abbreviation is so cute. hiq.

This time, I'm going to try using Karameru. First, I need to open it up in Notepad/++. It has a prefix of ustcomp.

Now I can use QuickBMS to get rid of the right prefix. With the new (S)ARC file, I can now use Karameru to see what's inside... and there's a font folder!

The font folder has a file ending of BFFNT though...

If I think about it, if we ignore the "BF" part of the file name, I've gotten "lyt" = layout, "lim" = ???, and now "fnt" = font.

the common folder also has just a plain BFFNT file too. I probably have to find something that'll open this file. I'll try it in Kukkii first.

wait why does this v1.0.15 release say upgrade to version 2

OH there's the GBATemp thread i was looking for!!!!!

(holds head in hands) why have a link to your new thing that just leads to github...

it's me. it's my problem because i don't code.

(holds head in hands) this one only doesn't work for 3DS...

Fine. Let's go. The literal first result. "3dsfont."

ugh none of these are working!!!!!!

okay maybe it was my fault because of my search of "3ds bffnt to ttf." You don't actually want it as a TTF file because it's like normal strokes VS vector lines in a drawing program. You'll want to convert one of the BFFNT tiles (that contains a letter) into a PNG or something, edit, and then put it back.

(but i will also have to replace text that's hard-baked into graphics which is why i wanted TTF in the first place)

There is also something that usually comes up alongside this search called a BCFNT file. It scares me.

i need a moment

Step 7.5: contemplate life but also think about the goal.

What do I need to do? Or rather, what in the game needs translation?

Tutorials. But thankfully, the tutorials are all graphics as a BFLIM file. This is exportable with Kukkii, and then I can edit it in (an old version of) Photoshop to keep transparency on them.

Locations. Not like, super important, but the names. Descriptions less so. I think these are also graphics.

Player Profiles. You have to make a team of +5 others to make a cool team at the end of the two week practice period. It would be good to know the strength/weaknesses of the players.

Skills. How else will you know when to use them? This is broken down into a lot of things, like name and description, so I suspect that this'll be some kind of text file.

Options. It's not major, but there are little things like "how many points do you want each set to end on?" And you can choose 6 (default) or 25 (irl). I think these are at least graphics, so it's not hard.

Story. lol yeah, you know, the main part of the game

Okay, then let's move onto another question. Why are we looking so hard for the font? Why not relax and edit some PNGs?

I'd like to keep things looking consistent with the graphics, because they're all this sharp, blocky text.

I could bullshit the general text because it looks like, you know, "generic Japanese video game text." But I'd still need to come back at some point.

Step 8: back to work.

It's time to finally download Python. I'm finally going to try out 3dskit by Tyulis.

OH I SEE they say Python 3.5+ because they probably coded it in 3.5, so that's the lowest version number you can use. ...what do you mean we're onto v3.12.4

python why didn't you tell me there was a packaged version on the Microsoft store before i installed the thing that looked like a command prompt

...microsoft store, your preview picture just looks like a command prompt.

Okay, never mind. Let's stick with the website. ...I think I'm doing something wrong--ohhhhh!!!

You can open up Python as-is, or you can open something called "IDLE Python" which is the version with the gui/the thing that makes it look like a program.

...oh god how do i feed the code (aka the instructions) into Python (aka the machine)

Okay on 3dskit, it also says I need NumPy and Pillow. But also to install these to... I guess, work with Python like how you give an internet browser add-ons... you need something called "pip"? oh god i don't code

Honestly, at this rate, I might try downloading Github Desktop...

I get tired of looking at this BFFNT file and open up all the other BFLIM files in Kukkii. And, yeah, they're what I thought they were.

very much a "These require you to extract the game font to replace the font in the box."

Out of desperation, I go to the romfs/main/common folder and open up hiq2_text.bffnt instead.

o-oh my god, there it is!!!!!!!!!

(Sorry the background is so hideous, I needed a better way to see the white font.)

Okay, so as I suspected, all of these characters are kinda sized to match each other. If 繋ぐ is technically "(to) connect," i can't fit all those letters

Important. In the bottom left corner, there are katakana that are half-sized.

Also in the common folder is a file called hiq2_name.bfflim, which is where that blocky font I wanted was. Yes!

...uh now what

Well, if you look at "Haikyu"'s name, the spacing between the letter i is actually close together rather than pixel separated.

If anything, I need to find a way to access the prologue text, so I can fuck around to find out.

Step 9: please be a hex editor, i know that shit more than python

I suspect the actual story and dialogues are is in romfs/test/script. But I have no clue what this INCS file is.

...Apparently, no one else does either.

In a perfect world, I could open something in Kuriimu and I could use it as a text editor. There is always the possibility, but first, I'll have to get rid of the ustcomp/ustarc prefix header at the beginning of all the files.

I think it's time I restored that FE11/12 hack documentation folder. Because I know there were files that could go in a hex editor... but I wanna know what tipped me off.

Step 9 continues tomorrow. Or on Friday. I'm eating dinner now, and then I have work. Hurray for irl responsibilities!!!

[rawrroarart]

Hi everyone, semi-important update regarding this blog and why I don't post as often. I say semi because if you're just a casual looker of my blog, you can disregard this because nothing in my blog will change and I'll still be here.

But for the rest of you interested in reading more, I do have a lil potential treat at the end of this post, but it's a little long-winded to get to that point since I'm going to vent a little about my art. Though whether you read my ramble or not, you are free to claim the treat at the end (it's only a potential treat because it's based on if you even like it LOL). I'll be posting in the LWA tag, as I pretty much am a LWA blog, but I do apologize for clogging the place with something a bit unrelated, and this should be the last time I do it

Anyway if you're still reading let's get to it:

So obviously I've been dead in my blog and I hardly, if ever, post art. Now I guess it's normal to see something like this for blogs, as life gets in the way for most people and things just start to faze out. Circle of life or whatever. But truth to be told, I am still very much interested in drawing often, and as of late my life isn't even currently "in the way" that would prevent me from doing so. So why aren't I posting more frequently or even drawing at all if even on my own?

Drawing isn't fun.

That's really misleading, but let me clarify: I have too high of an expectation for myself, and with so many people watching, I get overwhelmed and even nauseous really about not churning out my absolute best All the Time. My situation obviously isn't unique or special or anything, and is of absolute no fault to you or anyone else following me. And I know, of course, no one is telling me to always churn out 100%, but it's the fear inside me to not disappoint even one of you, and I try to be a perfectionist and people-please all at once. Trying to draw like this isn't fun.

Aside from that, I also have huge issues regarding "spamming" people with my posts. This is a honestly stupid issue because no one is forced to follow me, and I know people are here because they want to be here, but I just can't help but feel bad when I post too frequently, especially combined with content that's subpar. Even this post alone I feel guilty about, since no one really "signed up" for a whole rant about inadequacy, but I figured it would be good for me especially for what treat I mentioned earlier.

These two issues together make up part of the whole sha-bang of my standstill. I get stressed if my content isn't up to standard and I get stressed if I post too often. So I just do nothing. And the more I do nothing the more stressed I get about having to be even better than the last time I've drawn, because it's obviously been so long that I must have improved on my own! (I haven't)

Anyway what does that bring us to? What is my attempt of a solution? Something obviously needs to happen to fix this, and I just want to have fun creating content again. So here's the "treat" that I mentioned earlier: I have a new art blog or should I say a doodle/scrap blog, and you are free to join me on my new journey.

How is this different from my current art blog, you ask? Well for one thing, it's going to be mainly for doodles, blurbs, anything I want really. The real kicker is that I also won't be tagging my posts (maybe occasionally if it's funny enough), so they shouldn't reach a bigger audience and spam the designated tags they would be in (like LWA). I can also more appropriately convince myself that, if you followed me, you especially are consenting to a bunch of posts (if I even post that much ha), and I'll also hold a soft spot for you LOL

You also don't have to follow me, as I'm sure a lot of my doodles will make their way to my art blog here, but in the form of one singular post labeled "doodle dump" or something. So no ones really "missing out" on anything. Following the new blog just gives you first access to whatevers going on with me

Note: I will still be posting art I put a lot of effort into on this blog!!

Of course this is all experimental, and it could all just go to shit, but I want to try to do something to get out of my slump. And before you ask "why can't you just draw without posting," it's because I thrive on validation also which is also why I get put in a standstill LOL. So yes please follow me if you'd like, I would be happy.

On another note, I'm also planning to purchase an ipad to actually have a better way of drawing, as my current digital art set up is really janky, laggy, and off-putting that it makes me not want to try either. But apple's art app looks so nice and seems perfect for me. I've set up my kofi to accept donations with a milestone if you wanted to lend a helping hand. It should be linked in my bio!

Anyway yea thanks for reading this far and supporting me. I'll do my best to keep producing content and improve my skills.

Tl;dr If you're here for the "treat," I have a new doodle blog but you consent to no thoughts head empty if you follow it. I'm also looking to buy an ipad sometime.