#this is certainly one of the self-indulgent things i've made

[itsdefinitely]

YES ABSOLUTELY GIVE HIM BRAIDS MY EVIL DEMON SON DESERVES ALL THE PRETTY

wgats this

[xamag-draws]

BBR thoughts 2024

Since I mentioned that I finally dusted off an old project of mine and was ruminating on how I'd remake it, I thought I'd elaborate a little, now that I've solidified some concepts. For funsies

This is gonna be a bit of a long and unfocused one, but I don't share my personal thoughts here often, especially the stuff about my projects I always marinate in. And for once it's something that people have existing context for, so hey why not

So for anyone who hasn't been following me for a gajillion years, The Black Brick Road of OZ was a webcomic that I posted around 2013-2015, back when I was in highschool going on college (which is kinda crazy to think about). It was sort of a darker twist on The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, although I definitely leaned a lot more into dark humor more than anything in those first few chapters

I don't think it's available to read anywhere anymore, and I know people have been asking me about it. So here's the full proper archive of BBR, as full as it can be with deceased Flash

I totally used it as an excuse to shamelessly and self-indulgently experiment. It had interactive pages and GIFs and was wayyy too overproduced for what I could handle or what was necessary, but I did have great fun making it while it lasted

Unfortunately, that excess and the fact that I've changed too much as a person by the time I was in college is what ultimately killed it. The direction I wanted to go in was practically unrecognizable from the original idea started back in 2011, so there were many old hold-ups that I felt ruined it

At the time I kinda wished I could start/rewrite it all over, but considering that I pretty much had the entire script done at that point, it felt like a pointless sisyphean task. So I just put it on a shelf and didn't look back for about 8 years, because I didn't know what else to do

Now to be fair, the nature of my art has always been iterative and cyclical; when I feel like my creative juices have run dry I prefer to leave a project to marinate and move on to something else; cycle through other old things and bring in new skills and perspectives into the mix when I'm ready again. Not very productive, but it is what makes me happy to work on my OCs; I'm doomed to hit a wall with them eventually and I need some time to be able to find a new direction

So that said, I'm glad that BBR was left to marinate for that long. I don't think I was prepared, emotionally or intellectually, to tackle it again until now. The Wizard of Oz book (and the entire series of them, really) has always been near and dear to my heart, but there's a lot of context around it that I'm only unpacking now that I'm older

I think I always inherently feel negatively about the stuff I've made in the past, like its faults always jump out to me more than the positives, especially the more time passes. I've never liked that, and I do really appreciate the kind things people have to say about BBR to this day. The fact that it still can be recognized and remembered is very sweet

When I left it, I already found it "kinda cringe", and that feeling only deepened with years. When I took my first look back at it, asking the question "how would I rewrite it now?", at first I took a very cynical approach, as in "everything would have to be torn down"

But the more I sat on it, the more I found that I still see some merit and charm in the ideas I was putting out; I just didn't know how to execute them at the time (not to pretend that I know what I'm doing now, but I certainly know more at least). Turns out a lot of my old concepts could be changed substantially with just a few small tweaks. So I'd say that's a nicer way to think about my previous work

If you haven't seen yet, I posted a first draft of my new designs for some of the characters (the main group, the Goods and the Wickeds). Definitely subject to change, but more or less how I see them now

I'm just playing with these concepts; by no means would I attempt to remake BBR right this moment. Call it a pipe dream among my other ones. But just for fun, this is the direction I'd like to take:

Nowadays I'd probably make it a visual novel, with more emphasis on the visual part than the novel because I'm no English prose writer by any means. It'd still let me play a little with the interactivity while helping cut some corners on the drawing part (only some, I imagine I'd go hog wild anyway)

I've always intended for some events inspired by the sequel books to take place in BBR's past. Stuff like Jinjur's revolt or Ozma's rule preceeds the main events here. So I think it would be fun to follow the past of a few key characters alongside the main story. One chapter focusing on the present quest to see the Wizard, then one focusing on the past events (that are maybe reflective thematically); rinse and repeat

I'm also sticking a little closer to the original text in some regards. Not everything that I enjoy from the books would be translated here, it's still just a very loose fantasy on the material; but I'd like to be closer in spirit at least

I like mature, wise and powerful Glinda, I like kind and vulnerable Tin Man, I like the Wizard being a pathetic yet loveable liar, so I'm sprinkling in more of that for example

I'd like to keep some whimsy, but make it more grounded and a bit more serious to be coherent in tone. I think the original TWWOOZ book was a more realistic fantasy in some ways, even for the standards of the time; I like its simple but vivid tactile descriptions and details like bringing attention that Dorothy needed to eat and sleep

I find it funny that Baum specifically was averse to making his books scary or unpleasant, finding that unnecessary for telling a compelling kids story, but they still can get pretty dark and disturbing, at least for our modern sensibilities. Let's just say that I intend to use the Evoldo and Chopfyt storylines for my purposes. In that way, I feel like a "darker" Wizard of Oz retelling can still mostly be tonally in line with the original and balance it with enough heart and occasional humor

I slowly grew to appreciate the quaint old-timey quality of the original series, as well. The first book is both timeless and very much a product of the 1900s. Originally I tried to give it a little modern or at least anachronistic spin, but it was moreso because it's what I knew best, so these days I'd rather intentionally lean into the time period. Still not fully historically accurate by any means, but at least directly acknowledging the influence

The events of the story span across 40 years of these characters' lives, so I'm drawing inspiration from the entire so-called La Belle Epoque: the time period around 1880s-1920s. Basically I'm cooking, and my soup is old Victorian fashion morphing into Edwardian fashion and slowly inching towards flappers

Some new Dolly outfits

Lots of crazy things, political changes and innovations were happening at the turn of the century, which I think is noted and reflected by Baum in the books as well; the character of Tik-Tok might not blow any minds now, but he was one of the first robot characters in literature at that point; and don't even get me started on Jinjur, etc. Plenty of really interesting stuff one could lightly ponder in an Oz adaptation these days

Aesthetically, art nouveau has always been a big artistic influence for me, and it'd definitely be its time to shine here. John R. Neill's illustrations of the Oz books often keep me company as well. Nouveau architecture in particular fits that fairytale whimsy extremely well imo

I'd allow myself a little bit of art deco here and there, but ultimately its intimidating geometrical splendor is an antithetical to the flowery nature of nouveau and I associate it with a completely different era. Definitely fitting some characters like my Wicked Witch of the West, but shouldn't be overused

One of my main problems with the original BBR was that eventually I lost track of what it was even about; and the original ending felt too mean and unfulfilling to be worth it. Now I'd like to stick to the theme of home and family as my main theme, but in a different, more bittersweet way than in the book

An interesting connection I made is that a lot of my aforementioned older key characters (the Witches, Jinjur, the Nome King, etc) all came from the same reformatory as kids, that's how they know each other. In my recent research I learned that in those reformatories it was usually frowned upon to release the children back to the families, which were seen as the original corrupting influence regardless of the circumstance. The reformatory did everything in its power to cut that connection and make itself the only family those wayward kids were supposed to know and love. That's an unexpected tie into the theme of home that I'd like to explore as well

So yeah that's the current state of it. I have a bunch of outfit concepts I'm slowly cooking, although I'm now sure whether I'd post them... But I do miss these funny guys, and I'm glad some people still do as well :)

[hells-wasabii]

A/N: So Side Order is fun, but I've been reminded that I totally suck at skill based games. But yeah! This was absolutely written for my own self-indulgence. Nothing more to say, really. Not that often where i write the reader taking the lead, but eh Anywho, enjoy, or don't, up to you

Character: Velvette

Type: Fic (Velvette x fem!reader, Fluff, Spice)

Warning: This isn't fully NSFW, but it is spicy, so I'm still gonna put it below a cut!

An early morning ambiance filled the kitchen. The sound of the coffee machine brewing a fresh pot for the two of you just feet away. There was a nice little drone of music from the speaker on the counter, some softer song that you couldn’t remember the name of at the moment. But honestly, who could blame you? Right now, however, your mind is far more focused on more important things.

You were like putty in her hands, she knew it, you knew it, and you both knew the other knew it too. But there was no denying the fact that she was also putty in yours.

The kisses had started as nice and slow as the morning itself had. You were perfectly content taking your time there in the kitchen. The overlord’s lips were honestly like a drug. You really couldn’t get enough. Plump and soft, and all yours too. 

Only, much to your dismay, Velvette began to pull away. You hoped the little displeased sound you made was enough to convey said disappointment.

“Babe,” You offer a hum in response, chasing after her lips, trying for just one more kiss as she pulls away. Your eyes flutter open, finding the influencer staring back, eyes half-lidded and clouded with lust. Oh. You could practically feel the heat pooling in your belly at the sight. 

“Fuck, Imma need you to kiss me like you mean it.” Velvette all but growled out, she really did have a habit of being impatient, didn’t she? Oh, but when the tables were turned, the overlord had no issue with dragging things out if only for the hell of it. You start to open your mouth to throw back a retort, but the influencer is quick to shut that down.

She yanks you closer by the collar of your shirt, a gasp leaving your lips before she reclaims them in a fervent kiss. You were quick to return the kiss in kind. Teeth clanking together did little to deter either of you.

And suddenly there’s a hand slipping beneath your shirt, trailing up your side. Fuck, the way the overlord dragged blunted nails up your ribs, her hand purposefully brushing the swell of your breast before making its way back down. You couldn’t help but gasp, giving the overlord ample opportunity to slip her tongue in, more than happy to reexplore the already charted territory. 

You let your hands leave their place on hips, your fingertips grazing the fabric of her shorts as your hands trailed past the hem. You relished the way she shivered as a ghost of a touch trailed along the smooth expanse of thigh that lay beyond. Hooking your hands behind her knees, in one swift movement, you had lifted her onto the counter. Velvette responded in kind, wrapping her legs around your waist to keep you in place. You could swear that you felt the influencer roll her hips as she did so.

One of your hands soon found its way into her hair. You gave a gentle tug and the resulting moan was music to your ears. Fuck, your heart was absolutely pounding away in your chest. You weren’t entirely sure you’d be able to stop yourself from letting things escalate right there in the kitchen. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time, either. It wasn’t until Velvette nipped at your bottom lip that you realized just how deep you were in.

Ah, so it was escalating, escalating. Well, this is certainly one way to start a morning off, you thought.

You break the kiss, instead choosing to press a kiss to her cheek, an action that makes the influencer’s cheeks shift in a smile. Oh how infectious it was, you thought as you continued on. Soon your lips met the overlord’s neck, leaving a trail of opened-mouthed kisses and bites. Sucking on  with the full intent of leaving behind marks. You made a mental note to admire your work later when the little blotches formed properly. And just as things were really starting to get interesting, the both of you were promptly interrupted by the sudden buzzing from the front pocket of Velvette’s pants.

That damn phone. Whatever it was, was it really more important than this? 

“Ignore it,” you whispered against her lips, and you could feel the smirk she gave in response. You let it give you the smallest shred of hope that she’d do just that. But in reality, you knew better. Really, you weren’t surprised, nor even truly upset when Velvette pulled back just enough to whip out her phone to see the caller ID.

“Fucking Vox.” Velvette hissed, scowling down at the cellular device. Message after message popped up on the screen, not only from Vox but Valentino as well. You swore under your breath, and just like that that little shred was gone. Oh, you could kill those two. Velvette It was unbelievably tempting not to move, just to keep the influencer pinned on that countertop, but that would hardly be fair, now would it? After all, it wasn’t her fault that ‘Vox and Valentino could barely handle shit themselves’ as she had so eloquently put it. 

So, begrudgingly, you pressed a final kiss to black-stained lips before beginning to pull away. Only the overlord followed your lips, recapturing them with her own. This one was slower than the kiss before, and you recognized it for exactly what it was. A promise of more to come later. This time when you parted, you were able to pull back to allow Velvette to slide off the marble countertop, admittedly in a bit of a haze, your cheeks flushed. Using her phone camera, the influencer took a moment to check her makeup. Luckily it wasn’t too bad, nothing deserving of a touch-up, at least.

“We’ll continue this later, pretty girl.” Offering one last peck to your cheek, the overlord grabbed her keys from the counter. With a little show of blowing a kiss and a wink, Velvette turned towards the door, her hips swaying as she went.

Positively unfair, was what it was. 

You swore that one of these days you’d kill that television man yourself if he continued interrupting the two of you like this. At least you had the satisfaction of knowing that Velvette would lay into him the moment she walked through the doors of the Vee Tower.

[velvetures]

Helluuuu!! I saw your post about sending requests and mine is actually a really simple one cause I don't have a creative but I just though about a ghost hurt/comfort story

Little Secrets

A/N: So this is very self-indulgent... I hope you don't mind. I think there are quite a few people who struggle with taking meds for depression/anxiety or feel guilty for it. Me included. Hopefully, this helps everyone feel valid, seen, and supported. Summary: Task Force 141 is where you belong. But it doesn't make the work easy by any means. You finally get the help you need and try hiding it. Ghost notices and is the one who sets you straight. T/W: depression/anxiety themes, medication, guilt, insecurity of reader, fem reader, and I'm sure I've missed something, so let me know.

photo by: pedropcl

You couldn't keep fighting it for any longer.

Staring down at the two orange bottles of pills in your hands and the directions packets in the other, you felt like you'd failed despite the psychiatrist you'd spoken to reassure you that this was certainly not a failure. Your brain kept refuting that this was a step in the right direction. Working as a professional and legal murderer should've meant you had no feelings. No failures of regulating your emotions or having such miserable trouble falling asleep at night. That nice woman who'd put the prescription in for you said it would take two to three weeks to see a difference. It felt like no time, yet an eternity all at once. Relief felt so far away, but insignificant compared to other people you often compared your personal struggles with.

You weren't homeless, you could eat without worrying, you had clothes and shoes all of the time, and never needed to wonder if you would have enough money to take care of your responsibilities. Education hadn't been a problem, you were well-respected despite being a woman in such a male-dominated field and kept up with your work extremely well. At least, when your brain decided to deny that you had the ability to do anything. Or... repeatedly try to convince you that nothing you did was worth a damn or actually made you useful. Vicious cycles of fighting with your own brain, knowing that you shouldn't feel or think this way but have no strength or way of stopping. None of the "hacks," meditations, or affirmation bullshit touched that panicky feeling you had mere minutes after laying down at night.

The pills shaking around in your hands were your last resort. And they made you feel so fucking embarrassed as you tucked them in your pockets before entering back into HQ. Praying to god that none of the 141 would see you with them or hear that slight sound of them rattling in their bottles. By grace or luck, you were able to avoid all of them and got back to your quarters to stash them under your bed in a small ammo box repurposed for some personal belongings. The directions you'd thrown away on your drive back, just taking a picture of them for reference and ditching the paper copies so you wouldn't have to keep track of those.

"This better fucking help," You breathe out heavily to yourself.

Staring up at the ceiling and almost dreading having to take one tonight before bed and the other when you wake up the next morning. Daily reminders of how you couldn't be hard and cold like the others. Cool and collected like Gaz, confident like Soap, unaffected like Ghost, or just so very reliable like Price. It made you feel like the weak link needing support. You'd never needed it before, and within two years you'd suddenly realized that your own mind was winning in a fight you'd never even been aware of fighting in the first place.

Keeping all of them in the dark about this would be safest. If they didn't need to question your stability, then it wouldn't feel like such pressure to perform. And hopefully, after a few weeks, things might start to shift a little. Maybe enough to where you could begin sorting out the other problems without the image of a cluttered attic representing the state of your head. Taking care to not raise the alert of the 141 wouldn't be easy. Always noticing everything out of sheer training and sharpened instincts. Having no other good ideas... You just settled on doing everything you could to keep your little secrets under wraps.

In the following couple of days, you’d become adjusted to the routine of taking your medications on the surface level. While the one tasked with easing you anxiety and depression wasn’t going to take effect for quite a while longer the other -a sleeping aid- was definitely making a significant impact. You were able to actually fall asleep and stay that way, problem was, with a couple missions impending in the near future, you were getting concerned that if you took them when you were supposed to -on a schedule- that staying awake would be next to impossible. And if you didn’t take them at all… you didn’t want to deal with the consequences of breaking a much more healthy habit.

And the reason you were so worried about the missions was because of a reoccurring problem that the 141 began finding you falling victim to. Thankfully you were all on leave, making it a lot more acceptable, but they still began walking into different rooms around HQ to see you sleeping soundly. No matter the noise level, temperature in the room, or the space you’d fit yourself into. And no one was quite as intrigued with your sudden change in behavior was the Lieutenant.

Ghost liked things to have order, and often used regiment or habit as a very small form of comfort when he felt that his physical situation was one that could be trusted. And while the others just thought you’d found a new safety in HQ and enjoyed sleeping somewhere safe, Ghost could see that something much different was happening. Your sleeping wasn’t a new habit.

It appeared far too quickly, and you oftentimes didn’t look like you had much control over it. There had already been three times where he’d watched you fall asleep on one of the guys late in the evening without as much as a single attempt to fight the drowsiness. While Ghost didn’t like to think that he cared that much about you, he found himself paying even closer attention to you than he had before.

“There she goes…” Soap chuckled quietly, pointing to you on the couch; head laying in Captain Price’s lap, eyes closed and sleeping deeply with your arms tucked against your chest and lying on your side.

Price had a loving hand on your head, and had been idly petting your hair much like a father would despite being hardly of age to act it. Yet, Ghost felt that Price’s warmth towards you wasn’t the entire reason you had yet again fallen asleep before 11 o’clock. Purposefully he’d been keeping count, and this was the fifth time in a week. More than enough to raise alarm with the others… but he was still waiting silently for someone else to bring it up.

Price chuckled, glancing down at you. “I carried her to bed last time,” His pointed look at each of them was more than enough to guess what he was about to say. “Someone else needs to, otherwise you’ll be voluntold.”

Ghost internally groaned. Not only was that kind of behavior what made people soft, but it also made seeing through the mask of affection far more difficult. But before Soap or Gaz took initiative, the Lieutenant was up on his feet and approaching Price with every intention of being the one to take you back to your quarters. Looks got thrown around the room, and Ghost wasn’t stupid enough to not notice. It was the first time he’d gotten this involved, and there was certainly a spectacle of him picking you up carefully enough to not wake you.

Even though he was quite certain it would take a lot more to get you up than that.

Your door opened up into warm, glowing light from a little lamp you’d left switched on. He catches sight of your quilt on the bed and the little rug that made the polished concrete floors look so much less like the jail cell his own quarters resembled. The whole room smelled like you too. Sweet, and a lot like cinnamon rolls. Probably some type of candle or other smelly thing that you had thought was worth spending money on. Plenty more reasons added to the list of what separates the two of you. Debating your differences or the reason you preferred your quarters smelling like a bakery wasn’t his purpose for bringing you back to your room.

But even with laying you down on your bed and pulling the sheet and blankets over you, Ghost wasn’t seeing any of the possible signs that could lead him to better understand what was going on with you. Nothing is out of place though. Your room is pretty much spotless save for a sleep outfit you’d laid out for tonight, but wouldn’t have the chance to get changed into. And right about the time Ghost decided he’d been looking into your business too much, he bumped into your nightstand.

It knocked something off into the floor, bouncing under the bed and clattering a bit.

Ghost sighed, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling and having quite the frustrating experience of dealing with the sudden responsibility of making sure you were cared for. And that meant picking up whatever shit he’d been too busy watching you, to not knock somewhere under the bed he’d have to fish around and find. So he knelt down and pulled his phone from his pocket and used the flash to spot a tube of chapstick near the bed frame foot.

That, and an ammo box with your initials spray-painted onto the side of it.

Compared to everything else, it didn’t look like it fit amongst the rest of your things. And damn if Ghost didn’t have a sudden gut feeling that it was the reason you’d been sleeping so much. Why you’d been so out of character; Setting his teeth on edge. Reaching out… Ghost grabbed the lip balm and got back to his feet and sit it down on the nightstand where it couldn’t be as easily disturbed again.

“G’night kid.” His whispers fell on your unconscious ears as your Lieutenant dismissed himself from your room and back down to his own space.

***

You woke up in your bed after falling asleep somewhere unintentionally, for the who-knows-which time. Just like before, left in whatever clothes you’d been wearing and all of your blankets tucked up tightly around you. It left a lingering sense of disappointment in yourself. A little pinch of sadness rested like a rock in your stomach. You couldn’t really remember falling asleep to begin with. If you ended up keeping this little habit going, there’d be no doubt you would risk everyone on a mission falling asleep at the drop of a hat.

All because of this damn medicine.

One that you needed to grab from under your bed, and sneak into the kitchen so that you could have some water and food. You'd seen one of the tens of sites -during your research of your pills- that it would help digest it better... whether it actually worked or not wasn't something you could tell. But either way, a doctor had said it, and plenty of people taking it agreed. So you grabbed the pill, shoved it in your pocket, and went out into the kitchen to find a glass.

The floors felt cold even with socks on. And while a steady rain poured from the sky, you were more heated with concern that someone would notice you. Notice your sleeping issues, the way you crawled around in the morning for the first couple hours before the pills began working, or the shady way you hid your face in the refrigerator while swallowing down your medication. Surely the stuff had to be working since you'd not been struggling to get your work done throughout the day. But maybe that was the hard part. Taking pills to fix your head, but needing your brain to recognize whether or not you felt better.

"Oh god help me..." You mutter quietly, searching past Soap's energy drinks and Gaz's revolting jug of green juice to find something you could make for breakfast.

A cabinet door shutting behind you nearly stopped your heart. Seeing Ghost's dark eyes evaluating your reaction didn't make your heart rate drop back to normal either. In his typical day-off wear, a pair of well-worn jeans hung low on his hips and an old SAS t-shirt you'd seen him wear countless times stretched tightly over his chest and shoulders. No doubt he'd been up since four. Quite certain he never actually slept, you wondered momentarily if he could benefit from the sleeping tabs you took. But quickly that got covered in anxiety when his eyebrows furrowed at your expression.

"Nothin' to eat?" He asked with a smooth voice, nodding to the refrigerator door you still held open dumbly.

"N-no... just a bunch of shit drinks." You reply, letting the door shut and noticing that he's got a brown bag with grease spots at the bottom corners. He just nods, looking off into the empty common room. Like he's trying to think of the right way to talk shit about both Gaz and Soap's bad choices in hydration.

"Sit. I've got enough to share." He jerks his head to the other side of the counter, turning that wide back to face you, leaving no room for argument.

You're swallowing down a thick bite of a bagel with god-knows-what in British style as Ghost brews tea. Silently making you a cup as well and standing stiffly with both milk and sugar on the table with the expectancy that you tell him how you like it. Not really unusual behavior from him... typically you get along just fine. But it's the fact that he watches so heavily.

"Just sugar, please." You say through a mouthful, covering your mouth with your hand.

He nods, but then starts putting the sugar in, mentioning something about fucking Americans before sliding the mug closer to you with a couple of fingers. Those damned eyes are just as observant as ever when you crumple up the finished sandwich before he even steeps his own drink. It made you nervous. Wondering if those pills were helping with your appetite too. The psychiatrist said it could; Something about feeling less stressed can give your body more opportunities to worry about being hungry. It was one of those facts on the medication packet you'd taken pictures of.

"Plans for today, L.t.?" You ask, sipping the tea, eyes grazing over the cup rim as you stare at the back of his head.

Mask rucked up high enough to eat and drink freely he nods his head. Leaning his lower back against the edge of the kitchen counter

and resting one hand back.

“Yeah, you?”

You shake your head uselessly, “No. Maybe some laundry, but I’m not really even due. Wouldn’t be worth the water in the machine.”

He hums lowly, taking a drink of his tea. You can hear his swallow and a steady exhale of air that follows. Whether it’s him cooling off the steaming cup or just breathing, you cant tell. But it’s so steady that you actually mimic the tempo of it. Feeling the way it expands and contracts your lungs smoothly. Almost settling. Much like L.t. himself in that way. Terrifying until you see just how easily you can be around him. He’s always quiet and composed, even when there’s plenty of reasons not to be. You wished it was something you could do too. Maybe it would help the task force if you didn’t have to spend your energy keeping yourself at an unnoticeable level of consistent panic.

“Know anythin’ about cars?”

“No,” You’re quick to add on. “But I can learn fast.”

You watch the way the back of his mask slides down further and how his head tilts from side to side to settle it comfortably. Seeing the rest of the tea get dumped into the sink and his own sandwich bag get crumpled up. He’s silent as he washes the cups used and methodically cleans up after the pair of you. Even reaching across the counter to swipe a couple of crumbs off your t-shirt with a subtle nod to his own satisfaction.

“I like to hear it,” His hand palmed at the back of your neck. Gently tugging you off the barstool, and grabbing your jacket to toss it to you. “You’re comin’ with me then.”

Learning about cars actually became quite easy… when Ghost was teaching.

He explained the parts clearly, what his goal was, and didn’t get pissed when you handed him the wrong size socket wrench on the first try. On the other end, you’d only been working next to him -well, sitting on the wheel well- for a couple of hours when you started getting tired again. Almost helpless to your own frustration, you yawned. Fighting the sleepy feeling valiantly, and taking as detailed of mental notes as possible while watching Ghost’s greased knuckles tighten a bracket holding his master cylinder in place. Surely it was a cosmic joke. L.t. was fixing his brakes, and it felt like someone had stomped on yours.

“Hand me that,” He muttered, head stuck down in a gap between his engine block and alternator, still effortlessly pointing at a pair of channellocks. “And get in for me.”

You did as he asked, yawning one more time. Trying to blame your sudden exhaustion on the rain pelting the metal roof above you. Sliding into the back of the car and kicking off your boots to let them rest on the concrete floor outside of it. Attempting to be polite by not getting any dirty spots on the mats of the -very original- DB4 GT Aston he’d given you trust to even sit in. The leather seats help you glide into the driver’s seat, giving you a very slim look at Ghost through the gap in the hood.

“What exactly am I doing in here?” You ask, loud enough so that he can hear you.

It prompts his head to pop up from inside the engine bay, giving you those same, observant eyes from earlier. He looks back down, reaches in and taps on something harshly, then looks back to you.

“Roll it over.”

The car starts effortlessly. Practically purring under you, and echoing in the metal hangar making it sound all the more ruggedly beautiful. The whole car hums, and as you watch Ghost go back to focusing on something in front of him, you feel the heat come through the dash. It’s a perfect storm that lulls you even closer to sleep. A dangerous thing, considering the one man who could figure out what was wrong with you was the only one close enough to see. Hell, you weren’t even sure he didn’t already have it figured out, and wasn’t planning some way to tell Price about it and have you removed from the task force.

Unfit for duty.

You could just picture it now. Red pen in Price’s handwriting detailing your medications and how it was grounds from honorable discharge. Perfectly common in the military, but it felt like death in your hazy mind.

Not that you could fight it for much longer.

Because by the time the Lieutenant had finished his little bit of work, he came into sight of you, slumped over in his driver’s seat with you lips parted and your arms wrapped around yourself. Nothing short of a pretty sight for sore eyes. His car had damn near rocked you sleep, and for once, Ghost felt his heart couldn’t take the feeling of waking you up. He’d watched you all morning. Gauging your reactions, your lack of conversation, and the way you tried to keep from showing him any sign of being tired. Initially he wanted to be angry. Mad that you were hiding something from the team… from him. But seeing you sleeping there, he knew there was a fight in your head. A fight he knew well. So he left you there to sleep.

Turning off the engine to keep from filling the garage with exhaust, but pulling up one of the small space heaters close to the open door to keep you from getting cold while he worked. Making small adjustments, looking over future jobs, and even entertaining the thought of adjusting you over in the seat a little bit so that he could drive-test his handiwork. But that didn’t come, because Soap arrived with a grin on his face and no idea that you were sleeping.

Until Ghost told him to lower his goddamn voice.

“Sleepin’ again bonnie?” Soap chuckled to himself, looking at you before back to Ghost. “How long’s she been out?”

Ghost shrugged, “Few hours.” Really he hadn’t been watching the clock; far too comfortable to concern himself with it.

“I know you’ve been tryin’ to figure it out,” He started back, resting his hands on the hood. “Why she’s doin’ this so much. Have ya’?”

Ghost shook his head. “No. Not yet, but I’m not concerned.”

Johnny laughed softly, slapping Ghost on the back and beginning to walk away. “I never took you for the type to be worried, L.t.. But since you’re so reassurin’ I’ll take it t’heart.”

Any way Ghost came at that statement, he felt himself on the end of a losing battle. Maddening. Losing a fight wasn’t in his nature. Even if that meant he had to take some of the most fucked up torture to reach it. But what bothered him more than Soap knowing he was concerned about you was the knowing you weren’t okay.

Days out in the field were bad enough. But when they got worse, you were always there. And maybe you didn’t feel much better than he did, yet you always held softness. For everyone. For him. A kind of understanding and acceptance that wasn’t required, or exactly approved of in this line of work. You could keep a secret better than anyone he knew, and while he didn’t burden you with a single one of his, there was always the foreign comfort in being able to come with them if he wanted to. Hiding your own feelings wasn’t right though.

Selfish maybe. Thinking it was okay to linger in his own issues and still demand you give him yours.

But hiding behind his rank and position over you meant he could make that kind of decision without any questioning. A type of don’t fucking ask why that saved him face when carrying you from his car back to your room after you still hadn’t woken up nearly seven hours after passing out in his car. Shouldering open the door just like the night before, he expected to see nothing out of place. The same lip balm on the side table, the same rug, and maybe a different night shirt since you’d mentioned doing laundry. But there was something out of place. And damn if it didn’t make his gut twist up in a ugly kind of feeling. One he’d not felt in years, but certainly recognized as soon as he spotted the orange pill bottle sitting on your bed.

It made sense.

The sleeping. The different behavior. The reason you’d practically swallowed a whole fucking sandwich for breakfast when a cup of tea would typically be all you stomached until afternoon. And thank god… you were finally starting to look a bit fuller. Getting prettier every day, and he finally had something to place the blame on. All hesitations about you being able to handle the upcoming missions faded once he got a good look at the bottle. A medication, funnily enough, that Ghost was well-acquainted with. It wasn’t part of his own personal line-up in his medicine cabinet, but it was one he’d taken for a while.

You’d been in need of some help, and luckily for you, it hadn’t been nearly as hard for you to get help as it had been for him. Actually asking for what you needed -and while frustrating- decided to try and manage it without anyone else’s knowledge. Ghost couldn’t think of a better scenario. Realizing that the only thing he needed to know about was your side effects, and how to best manage them alongside you. Thank fuck you weren’t sick… well… sick in a way that someone couldn’t help you with. A way that he couldn’t help.

So, he sit down in on the floor in your room and waited.

Your wake-up call came in the form of sleepy eyes opening to see the massive silhouette of Ghost sitting in your floor. Dark eyes much softer than you’d expected, and a much more concerning sight of your pill bottle resting in his massive hand. A sight that sat you up ramrod straight in your bed, gasping softly and staring at him with wide eyes.

“Don’t tell Price.” You sputter, rushing to get the words out of your mouth. Terrified that he’s going to get up and run out the door. Just sitting long enough to let you get a good look at his plan before exposing you to the Captain as some sick kind of satisfaction.

His eyes narrow a little, “Don’t tell Price?” His voice sounds hoarse. “Don’t tell Price?”

It sounds that much more broken and gritty when he repeats it. Standing up to meet you a bit more level, fisting the pills in his hand, and lightly making them shake. He can’t understand your fear. Completely blind to the fact that -much like him- you’re fearful of being shamed. Misunderstood for it. Or worse. Ghost can’t recognize why you’re looking at him as if he’s going to be the reason your life ends. When in all reality, you don’t see how he’s trying to figure out why you didn’t feel safe coming to him.

“You’ve been takin’ these… fallin’ asleep on everyone, and-and struggling for who knows how the fuck long…” It’s hard for Ghost to keep his tone even, thinking about it. “Why didn’t you tell me. you should’ve told me. Said something. Anything.”

Caving in on itself, your chest burns. Eyes locked on his and scanning every confusing moment of emotion and each shift as it comes and goes.

“You wouldn’t…”

Ghost takes a fast step closer, “I wouldn’t what?” His hand drops the pills on the bed and quickly grabs your face, soft fingers pressing into your jaw. “I wouldn’t get it? I wouldn’t do what you needed me to? Wouldn’t let you sleep on me?”

Your lips open in surprise at the softness in him. All of him. The gentleness of his fingers, how his eyes lay silkily on you. Even his voice, falling so softly despite it’s rough tone and deep sound, feels like he’s terrified of you being scared away from him. Like that gentle hold on your face is all he can manage, and he’d rather do anything other than let you pull away from it.

“You have to know…” he starts weakly. “You have to know that - that I would do… anything you needed me to. Anything to make this easier for you. Even somethin’ small, I’d do it for you, honey.”

reblogs & comments are appreciated 🤎

[bloodsuckingfiends]

More Than Enough

Summary: Whilst at the Elfsong one evening, Tav runs into someone she would rather forget, and Astarion reminds her that she's more than enough.

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Tav

Warnings: a shitty ex who's said some not so nice things to Tav, Astarion attempting to navigate how to handle sensitive/emotional situations

Word Count: 900+

A/N: I know this is such an oddly specific idea, but that's because it's self-indulgent, and I've been thinking about how my ex told me this and it still makes me feel like shit, and I needed comfort lmao. SO, if you've ever been made to feel like an object, this one's for you

It had been a long and arduous day, from locating severed pieces of a clown, to wiping out the steel watch. The party had certainly earned a hot meal, a bath, and a drink. Emphasis on that last one.

Tav stood at the bar waiting for the barkeep to come back around, while Astarion was upstairs finishing bathing, and the rest of the party was tucked away into a corner booth. Tav could feel herself spacing out, the fatigue of the day wearing on her as she stood and leaned against the bar.

"Tav?"

She froze. She knew that voice. She wished she didn't, but she did, and quite frankly, it belonged to one of the last people she wanted to see at the moment.

"Alberich... fancy seeing you here." Tav lies, slowly turning on her heel to face the half-elf.

He hadn't changed... much. His hair is still long and black, albeit a bit frizzy, and his nose still a bit large for his face. She notices the cocky smirk on his face, and wishes she could slap it right off.

"I was just visiting, and was hoping I would see you here." His dark eyes casually sweep down briefly to look at Tav's chest before looking up again, his smirk immediately falling.

Tav felt a gentle hand at the small of her back, and the comforting presence of Astarion at her side. He could tell. He could always tell at this point, when her body language clearly read uncomfortability.

"Hello, my sweet. Who's this, I don't believe we've met before?" Astarion says smoothly after kissing the apple of Tav's cheek and locking eyes with the half-elf before him.

Tav blinked for a moment before introducing the two, "This is Alberich. We were partners for a short while, many moons ago. An Alberich, this is Astarion, my... partner." She leaned a little more into Astarion, taking comfort in how grounding his form felt against hers.

"How lovely it is to meet you." the pale elf drawls, offering a hand to a silent half-elf. Alberich merely nods in response. A rare occurrence in which he decides to be quiet for once.

"Well, I do believe Tav and I must get to bed now. Was a hard day for Tav, being a hero and all that. Not that you would know much about the subject." Astarion gesticulates casually as he speaks. "Have a wonderful evening, Alberich." The vampire gently leads Tav away by the waist towards the tavern's staircase, whilst she threw a half-hearted wave back at the stunned half-elf.

Once the two elves were in their shared room for the night, Astarion closed the door, and Tav began unlacing her corset with shaky fingers. Of course, Astarion's watchful eyes take notice.

"Little love, are you alright?" he asks in a soft manner. He had made his way over to her, resting his chin over her shoulder and wrapping his arms loosely around her waist.

Tav stiffens for a moment before relaxing into his touch, "Hmm? Oh, yes. Yes, I'm alright." Her voice sounds a bit distant, her hand letting go of her corset laces, and instead holding over Astarion's own hand to ground herself.

"Tav, I know I'm new to this whole, emotions, thing, but I'm here for you, if you should need to talk." He turns her around in his arms to face her, searching her shifting eyes. She breaks away from his hold to sit on the bed. Astarion follows to sit beside her.

"Everytime I think that I'm over it, he pops back up somehow and reminds me." her long fingers worry over the fabric of her skirt. She looks up to see a slightly bewildered look upon her love's face.

"Oh no! I don't mean like that! I've been over him in that way for a long long time. You've nothing to worry about." She give him a soft smile, taking his hand in her own. "Alberich was my first partner, in every sense. When we first got together, I was hesitant about sex, nervous. Not long into our being together, were intimate, and that was that. That is until a couple of years later." Her eyes meet Astarion's.

"He had casually told me years later, that had I not given it up soon, he would have broken it off with me. That he had thought about it." Tav swallows at the memory, and Astarion soothingly rubs her knuckles. "While I was falling in love with him, all he thought of was how he would leave me if he didn't get to fuck me soon." A muscle ticks in Tav's jaw, anger furrowing her brows. Tears prick at her eyes, and he cups her cheek in his palm.

"Now I'm sure you've been told this far too many times to even count, my dear, but he never deserved you." gently, he thumbs away the tears breaking from her waterline. "You are more than just something to be objectified. You should be cherished, and loved, and I feel honored to be the one that you chose to trust to do so. And I thank you for returning that kindness to me everyday, for showing me that it is possible." She leans forward to cling to him, her nose buried in his neck, arms holding him tight, and despite the feeling on her tears sticking his shirt to his skin, Astarion hugs her back. Holding her close to him like that evening she had hugged him after his confession back at Moonrise Towers.

[vagabond-umlaut]

transmigrator, meet manipulator

Chapter 1 of functio laesa Gojo x Fem!Reader; Geto & Reader [platonic]; Canon Divergent AU; Isekai. Fluff & Angst & Drama & Humor; Reincarnation; Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies; Incredibly Self-Indulgent; Eventual Happy Ending; Eventual Friendships & Romance.

I've jumped on the Isekai bandwagon, y'all. [And I don't regret it one bit.] [Yet.]

Chapter warnings: Mentions of dying, accidents and panicking. Cult leader Geto.

Many ways exist for one to start a story.

They can write a duel. A confession. A query. A mansion. Or even introduce a character if they wanna.

But no.

You don't start your story any of these ways.

You start it by screeching. Then fainting.

If not totally, quite a bit– oh, who are you even kidding– you're totally freaking out, girl.

****

Dying is sad.

Sadder if you're dying with so many dreams unfulfilled.

Saddest if you're dying in one world, only to find yourself in another world, before realising you'll die [again] in this new world.

Sounds like one hell of an overdramatic overreaction, right?

It won't when your eyes open to a person with black eyes and black hair and bangs. Next move to the 2014 in bold on the wall calendar. Then finally fall on the traditional Buddhist monk robes worn by him... Oh, no way in hell—

A terrified shiver racks through your body; you try your best to hide it as you smile politely at the man.

"Um, hey."

Geto looks at you blankly for a while longer, before cracking a genial smile. In another universe, he would have made an excellent actor, you're sure.

"How are you feeling now?" he asks warmly, moving from the sofa to the chair beside your bed; you really wish he didn't, "You sure do look much better than when I found you."

"I'm better now," you reply, still smiling despite not really wanting to. Then add, wanting to continue your tirade of politeness as a survival tactic, "Thanks for bringing me to the hospital, by the way. I'm sure I would've bled out from my injuries if not for you. Thank you, Geto-san."

Whatever response you might have expected, a pair of wide eyes certainly wasn't a part of them. Geto looks at you, baffled, for another moment, before coughing up a visibly startled chuckle.

"Ah, there's no need to thank me, Miss. I was simply doing what I deemed right. Though I must say..." He trails off for a beat, before resuming, a smirk playing on his features, "I'm pleasantly surprised to see you interact with me so freely. I was thinking you might run for the hills on waking up and seeing me the first thing, from the way you screamed at me earlier today."

"Haha, sorry," you say sheepishly, not knowing how to form a seemingly legit reply.

You definitely cannot say you were scared shitless then, seeing a 2D character in the flesh. Even more for it being the genocidal villain from your favourite anime movie. No, you definitely cannot even utter that.

You ultimately decide to settle for something half-truth-y, "I was terribly shocked then, I think. Not in the right mental space after being hit by a vehic–"

A ringtone cuts you off in the middle of your strained apology. For the first time in your life [lives?], you feel happy for being interrupted while speaking. The man plucks his phone out, wrinkles folding his forehead as he glances at the screen. Only to cut the call in the next instant, shooting you a contrite smile as he rises from his seat.

"Sorry to cut short our little talk, Miss," The man sounds genuinely apologetic; you know better though, "But I'm sure we'll meet again. Soon enough. There are many questions I need you to answer, you see."

"Of course, Geto-san," you chuckle, sagging in relief inside when he finally, frigging finally, steps towards the door. And quite possibly– no, definitely out of your life too. 'Cause there's no way in hell you will let him meet you again. New world or not, you know you have to AND YOU WILL get as far as possible from this–

Geto pauses. One hand on the doorknob. Head twisted slightly to show you a closed-eye smile.

"I never introduced myself once tonight," he hums, "nor did I find you on a road. I found you in the middle of a deserted forest."

A second passes. Or maybe ten. Or maybe sixty. You don't know. You're too busy panicking to know.

Your savior's [more like, future slaughterer's] smile grows impossibly wider. The air feels impossibly colder.

"Goodnight Miss," he says, opening the door. The lights from the room spill into the dark corridor outside. "We will meet again."

'Looks-like-a-cinnamon-roll-but-will-kill-you' Geto and 'Looks-like-a-cinnamon-roll-and-is-a-very-jumpy-one' Reader.

What can ever go wrong?

Divider by @benkeibear. Header from Pinterest. I don't own the characters used here.

[cyberpxnk]

until the moon and stars fall | jeong yunho

♡ pairing: yunho x chubby!reader ♡ chapters: 1 out of 1 ♡ word count: 2.3k ♡ genre: nonidol! au, comfort/hurt, fluff, established relationship

♡ synopsis: your bad day at work takes a turn for the worse but despite it all, jeong yunho never fails to be there for you.

♡ warnings/tags: chubby!reader, no gendered terms for reader, a lil self indulgent, cussing, body/fat shaming, mentions of body image, bullying, minor kissing, maybe a lil cliche but bear w/ me

♡ author’s note:  this one is for all my chubby babes and customer service workers !! i've never rly written comfort before..,,.. so i hope it's like... ok for y'all :sweating_emoji: maybe i was a lil self indulgent on this one, but i hope u all enjoy it !!

The big fat zero in your face taunted you, reminding you of the awful day you have to endure for another hour. It wasn't often that you received no tip for your services, but the gods really rained down on you today, offering little sympathy.

Being a restaurant worker was tough shit, just as every other food industry and customer service job was. You hate it, really, but it was good money for a broke college student like yourself. 

Between classes, there were days you managed to muster up your feigned smile of politeness to customers, serving them while dealing with their all too present bullshit attitude. Of course, not all your patrons were so unlovely but today... Man.

Two hours in and you're ready to rip off your apron and book it home. You're not sure what's going on with you, but clearly nothing good. Already having spilled several drinks and messing up an order, you know it's not your day.

Even the zero tip didn't surprise you at this point. What did matter is that you had to make it through the rest of your ungodly shift and just get the hell out of there. Maybe you would look for a new job or something, anything to sate your present worries. 

What seemed worst of all was the ceaseless teasing that came from your coworker. She's the new girl, having barely worked with you, yet she was pompous and held herself with an air of arrogance as if you were someone of lowly status and she, royalty. 

Unlike yourself, she radiated haughtiness and garnered attention from all types of people. You're not sure why she even worked as a server, but you suppose her pretty looks helped her out quite a bit. If not for her atrocious attitude hidden beneath her sickening saccharine smile, perhaps you would be swayed too. 

"Didn't get tipped, porky? Serves you right for messing up so much today." 

Yeah, there it was. Cliche beautiful and slender girl poking fun at her less than fortunate chubby coworker. Let's get one thing straight though, you don't hate yourself or your body. But her? That's a different story. Well, she certainly made it a little harder not to be self conscious, even if you tried your best on most days. 

"Mhm," is all you manage back to her, lips pulled tight in a grimace as you continue to go about your work. Dealing with her was just another thing upon the pile of shit you didn’t have the energy for. 

And you don’t particularly enjoy being reminded of how your uniform stretched uncomfortably over your larger frame or how your thick thighs often chafed together, holes forming in the fabric between your legs, which resulted in you buying way too many new pairs of work pants. Ugh. 

Your coworker did enough complaining for the both of you, oftentimes taking a tone of mockery. On more than one occasion, you could recall her poking at your stomach in disgust before asking something along the lines of, "how do you even fit in the uniform? Did you have to order those rags off a plus size website?" 

Yeah, in fact you did but that's irrelevant! You wonder when a grown woman like herself would get tired of teasing you, but it's been months and she's still going strong. 

You can deal with it. You hope. Just one more hour, just one more hour — one more hellish hour and maybe you'll quit. 

Another fifty minutes of waiting tables and withholding your anger, you know you're at the homestretch. As you balance a tray of dirty dishes, you mosey your way over to the back when you suddenly find yourself stumbling, barely catching how your coworker stuck her foot out before you. 

No, no, no! What the hell kind of movie-esque moment was this? Surely enough, you trip over her leg and crumple to the ground, food and plates scattering messily along the floor. 

The sound of her obnoxious laughter fills the air, growing louder in volume as she cackles, throwing her head back in a fit of malevolent glee. 

"Oh my god! Can you do anything right, fatso?" 

A rush of emotions and you're on your feet, wiping away some of the food remnants from your uniform. Hot anger is flooding through you and you're visibly seething. 

"What is your issue, bitch?" You've held your tongue for too long and your eyes are welling up with tears, though you're unsure if it's from the unbridled rage or the overwhelming flood of negative feelings you're experiencing. 

"Your fat ass is my issue! I hate seeing you at work. Nobody wants you here. Even the customers don't tip you because they lose their appetite after they see they're being waited on by a whale!" 

The silence that falls over the restaurant is unsettling, tension palpable as nobody utters a word, hers still ringing in your ears. Even your manager who peers from behind the kitchen keeps quiet, unsure of how to handle the escalating situation. 

Not that they were very helpful anyway, always allowing your coworker to have her way — insisting that she was just "joking" and that she didn't mean any harm. Ha, pretty privilege. 

It was fine though. You had enough. This was the last straw and you would be sure to show them that you wouldn't take her shit any longer. You didn't deserve it. 

In your flurry of emotions, what you fail to see is your boyfriend hovering near the front door. Clutched in his hands, he holds a paper cup filled with a latte and the other is a crumpled paper baggie with your favorite pastry. 

Jeong Yunho was truly the epitome of sweet. Even after his long shifts as a barista, he never failed to make time for you. It was different today though. Something in the winds whispered to him that day, the energy unnerving as his stomach churned nervously during the last few hours on the clock. 

Not wanting to ignore the feeling, he was determined to see you. If whatever gods or deities were compelling him to check up on his partner today, then that's just what he would do. 

What he didn't expect to find was his said lover covered in slop, hair astray and tears threatening to fall from your eyes. If not for the last semblance of his senses steadying him, he would have stomped over in a fit of fury. 

Yunho nearly did though, hands just barely unclenching the items he held. The scene unfolding before him... he should have stopped it, yet he couldn't will himself. The determined look in your eyes advised him otherwise.

It was clear that you had snapped. Despite your current state of disarray, you held up your head high and pressed your pointer finger to your coworker's chest, practically spitting out your next words, venom dripping with each syllable. 

"You must get some sick sense of pleasure tearing other people down," you stepped forward and she stumbled back, eyes wide with bewilderment, "you're projecting pretty hard."

"Excuse m-" you interrupted her, moving another stride forward until she was cornered to the wall. 

"You must hate yourself so much that you need to resort to shitty high school bullying tactics to feel better about yourself. I feel sorry for you." 

Watching as you defend yourself, Yunho feels his chest swell with pride yet it pained him knowing you had been handling this problem all alone and he didn't know for how long. Several times in passing, you had mentioned your troublesome colleague to him but he never realized how awful to an extent it was.

"I'm done here, honestly. I'm sick of your attitude and I'm sick of management's negligence." You untie your apron and toss it at her face, watching as she fumbles slightly whilst trying to catch the fabric.

She sputters in response, her face twisting with rage as she points an accusing finger to you. 

"Even if you leave here, you'll never be liked and loved. Not with that disgusting body of yours. Do us all a favor and hit the gym after you're gone."

It is Yunho's turn to intervene as he steps closer to you all, protectively hooking one arm around your side. The gifts he previously held were long forgotten, abandoned at some table in favor of defending you. 

His entrance seems to startle everyone, including yourself as you jump slightly before you reach over, curling into the familiarity of his hold. The man squeezes you once, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

You don't know how long he's been standing there, but you can see his gaze narrowed in a sharp glare. There's a fire alight in his eyes, wisps of anger that you rarely find on your gentle boyfriend's features. The heart shaped lips you're so used to seeing upturned are pulled taut in a line, displeasure clear upon his face. 

"You're wrong. It's you who will never feel true love. Not with that nasty, ugly heart of yours." There's a sharp edge to his voice, steely and void of any remorse. You know he wants to say more with how his jaw clenches yet he turns you both around with haste and leads you toward the exit without another sound.

As you both walk out in silence, his hold drops from your waist and his hand is reaching for yours, fingers intertwining with a gentle weave. It's only seconds later before he's helping you into his car, buckling you in before he gets in the opposite side and begins driving home.

No words are exchanged, a quiet stillness in the air. Though he has one hand on the wheel, the other still grips yours as you idly play with his fingers. You try to distract yourself from the earlier events, tracing gentle shapes along his knuckles. 

It's only until you're back within the safety of your shared home do the tears you've withheld finally drip down your cheeks. You sniffle once and then twice before you're sobbing. 

Yunho's arms around you are immediate, holding you against his frame as he gently rocks you within the security of his protective embrace.

His soft whispers of reassurance and comfort fill your ears as you soak through his shirt with your tears. He clutches you tighter, never letting go even as your cries begin to wane.  Minutes pass, and you're unsure of how long you're standing there before you sniffle quietly and reluctantly pull yourself from his chest.

When you finally look to meet his eyes, your breath catches in your throat. Yunho looks at you painstakingly, his gaze so tender that you practically melt in his arms. Your lip quivers at the sight.

"I love you," he whispers so faintly that you barely hear him. The warmth of his affections flood you, shaking your very heart to the core. Though he need not say more than those three things, he relents. 

"You're everything to me..." He speaks breathlessly, his lips repeatedly finding yours between sweet and inaudible murmurs. You're sinking into his touch, blinking back the wetness in your eyes as his loving touches ghost along the soft curves of your body.  

"Your size doesn't matter and it will never dictate how you should be loved. It doesn't make you any less attractive, any less desirable, any less lovable, any less you." 

The tears begin to form in your eyes again, and you're unable to stop the steady stream of waterworks as your heart trembles from his admission. Your hands grasp his shirt and you open your mouth, though no sound follows.

"Jagiya..." Your eyes flutter as his breath fans over your face, his lips brushing away each tear as they fall.

You know there aren't enough words to express how he looks to you in adoration, how delicately he reaches to cup your tear stained cheeks, how he kisses you as if you're so fragile you may break from his dainty touches. 

"The love I have for you seeps from my soul. I never want to waste a minute without loving you to the fullest." 

There is a brief pause as he rests his forehead to yours, his palms still clutching your face with the utmost care. 

"To me, you are ethereal. To me, you are divine. To me, you are perfect. If I am without you, then I would travel the stars just to see you." 

His proclamation strikes your soul so deeply that you can't help the way your heart beats readily, nearly bursting from your rib cage. He describes you as if you were of the heavens and you almost feel unworthy of his affections, yet you can't help but to believe the sincerity of his words.

The feeling of his unyielding passion is all it takes for another wave of tears and he's no sooner repeating his actions, kissing away each drop that slips from your eyes. 

"I love you so much," you say, unable to elicit anything more than just that between your soft cries. Your voice trembles with such emotion that Yunho understands you needn't say more. 

With your hand grasping his, you lay it over your chest and allow him to feel your heartbeat, showing him just how much his radiance and purity of love stirs you so.  

Yunho mirrors your action, and you feel his pulse steady to your palm. The lull of his essence roots you and grounds you to the very earth. 

Until the stars and moon fell from the sky, just as he cherished you, you would cherish him tenfold. Just as he loved you, you would love him eternally.

[munsonownsmyass]

Loving You Easy

Frank Castle x reader

Warnings: Oh, well... Plus size reader, insecurities, kissing. SMUT! oral (f receiving), fingering, bodyworhsip, praise, Frank saying 'Good girl' is a warning in itself, unprotected sex (wrap it up irl tho), creampie, cockwarming if you squint. And a little surprise.

Notes: So... Besides that little cameo in my Billy fic, I've never written for Frank. First full fic for him. Have I nailed his character? Probably not, but I still like what I made. Please be gentle.

And yes... This was super self-indulgent, I'm so sorry 🤣

This is part of the Thirsty for Cox april challenge, where we had to choose a song as inspo for our fic. My song was Loving You Easy by Zach Brown Band.

Words: 3.2 K

It’s the day most girls dream about their whole lives. The day they will go through countless of bad dates and the wrong men for, just to find the one guy that completes them. The one guy she can’t imagine living without.

This was that day. Dressed in white, looking more beautiful than ever. The wedding dress so beautiful it brings tears to your mother’s eyes. The hair and makeup flawless accompanied by a smile that would make even the darkest days brighter.

Unfortunately, this was not your day, but your sisters. While you were stuck somewhere between horrible dates and unfulfilling one-night stands, Jessie had found the love of her life. Matt was perfect. Lawyer, devilishly handsome and so kind and thoughtful.

And you were happy for them, you really were. But you could feel that little pang of jealousy, wishing you could have the same one day. And honestly, you didn’t even care about the big wedding and the whole ‘feeling like a princess’ thing. You just wanted someone to love and who would love you in return.

Sighing heavily, you adjust your dress one more time, looking into the mirror. Not even maid of honor, but that’s okay. Behind you the rest of the bridal party is giggling and having a great time worshipping the bride. Leaving silently, without them noticing, you walk outside to get some air.

“Need a drink?” A gruff voice asks, and you look up into a pair of brown eyes. The guy gives you a sideways smile, holding out his beer.

“What makes you think I’ll share a beer with a stranger?” You question, taking in his features. Dark brown hair, dark stubbles along his chiseled jaw and very kissable lips. Very handsome and definitely the type of guy you’d hit on at a bar. Of course, followed by a rejection, because a guy like that would certainly have someone.

“I’m following you down the aisle in 15 minutes, so we’re hardly strangers, princess.” He smiles, retracting the beer and take a sip, looking out over the beautifully decorated backyard of your parents’ country estate.

“I take it you’re Frank then?” You smile, stepping closer to him. Your eyes meet and he offers the beer once more and this time you take a sip of it.

“Yep. Frank Castle.” He extends his hand, and you shake it, giving him your name in return. For a while you just sit there, passing the bottle back and forth while making small talk, until your mother comes looking for you.

“Oh, Mushy, there you are.” She checks your makeup, visibly frustrated and takes the beer from your hands. “Would it kill you to act a little more ladylike, at least until after the reception?” Your mom walks back in, shouting for you to get ready. Frank gets on his feet, getting ready to go in with you.

“’Mushy?’ That’s not the most flattering nickname, I’ve heard.”

“Ah, well… I’m the chubby black sheep of the family.” You shrug, trying to seem unaffected even though you hate the nickname. Jessie had always been the pretty and skinny one, a real pageant queen kinda beauty, where you were not.

“Those are the best kind of people.” Frank winks at you with a soft smile, before you are both called inside.

The party is at full swing, and everyone is having a great time. Foggy have just given his best man speech, laughing with Matt and Karen, Jessie and the other girls are dancing, while you hide in the corner with a beer. In a glass of course, your mother almost giving you the evil eye when you tried drinking out of the bottle.

“Hiding from your mother?” Frank asks, stopping in front of you. You just nod, patting the chair beside you.

“Yeah, she can be scary.” You laugh as he sits down. Raising your bottle in a silent toast, you both take a drink of your beers. “I’m also hiding from my uncle. He always asks me to dance.”

“You don’t like to dance?” Frank asks with a soft smile.

“No one wants to see this-” you gesture towards your body, “twirl around the dancefloor.” You try to laugh it off, but by Frank’s expression you know he’s not buying it. He’s seeing right through you. He stands up, extending his hand to you.

“Come on, princess. Dance with me.”

“Frank, I…”

“One dance, that’s all I’m askin’.” He doesn’t remove his hand, just steps a little closer, insisting for you to take it.

You’re trying to come up with a polite way to turn him down, when it dawns on you. Here’s a gorgeous man willing to dance with you and you wanna say no? Are you crazy? Just when you take his hand, the band starts playing one of your favorite songs. Leading you out onto the floor, Frank takes a hold of you, swaying you softly to the music.

You make loving you easy

You make loving you all I wanna do

Every little smile, every little touch

Reminds me just how much it all makes

Loving you easy

As Frank swings you out and pull you back in, making you giggle, you notice how your sister is watching you. Hell, a lot of them are. This is why you don’t dance, unwanted attention. But still, you got to admit there’s one upside to it. Frank’s eyes looking into yours, his hand on your waist.

“Everyone is staring.” You whisper, looking to the side where your sister is whispering something to Matt, who only smiles.

“Probably ‘cause you look beautiful.” He muses, giving you another one of his cheeky smiles. Damn, is it even legal to be so handsome? You’re about to make a rebuttal, when Frank speaks. “And I mean it.”

Without warning, he dips you down towards the floor, making you squeal, probably drawing the attention of people around you. But you really don’t care, only focused on Frank.

Bursting through the door to your childhood bedroom, Franks lips never leave yours as his hands run down your body, caressing your soft curves. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re gorgeous.”

“You’re drunk.” You giggle softly, kissing him passionately. He pins you against the wall, grinding his hard length against your heated core. You reach out for him, idle fingers unbuttoning his shirt. In a frenzy of hungry kisses and touches, your dress and his suit is soon spread all over the floor as you fall onto the bed with Frank on top of you.

Frank kisses his way down your body, licking and nipping at your sensitive skin. When he reaches between your thighs, he places soft kisses before diving in like a man starved. You gasp at the first contact, the feeling of his tongue making you shiver. But he slows down, wanting to take his time with you.

Slowly, he adds a finger, then another, stretching you open. Expertly he licks up your folds and sucking on your clit, leaving you a whimpering mess beneath him. “You taste amazing, princess. Making such pretty noises for me.”

“Fuck… Frank…” His name is barely a whisper, but it’s enough. Frank devours you like a man possessed. He finds that sweet spot in you that makes you see stars. With his name on your lips, you come.

More. You want more. “Please, Frank. Please fuck me.” You beg him, body writhing under his touch, your need for him strong, overwhelming.

On his way up you body, he makes sure to kiss every inch of skin, caress every curve. “So fucking gorgeous.” He mutters under his breath, placing another soft kiss between your breasts before he once again claims your lips.

His cock is at your entrance, begging to enter. He pushes in slowly, making you gasp as his thick length stretch you open. His eyes find yours so he can see your face twist in pleasure as he pushes deeper. As he bottoms out, you both pant in unison, his forehead against yours.

“You feel so good, sweetheart. Shit…” He rolls his hips a few times, fucking you slowly. You whimper softly, wanting nothing more than for him to move faster, harder. You don’t even care who might hear you, lost in the feeling of him, wanting more.

Franks is so lost in you, not wanting this to end. He kisses you hungrily before he snaps his hips harder. As you close your eyes in pleasure, he looks at you. How your face twists in pleasure, how your body move under him with every thrust. You’re so fucking beautiful, and he wants nothing more than to stay like this for hours. Wanting nothing more than to hear you moan his name over and over.

All day you’ve been talking and all day he’s been thinking how your smile was the prettiest he’s seen in a long time and how he wish you could see the beauty in yourself that he could see. He’d only known you for a few hours, but he already knew he’d want more than just today. He’s been burying his feeling for such a long time, but you make him want to live again.

He can feel himself getting closer, so lost in how good you feel, how good you make him feel. He pulls your leg up, pushing deeper, hitting your sweet spot over and over. “I’m close. Please cum for me, baby.” He drives his cock deeper and harder, reveling in the way you moan. “Be a good girl for me and cum.”

His words wash over you, the praise pushing you over the edge. You scream out in pleasure, digging your nails into Franks shoulder. It’s only a few more thrusts before Frank comes, pushing in deep as he empties himself in you.

Frank puts his forehead to yours, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from your highs. You kiss him deeply, holding him close. You can already feel yourself wanting to see Frank again, but you wont get your hopes up. A guy like that is probably swarmed by women, many prettier than you.

You look away, hating your intrusive thoughts. As if he can read your mind, Frank cups your cheek, looking deeply into your eyes as he kiss you passionately. “That was something else, sweetheart.”

“Something good, I hope.” You bite back with a grin, making Frank smile. That damned smile. Fuck, he is a gorgeous man.

“Very good.” He smirks, kissing you softly before pulling out gently. After he helps you clean up, he surprises you by staying. He had his own room, but he lays down beside you, pulling you into his nook. You talk for a bit, about nothing important really, but it’s still one of the best nights of your life.

-

When you open your eyes, the sun is so bright it almost hurts. Or maybe it was just your head. You really shouldn’t have drunk all those beers with Frank. Your memory flashes back to the two of you, sitting outside in your parents gazebo with a ton of beers between you, listening to each other’s stories.

You look to the side and your heart drops. The other side of the bed is empty, Frank nowhere to be found. Even his clothes are gone from the floor. So, yet another one-night stand then. You’re starting to get too predicable, and you hate it. With a heavy sigh, you start to get dressed, getting ready for breakfast. There’s a soft knock on your door and you reluctantly open.

To your surprise, you find Frank outside the door, dressed in new clothes and looking ravishing. “Wanted to pick you up for breakfast.”

“Oh, I thought…” You begin, but stop yourself.

“That was I was just gonna up and leave?” He shakes his head, leaning against the doorframe. “That ain’t my style, princess.”

You smile in surprise, walking out the door to follow him downstairs. Many of the guests have stayed over and the venue from last night had been turned into a breakfast buffet. Your parents had spared no expense for this wedding.

“Look, ‘bout last night, I-” Frank begins, but you stop him with a soft hand on his arm. Ever since your dance last night, you had feared this was too good to be true and when he kissed you after a few dances and too many beers, you knew it was probably only the alcohol talking. So it was better for you to stop him, than to be stung by his rejection.

“Frank, you don’t have to say anything. I’ve already heard it all. ‘It was fun, but let’s keep it to one night’, ‘You are cute, but I’m just not ready for a relationship’ or ’It’s not you, it’s me’. It’s okay, I get it.” You put on a fake smile, willing yourself to look into his eyes. “I’m not the kind of girl men wanna date.” You turn, just wanting to get away.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted a coffee when we get back to the city.”

You stop, not even sure you heard him right. Did he really, this gorgeous man, want to see you again? For a date? In broad daylight in the city? You look at him and the expression on your face makes him laugh. Suddenly, you’re speechless. “I don’t drink coffee.”

“Beer and pizza then? I know you like beers.” He closes the distance, smiling as he looks into your eyes. And you just nod, smiling wide, already looking forward to your date.

Two years later

Frank is standing in the kitchen making you breakfast. It had been two years since he met you. The best two years of his life. After Maria and the kids he never thought he could be happy again. Especially with the things he had done, with all the blood he had on his hand and all the lives on his consciousness.

But you had accepted him, accepted every flaw and loved him for the man he was, the man he had been. You never saw all the bad, only saw him. That morning after Matt’s wedding you had chosen him and still to this day, you woke up every morning and still chose him.

Your footsteps sound on the stairs, your sweet yawn filling the air. You had been tired lately, so he just let you sleep in today, wanting to surprise you on your anniversary.

You always complain about how awful you look in the mornings, never believing him when he calls you beautiful. But you are, inside and out, the most beautiful woman. Even with your hair in a messy bun, mouth ajar in a huge yawn as you sit down, his hoodie covering your beautiful curves, he would still say that nothing compares to you.

“Morning, sweetheart.” He says with a smile, pushing your tea over the counter towards you. With a grateful hum, you take a sip of the tea, eyes never leaving him as he continues making breakfast. Putting the utensils down, he fumbles with his phone as walks around the counter and extends his hand to you.

“What?” You ask, but then the music of a familiar song fills the air. Loving you easy, the first song you guys danced to. You don’t even argue, just take his hand and let him swirl you around the kitchen as the pancakes bake on the pan.

As he swings you around the kitchen, you sing along to the song that has become your song. You love mornings like this, thinking life can’t really get any better than this. Frank place soft kisses on your neck, finding that one ticklish spot you have, making you giggle.

But the smell of burned pancake pulls his attention back to the stove, cursing as he throws away the ruined pancakes. With your help, you quickly get the rest of the breakfast ready and fill your plates before sitting down at the table.

“So, what’s our plans today?” You question before taking a bite of your pancakes, moaning over how great they taste.

“Somethin’ that makes you sound like that.” He grins, sipping his coffee as he winks at you. Breaking of a piece of your pancake, you throw it at him.

“Alright, alright.” He huffs, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Dinner at that fancy Italian place, a movie and then back here. I want your wrapped around me all night.”

“That can be arranged.” You grin, biting your bottom lip. He gets up and stops by your side to kiss you, before he walks to a drawer and take out a small gift.

“Here, sweetheart.” He places the gift in front of you and carefully, you start to unwrap it. Inside is a small box. Opening it, you find a small blue dog collar with a shiny little dog tag.

“You said you wanted to expand our little family.” He says softly, pulling his chair closer and sitting down. “We’re going to pick him up tomorrow.”

You throw your arms around him, kissing him hard. You and Frank already had a dog, a beautiful Pitbull rescue named Red (Frank thought he was so clever with that one), but you both loved dogs and knew you wanted more.

“Actually… I was thinking the same thing, when I made your gift.” You say nervously, standing up to get your gift. Frank just laughs, taking the gift from your hands when you return to the table. He tears the paper off, stopping completely when he holds the stick in his hands.

You’ve been so nervous to tell him, so scared of how he would react. You knew losing his kids had been a pain worse than death, not sure if he ever wanted to have a child again.

When he still hasn’t said anything, his eyes still fixed on the positive test, you get anxious. “Frank, please say something.”

Tearing his eyes away from the test, his beautiful brown eyes find yours. You can see the tears threatening to spill. “I… I’m gonna be a dad?”

“Yeah, but… Only if you want to.” You whisper, looking down at your hands fiddling with the hem of your sweatshirt. You feel Franks hands on your face, cupping your cheeks so softly. Bringing your gaze to his, you see the small smile on his face.

“I should have bought a ring instead of a collar.” He laughs, pulling you into a kiss. Wrapping his arms around you, he brings you closer until you sit on his lap. One hand moves from your back onto your belly. Nothing there to feel yet, still the notion makes you warm.

“I love you, Frank.” You kiss him again before snuggling closer to him.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He whispers into your ear, holding you tight. Things might not always be easy and things were going to change, but one thing that would always remain was your love.

You make loving you easy

you make loving you all I wanna do

Every little smile, every little touch

reminds me just how much it all makes

loving you easy

TFC girls: @e-dubbc11 @itwasthereaminuteago @realfernmayo @pedrito-friskito @mindidjarin @mattmurdocksscars @saintmurd0ck @idrinkcoffeeandobsess

Tagging: @lucy-sky @darlingshane @boliv-jenta

[icedragonlizard]

How I can see Galacta Knight interacting with Kirby and some of the dream friends

I've recently developed a self-indulgent headcanon that sometime after the events of Heroes in Another Dimension, Hyness becomes generous enough to finally let Galacta Knight be free from the crystal he's been trapped inside of for so long. About time that he was let out!

I have some interpretations for dynamics that he could have with Kirby and some of the dream friends. Do note I said some of them, because as of right now I don't have ideas for how he'd interact with all the dream friends, but I'm glad to share the ideas that I do have!

Anyways, let's go over them.

Kirby: I can easily see a friendship here, as Kirby always tries to be everybody's friend! While I imagine Galacta Knight would be very irritable and temperamental as a result of traumatization from being trapped in crystal for eons, he'd most likely take well to Kirby a lot sooner than most others. The fellow younger pink puffball is hard to resist. And because Kirby is compassionate and empathetic, he'd feel terrible for what Galacta Knight has been through and would give him a very much needed hug that he's been so incredibly deprived of.

Meta Knight: Even though I don't commonly factor in extra mode content in my headcanons, I do canonize Meta Knight summoning a clockwork star and make a wish to fight Galacta Knight as something that happens in my verse. And that's exactly why I don't see these two getting along. Galacta was already messed up from being eternally stuck in crystal by that point, he's not happy that Meta just summoned him, beat him up, and left. He kind of holds a grudge against him for it. He'd most likely want to fight Meta for revenge if they encountered again, and it wouldn't help that Meta would just gladly take the challenge as an excuse for another fight. It'd take quite a while for these two to warm up to each other, as Galacta would certainly need some time to get over his bitterness for Meta.

Dark Meta Knight: This one is pretty interesting to think about. I think there's an actual, sincere possibility that Galacta and DMK could get along over them both sharing a distaste for Meta Knight. But... despite this possibility, I think the most likely outcome of this dynamic is that they'd both just fight and try to kick each other's asses. They're both temperamental assholes that easily lash out. DMK is largely stand-offish and rather bad at making friends, and I imagine that Galacta would probably distrust other knights in general because his encounter with Meta Knight left a foul taste in his mouth. If they were to see eye-to-eye, I think it'd take a while for it to happen.

Magolor: I actually headcanon that Magolor knows about Galacta Knight's existence because the Lor Starcutter has information on him. Galacta was in Halcandra before, allowing the Lor to detect him and store him into her memory, and that's what made it possible to make a mask based on him in Merry Magoland. Anyways, I believe that Magolor would be giddy and excited to meet Galacta in person. He'd love to learn more about him and show all his merch to him. I feel like Galacta would be weirded out by Magolor at first due to his over-the-top eagerness to know him, but I could see him eventually coming around and even taking well to the wizard's whimsical nature. Magolor could also amaze Galacta with his comically big ultra sword.

Susie: I've noticed that Galacta Knight and Susie have many things in common: being largely pink, both have had extremely long-term trauma (Susie stuck in Another Dimension, Galacta stuck in a crystal prison) and they've both got a large knack for violence. I think it's very possible they could bond or at least get along over these things. Pink bitches named breakfast! I believe that much like Magolor, Susie would also be very excited to meet Galacta. She'd find him to be even cooler than Meta Knight, especially delighted that he's pink! Galacta would probably be quite off-put by her at first, but I could see him coming around to like her for a mutual love of pink and also liking all the tech stuff she does. I hc Susie is past mechanizing people, so no worries about Galacta being a robot here. I think they could get on!

Marx: When Marx first learned about the Meta Knight vs. Galacta Knight incident and that it involved a clockwork star to let the fight happen, it caught his attention. He pestered Meta about the details as he was curious to meet Galacta himself, which he'd then have the chance to do so after Galacta is free from crystal post-HiAD. Anyways, I imagine the dynamic between Marx and Galacta to be rather complicated. It'd likely be tense at first, since Marx might be insufferable enough to ask a bunch of obnoxious questions in regards to the allegations of "greatest warrior of the galaxy", which would prompt Galacta to skewer him on the spot. I know I said that Galacta could maybe come around to Magolor for being whimsical, but Marx is a bigger handful by comparison that'd be harder to warm up to. I think it's not impossible for Galacta to eventually come to like Marx, but it'd take a long time to get there, and would hate him at first.

Ribbon: Ribbon would most likely be mind-blown by Galacta Knight. I'm not sure there's much else to say in that regard. This knight is pink just like Kirby, and look at that weaponry and armor! She'd compliment him like nuts. I think Ribbon is someone that Galacta could come to like faster than many others. She's very nice, compassionate and loves pink! Galacta might have difficulties in getting along with people in general right after being freed of crystal because he needs time to recuperate and heal, but he could warm up to Ribbon a lot quicker than he could to most other dream friends.

The Mage Sisters: Considering that I headcanon Hyness freeing Galacta Knight, I imagine that made the cult leader's daughters become interested in meeting him shortly after. I think the first impressions wouldn't be great as Galacta would want some time to himself initially, but I think he'd probably be able to come around to find these women to be alright. Zan Partizanne and Flamberge might be a little obnoxious with how much they'd like to spar with him, but otherwise I think he'd come to take a liking to their fighting spirits and capacity to cause extreme chaos and violence. He's known Hyness for a long time, so he'd be able to reveal a lot of stuff to them.

Those are all the dream friends that I got stuff for in terms of interacting with Galacta Knight. Sorry I couldn't do them all as of this time. I currently can't think up stuff for how the heck he'd interact with King Dedede, Bandana Waddle Dee, Taranza, Daroach, Adeleine, Gooey and the animal friends. But hope you enjoy what I do have here!

Like stated above in the stuff I put forward, the idea of both Magolor and Susie having a big fascination for Galacta Knight is pretty humorous. Heheheheheheheh.

[lenafromthenordiccoven]

Yes, ma’am | Bob x f!Pilot!reader - Snippet

You know the drill 😂I've got a little snippet for you for the next Bob x f!reader oneshot. Planning to have this one up by Friday, Feb 9! Just gotta do some fact checking and, uh, finish writing the smutty part.

Anyway, enjoy this little snippet of a super self-indulgent oneshot I didn't even wanna post originally, cause I'm not sure about it being a) self-indulgent and b) reader's gonna have parts of my own background and plans for the future?

Six years. You’d been waiting for this moment for six years. Had worked hard for it. And now, as officers, family and other invitees were applauding and two of the Typhoons soared overhead, you were officially being dismissed as a Second Lieutenant for the first time. The first female Typhoon driver in the Austrian Air Force. And yet, it didn’t feel real. Not the way your classmates, other pilots with the rotary wing or other fixed-wing aircraft, clapped you on the back as they cheered. And certainly not the way your boyfriend of almost seven years, who’d been there for you every step of the way since you’d told him you wanted to try out for the Air Force when you’d first started dating, was grinning at you. No, he was positively beaming.

The fact that your parents hadn’t been able to make it to your graduation might’ve dampened your mood, if Bob wasn’t looking at you with so much love and pride, it made your own chest swell. You’d done it. Despite what everyone else and your own mind had been telling you from time to time, you’d made it. And, to be honest, you’d been terrified of Selection Day. Scared that even after already three years of consistently being top of the class and adamant about wanting to fly the Typhoon, your superior officers would tell you, they’d assign you to the helicopters or air transport.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, blood roaring in your ears as you pushed through the crowd and finally reached Bob. You were trembling by now, the adrenaline slowly wearing off, the world coming back into focus. And with it, the thought that you had to get Bob out of here as soon as possible. He’d chosen to wear his dress whites, while you were in your dress uniform with its grey jacket and grey pants (thank god, they’d actually let you choose whether you wanted to wear a skirt or pants and nobody had pitched a fit when you’d gone for the pants, explaining that you would “stick out like a sore thumb as is”, you didn’t want to add to that by being the only person wearing a skirt. The other female cadets in your class had all chosen the pants as well.) – and the new golden edelweiss on your collar. Fuck, if he didn’t look like he’d stepped off the pages of one of the romance novels you’d been devouring recently.

“Congratulations, darlin’. ‘m so damn proud of you,” he murmured before bending down to press his lips against yours in what had to be the most chaste kiss of the century. But you were still in sight of your superiors, so you couldn’t go too far. Especially since your relationship had already sparked enough gossip – and a three-hour briefing on what you could tell your boyfriend and what you couldn’t, not that you hadn’t figured out most of the things with you usually being on the receiving end of Bob’s professional silence. You didn’t feel like adding fuel to the fire, even though you positively ached to kiss Bob the way you really wanted to and to stick your hands in his hair and mess up that gelled back hairdo he was sporting.

You could feel your cheeks heat at the thought of how you didn’t even want him to take off his uniform. You just wanted to get him home and have him fuck you while he was still wearing his dress whites. “Thank you, baby,” you finally replied to Bob’s praise.

He raised an eyebrow and slightly cocked his head at your reaction, but you saw recognition bloom on his face when you lightly bit down on your bottom lip. He leaned in close to whisper in your ear. “Do we still have to go to any official dinners or parties, or do you think, we can jus’ sneak off?” His voice was rough, lower than it had been just a minute ago, and it sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

You briefly closed your eyes before you looked back up into those light blue eyes of his, trying to look as innocent as you could muster. “I’m afraid, there’s one more we have to go to. My new squad leader’s paying, and it would probably be good to get to know them a bit before next Monday. But I’m sure, they’ll understand if we don’t stay for too long.”

“Whatever you say, Lieutenant.” His lips stretched into a smirk, the kind of which you imagined only you saw on the regular, as another shiver raced down your spine and left goosebumps in its wake despite the June heat. Damn it. You knew, how much he liked it when you called him by his rank. But this? This was new. And you loved it. “You wanna take the lead when we get home?” He wrapped an arm around your waist and drew you in closer as you nodded.

“Hell yeah, I do.” You both chuckled at your response. Usually, you had no problem handing over control to Bob, especially in the bedroom. But sometimes, especially if things had been stressful and since you’d joined flight school, you liked to be the one to make him whimper and beg for a change. Tonight would not be any different. You grinned as your mind was already busy conjuring up ideas.

[the-devils-library]

The Satanic Bible, by Anton LaVey

Title: The Satanic Bible

Author: Anton Szandor LaVey

Publisher: William Morrow Paperbacks

Publishing Date: December 1, 1969 (First Edition)

ISBN-10: ‎0380015390

ISBN-13: 978-0380015399

Alright, let's start with the elephant in the room. This little book is often the only thing people read on Satanism, and for good reason - it made quite a splash when it was published.

Considered the foundational text of the Church of Satan and their specific style of atheistic Satanism (often called LaVeyan Satanism), The Satanic Bible is part philosophy, part religious teaching, and part magical instruction. LaVey is well known for his stance that humanity does not need God, and that believing in God (or Satan, for that matter) as real entities serves only to hold back our potential. However, LaVey argues that humanity does need religion, and that religion requires dogma and ceremony. The dogma and ceremony LaVey offers to the reader is based on one's own happiness and self-satisfaction, as opposed to the Christian values of self-sacrifice for the greater good. His Nine Satanic Statements, Eleven Satanic Rules of the Earth, and Nine Satanic Sins are easy to read and understand, and seem to be the inspiration for other Satanist's lists of values, such as The Satanic Temple's Seven Fundamental Tenants.

LaVey embraces sexuality and indulgence, framing sexual energy as the best and most potent source of power for magical workings. Magic is described not as an appeal to a higher power but a seizing of one's own fate, aiming for success and happiness through the manipulation of the world around oneself. The practices he recommends are rooted in ceremonial magic, especially Enochian magic.

The Satanic Bible has had multiple editions and translations since its original publication and is widely available through most online book retailers, as well as sometimes being stocked in magical and metaphysical shops.

[DISCLAIMER: The Devil's Library is not affiliated with any of the previously mentioned groups or authors. It is an independent project by a single Satanist. Do not mistake my mentioning of an author or group as endorsement for their beliefs and practices.]

Beneath the cut you'll find my personal review and opinions on this book.

I've said before on this blog that I am not LaVeyan, and that's still true. While I greatly respect the concept of a non-theistic religion and I lift my glass to all those who work hard to form such religions, I prefer a theistic view of the world. On top of that, LaVey's philosophy does little for me. In truth I consider LaVey's work to not be particularly revolutionary in terms of philosophy. He was a self-admitted fan of Ayn Rand and his brand of Satanic individualism has oft been compared to Randian philosophy with a coat of occult paint slapped on top - I think that evaluation holds true. His magical system also strikes me as unoriginal, given he simply reworked the Enocheon keys. My overall evaluation of the man was that he was a lazy philosopher and a lazy magician, but a skilled showman, and that's how he pulled in as many followers and critics as he did. People were rejecting God and practicing ceremonial magic long before LaVey came along. He just cultivated a compelling aesthetic around it.

I think it's safe to say the book is a product of its time and creator. LaVey is both progressive and regressive, endorsing kink and queer sexuality while also objectifying women in his magical practice (LaVey is, as far as I can tell, the originator of the Satanic tradition of using a nude woman's body as an altar, and he makes a note that during ritual, men should wear robes, but women should dress scantily in order to titillate the men) and having some deep misunderstandings about asexuality. It's also not to be taken lightly that while as far as I'm aware, LaVey himself didn't profess to be a white supremacist, his fondness for Ayn Rand shows a fondness for fascism, he certainly rubbed elbows with white supremacists, and various individuals and groups that broke off from the original Church of Satan have been noted as having a range of Nazi-adjacent views and values, namely the Temple of Set. His list of "Satanic names" is also a very sloppily cobbled together list of names of any god, deity, or spirit who's ever been even slightly associated with negativity, utterly ripped from their cultural context and reduced to keywords that, I assume, LaVey expects the readers to either claim as names of their own or use in rituals. The list includes outright racist cultural appropriation, such as the inclusion of Kali's name, to ignorant misrepresentations of myth, such as calling Loki the "Teutonic devil." As always, I recommend referencing scholarly and culturally conscious resources when it comes to discussions of other religions and mythologies. Do not take a single writer with no credentials at face value.

That being said this is a book I generally recommend people read, with the added note that taking it entirely at face value and assuming it's the one true Satanic text is a mistake. The Satanic Bible is integral to our religious history at this point, but we need not cling to it as entirely or even mostly correct. It is also useful to be familiar with it when interacting with other Satanists, as it's possibly the most commonly read book in the entire religion, so like it or hate it, you probably should have some opinion on it.

[etherealzx]

this is super self indulgent, i've been sweet on ghiaccio lately and the thought of him being jealous just made me start giggling and kicking my feet

Jealousy (Ghiaccio x Fem!Reader)

warnings: suggestive content. (nothing explicit), very slight melone x reader. fem!reader, feminine terms used, slightly toxic behavior

   Ghiaccio was being colder to you than usual. The two of you had gotten into an argument this morning that got out of hand quickly. It started off with something small and stupid, and escalated to the point of yelling and hurling insults at each other. It happened every now and then, but you usually were the one that ended up apologizing and making things right again. Ghiaccio was very stubborn and didn’t like to be wrong. Arguing with him was like trying to argue with a brick wall sometimes.

He had been ignoring you all day since the fight. You would see him around the hideout, and try to talk to him, and he would pretend he didn’t see you. He just walked right past you over to Melone and started a conversation with him as if you weren’t standing right there. You stood in shock for a moment, before crossing your arms. If that’s the game he wanted to play, then you were gonna play it right back. During his conversation with Melone, you overheard him say that he was going to the club tonight with Formaggio and Illuso. You knew exactly what he was trying to do. Ghiaccio hates the club, he’s expressed that to you multiple times. He doesn’t really dance, and he doesn’t see the point in drinking. He was trying to make you jealous. You remained nonchalant, sitting with your arms crossed as he talked with his teammate. He was used to you being the one that came crawling back to him, crying and apologizing and begging him to forgive you. But not this time. You didn’t want to stroke his already inflated ego. He needed to be humbled, and you knew exactly how to do it.

Eventually, Ghiaccio left the room, leaving just you and Melone. You looked over at the lilac haired male, who had a shit-eating grin on his face. “Relationship problems?” He asked, teasingly. You rolled your eyes at his remark. “He thinks the silent treatment is going to get me to come back begging for him, but I’m tired of being the one that always has to beg for him back. I want him to be begging for me tonight,” You said, earning an eyebrow raise from Melone. “Would you be willing to help me get his attention tonight?” You asked, to which he replied “Oh absolutely, dolcezza. You play dirty, and I like that.” He licked his lips. Tonight would definitely be interesting.

You walked into the nightclub that Ghiaccio had mentioned coming to earlier. You had on an especially slutty outfit, an outfit much more revealing than you would normally wear. It was a short, skin-tight black dress with cutouts all over it, and elbow-length black gloves to match. It certainly didn’t leave very much to the imagination. You walked in and found your way over to the bar, where Melone was sitting, joined by Ghiaccio, Illuso, and Formaggio. Formaggio let out a cat-call whistle, eyeing you up and down. Illuso was also eyeing you, not used to seeing you dress this provocatively. Ghiaccio sat stiff on his barstool, red in the face and trying his hardest not to look at you. You hadn’t even started your plan yet, and it was already working. You were always friendly with Melone, but you were making a point to be especially friendly with him tonight in front of your boyfriend. You greeted the lilac haired man with a kiss on the cheek, making Ghiaccio clench his fists so hard his knuckles turned white.

A particularly explicit song started playing over the club’s speakers, one that Melone had requested the DJ to play. He looked over at you, and you knew that was the signal. You grabbed his hand and pulled him out onto the dancefloor with you. You wrapped your arms around Melone’s neck as you danced with him, the pulsing beat of the song blasting over the speakers. You glanced over at the bar, to see Ghiaccio clenching the barstool so hard it looked like it could break. You giggled, and said into Melone’s ear, “It’s working.” “Oh, we’re not done yet. Let’s kick it up a notch, cara.” He put his hands on your hips, guiding you as you practically grinded on him. You moved your hips with his, running your hands through his silky hair. He ran his hands up and down your body, caressing all of your curves. Formaggio and Illuso were cheering you on, which was pissing your boyfriend off even worse. Ghiaccio looked like he was about to lose it. His teeth were clenched, and his face was so red it matched the neon bar sign. “Damn slut,” He muttered under his breath, watching you rub and grind all over his teammate. He didn’t know whether to be angry with you or Melone, since he seemed to be enjoying this more than you were. Melone continued to explore your body with his hands, until he ran his fingers up under the edge of your skirt in a risqué move. This was the breaking point for Ghiaccio. He couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up quickly, knocking over the barstool he was sitting on. He stormed out onto the dance floor, eyes filled with pure rage. He grabbed your wrist so hard that it hurt, and dragged you away from Melone. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, troia?” He spat through clenched teeth. “What? I’m just dancing,” You said, looking innocently up at him through your eyelashes. He grabbed your wrist even tighter, making you yelp. He pulled you towards the club exit, and out into the parking lot. He pulled you over to where his car was, opening the passenger door and shoving you in. “Is this your way of trying to get my attention? Well, it worked. You wanted to make me jealous, I am.” He growled. “Damn slut. Practically fucking each other out there in front of everyone.” You almost felt guilty for a second. Had you hurt his feelings? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have given you the silent treatment.” He said. “You’re… apologizing?” You asked, astonished. In all the time the two of you had been together, he had never apologized after a fight. It was always you that fixed things. “Yes, y/n, I’m apologizing. I’m sorry. I was angry, but I’m over it now. I can’t stand the thought of you with someone else. I can’t stand seeing you with someone else. Especially a disgusting perv like him,” He said, clenching the steering wheel tightly. He leaned over the center console, grabbing your face with his thumb and his forefinger. He pulled it towards his, placing a hard, passionate kiss on your lips. You kissed him back just as hard, bringing your hands to his face to intensify the kiss. The windows were beginning to fog as the kiss got more heated.

“Let’s get out of here, baby,” You sighed between kisses. He nodded, starting the car. You hated fighting, but damn, did you love making up.

[rosaren2498]

It Shouldn't Be So Easy

Part 3 of what I've Dubbed the 'It Isn't Abduction If You're Willing' the series. This is Dream's POV of the past 2 stories, and some extra. This and the next part might actually be THE MOST SELF-INDULGENT stories I've ever written.

WARNINGS: Abduction, Dream being kind of creepy

Dream had been in his throne room when Lucienne had brought it up. She'd noticed that a particular dreamer was mostly having nightmares and that they were reoccurring. This, in and of itself, was not cause for concern; the fact that the dreamer was causing mild tremors, however, was.

He was just in the process of getting the name of the dreamer- if another vortex had been born so soon, he'd need to take care of it immediately- when a scream rang throughout the Dreaming. He felt it ripple through the air, carrying with it absolute agony, the likes of which was usually only felt in Hell; he was startled to realize he recognized the scream (200 years ago, give or take, a scream had rang out across all the realms, echoing and filled with such pain, the likes of which he'd only felt when Orpheus had died. Only very powerful beings had heard it- had felt it- him and his siblings mostly, but no one had been able to place where it had come from, beyond the Waking world.) His sharp intake of breath seemed to worry Lucienne further, but he'd brushed her off, told her he'd take care of it immediately.

He wasn't sure what exactly he'd been expecting upon finding the dreamscape with the human responsible but... it wasn't what he'd found. He'd found the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen tied down to an operating table; you were nude, your chest was cut open, there was blood everywhere, and one of his Nightmares, looking like some form of doctor, was taking their place between your thighs as you begged for mercy that would not come. It wasn't difficult to prod at the edges of the nightmare, to take in more information than that which had been provided by sight, and- to his own surprise- fury twisted inside him when he caught the edges of the other nightmares you'd been having; imprisonment, like him.

His interruption had almost seemed to relieve his Nightmare, who had vanished as soon as the demand had left his mouth. He felt an overwhelming urge to wrap you in a soft and warm blanket; you were shaking, and he couldn't tell if it was because you were cold or scared. When he'd undone your restraints, he couldn't resist brushing his fingers against your ankle, taking note of the way your legs had twitched; he wouldn't touch you without your permission again, though something inside him burned at the thought.

Something primal was deeply satisfied by your naked form wrapped in his coat; a clear claim. He knew that he could've just clothed you, but something inside had whispered to put some kind of claim on you, hence his coat. He had to resist the urge to whisk you away to his chambers, where you'd be safe, when you had mentioned the nightmares being memories. Your mention of his family and his only friend, Hob Gadling, had been startling. It was clear you were immortal, like Hob, and that you'd had many interactions with his family; why did you seem so against Desire? He wanted you to tell him and he wasn't sure if he wanted to frighten it out of you, or coax it out of you; the thought that you might tell him of your own free will made him feel... things. Coaxing you would certainly be more fun.

Since he'd ended the nightmare, he had been busy in the palace, arranging things. He wouldn't deny having built a new set of chambers, not that anyone else was aware of such things. And if he'd skimmed your dreams for the coloring (purple with a black accent) and the animal silhouettes on the walls and bed (wolves with their heads thrown back and dragons with their wings spread wide), that was his business.

But two weeks had passed since his claim and he'd heard no word from you... perhaps you didn't know? The thought had occured to him many times since he'd given you his coat. You'd accepted so easily, it would make sense that you didn't understand; and Matthew never saw you wearing it unless you were alone in your flat.

Just when he was beginning to think he'd made a terrible mistake, Hob mentioned you.

Dream remembered the gentle smile on your face when you'd spoken of Hob. He remembered how the way you'd talked about Hob had made him smile. So, when Hob eagerly informed him that you were looking to meet up with him, he'd jumped at the chance, not that he'd ever admit it; such things weren't dignified.

He'd provided a park name and a time he knew that park would be mostly empty; he wanted to speak with you alone. But then he arrived and you were wearing his coat... as if you accepted his claim. Pleasure thrummed through him and he moved without thought, suddenly standing behind you, voice crooning into your ear.

"You accept my claim, then."

You shivered and he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around you, but he resisted; he did not wish to touch you without permission.

He didn't give you time to respond, calling on his sand to transport you both directly to what would now be your new chambers. He was standing in front of you now, unable to look away from your beautiful face. You were so gorgeous and he could clearly remember how beautiful your naked body had been, though he wished he'd seen it under better circumstances; he wanted to ravish you and it was so hard to fight the urge, but he refused to hurt you.

You blinked up at him, though you didn't seem frightened. "Your claim? Is that what the coat was?"

He gave a sharp nod; he figured you'd try to fight him on it, demand to go back, and he'd have to inform you that you'd already accepted; effectively, you were his and there was no going back. He was startled when you smiled.

"Oh. Teleute assumed that it was an excuse for you to see me again, but a claim makes much more sense."

He tilted his head to the side, blinking briefly at you. "You are aware of what an acceptance means, are you not?"

You nodded. "Means I'm yours, right? That I can't go back, that your realm is my home now?" He nodded again. "Thought so. I know more about the older laws than you might think; I've been around a while, though nowhere near as long as you and your family."

You seemed to relax the more you spoke and he couldn't help his baffled frown; he was fairly certain that he'd just taken you against your will but... it didn't seem to bother you? You tore your gaze from him and looked around the room, your mouth dropping open. He was almost overcome with the sudden desire to shove his tongue into your mouth and taste you; he'd never felt quite so intensely for someone so quickly... was Desire messing with him again?

"Oh wow. Is this... for me?" You didn't wait for him to answer, moving away from him to explore the room. "Oh, it's beautiful. I absolutely adore wolves, and dragons, but I guess you already knew that." There was a slight flush darkening your cheeks and he once more had to resist the urge to kiss you or touch you; he couldn't ignore the pride he felt, knowing you liked what he'd made for you. "Is there any way we can get some things from my flat? I don't have a lot, but there are a couple things with sentimental value I'd like to bring here."

The more you continued to speak, the more confused he became. He shook his head; he wouldn't question you, not yet at least. However, if this was a test, you were going to be disappointed. "Tell me what you require and I shall fetch it for you."

You looked over at him and gave him a small smile, understanding shining in your eyes. He frowned, narrowing his eyes, but didn't get a chance to say anything about it as you answered him, giving a small list of things you wanted; weren't things supposed to be more difficult? He had expected resistance of some kind, no matter how futile it would've been, but you were seemingly fine.

"Before you go, I wanted to ask... can I visit Hob with you? Other than your sister, he's really my only Waking world connection. It doesn't have to be every time, just... sometimes? He's a good friend, though I'm sure you know that."

He stared at you, unblinking, and you stared back unflinchingly. But the longer he stayed silent, the more your shoulders dropped, and eventually, you broke your gaze from his, looking at the floor with a soft sigh.

"Never mind. Forget I asked."

The defeat and disappointment in your voice caused his heart to clench, the way your shoulders curled inward, as if you were trying to make yourself appear smaller, made anger burn through him; who had hurt you? Who had made you think you needed to appear small? He moved before he'd consciously decided to, his fingers stroking along your cheek, sliding down along your jaw until he was tilting your chin up. You met his gaze, something nervous shining in your eyes. He studied you, silent for another long moment.

"Very well. I will take you with me when I next visit Hob."

It was more than worth the concession to see the blinding smile spread across your face. That primal something inside him purred at the knowledge that he'd made that smile appear on your face.

[ryuichirou]

I destress from the annoyance of antis by looking at your art and posts. Your art is lovely and I hope more people see it and jump on your bandwagon. I've been looking but nobody seems to ever match up to what you make. It's like a cure for the bane of my existence that is the lack of critical thinking that plagues several people online.

Someone complained about an Ortho x reader smut fic like "this person is sexualizing a minor". Like, correct me if I'm wrong random internet user, but that is a robot so therefore he's not human and also he isn't real so it's not hurting anybody real. I think porn of a fictional android is the least of your worries. And being squicked out is valid but doxxing and leaking the person's private info is actually way worse than whatever they wrote because a real person was put in danger. So much for caring about caring about actual people.

Anon! This is so ridiculously kind of you, thank you very much!

I say it every other day at this point, but honestly we’re surprised that we got any support, but this fandom turned out to be quite critical (in a good way!) and open-minded and self-indulgent and understanding and a lot of other nice things. I feel like there are more people now who are doing so-called “problematic” stuff and create communities and events around it, which is super amazing. Being surrounded by nothing but boring prudish people whose only fandom activity seems to be attacking and writing call-outs would be suffocating. I’m not saying that we caused this shift, we certainly didn’t, but if anyone gets inspired or feels encouraged by looking at our stuff, I am super happy and grateful for that. So thank you so much for your message, Anon <3 Another thing that I say a lot! It’s your support that keeps us posting and feeling comfortable with sharing our ideas here.

Also, you made a valid point here: it is indeed okay to feel squicked out and uncomfortable. We can’t all like all the things, and I know that for some people seeing Ortho as anything other than a 5 years old kid (for some reason) just doesn’t work, thus this type of content disgusts them. But, once again, this can always be resolved by one easy block. Not all of us see Ortho the same way, not all of us use fan-made content and overall media as a rule guide for living.

So yes, actual real people and their well-being should always be a higher priority than any fictional character.

[angstyaches]

hii could we please get a sick ryan because she ate something stupid (thinking about the time she stole nancys cookies heheh) with nancy as the caretaker? i miss them sm :)🍄

You also requested something Ryan-centric for this post, quite a while ago, so I've combined the two.

Word Count: 4,400+

CW (PLEASE READ): species-based food intolerance, nausea, vomiting, bad self-talk, behaviour which could be interpreted as harmful to the self so please proceed with caution and be gentle with yourselves 🖤

___

“I feel my gratitude must, once again, be expressed,” Ryan said, distracting herself with words while her knife pressed down on her stack of green leaves, tomato slices, chicken, and dressing. This chaotic arrangement had somehow cost more than an entire cow used to cost in the equivalent currency. She supposed she remained indoors far too often, if culture shock could still manage to creep up on her out of nowhere.

Her lunch companion raised her eyebrows as she chewed. She had ordered clam chowder and bread, much to Ryan’s quiet and resigned dismay. Exposure to the smells of food were a challenge for her senses to begin with, but it was a special kind of hell when seafood became involved. To make things worse, she had clams and prawns and whatever else was hauled in off the coast of Portrush had once delighted her beyond reason.

To be sickened by something once loved brought an especially bittersweet tang to her mouth. She could almost hear the crashing waves, the tinkle of little Silas’s laughter –

“For… what?” Mrs. Waters pondered innocently.

“For… inviting me to convene with you over your afternoon meal,” Ryan clarified, giving a slight shake of her head. She would have to limit the extent of her olfactory indulgences as much as possible. “I understand that your schedule must come with an abundance of restrictions –”

The trickle of discomfort in Mrs. Waters’ eyes made Ryan’s words halt on her tongue. She was being too formal. She knew that. Well, she hadn’t known that. But she knew that now.

Or perhaps it was the way Ryan’s jaw threatened to rebel against her every time she lifted the fork to her mouth, her tongue becoming awash with acrid saliva. The way she chewed as though she could somehow stop the food from touching the surfaces inside her mouth. Like a fool.

Like an utter fool.

“It was really no bother at all,” Mrs. Waters assured Ryan, eyeing her bowl of soup as she carefully lifted a spoonful towards her lips. Ryan wasn’t sure if the woman was of a generally nervous disposition, or if it was Ryan, specifically, who was making her nervous. “To be honest, I was a bit anxious to meet you. My Charlie is basically working for you right now.”

“I see,” Ryan said, poking at a chunk of tomato with her fork. It wept a sickly pink juice under the pressure of the tine. She wasn’t sure she was satisfied with the idea that the young Mr. Waters was working for her; she had thought that allowing him to continuing living on the property had been a generous gesture, not a job offer.

Indeed, he would be keeping an eye on the structural integrity of the building and preventing the odd build-up of dust and grime, but didn’t most mortals perform these duties within their dwellings –?

“Not – not that I was afraid you were some kind of weirdo or anything!” Mrs. Waters exclaimed.

“Ah.”

Half a second later, Mrs. Water’s gave a nervous chuckle, which told Ryan that she should be chuckling too, and certainly shouldn’t have given a deadpan, one-word answer. To avoid having to make up for it now, she loaded her mouth full of vinegared leaves, the texture and flavours lost in a sea of tingling, unpleasant numbness between her jaws.

The sensation came on so fast that it felt like a spike had been driven down through the top of her head, its point grating at the base of her tongue. The intensity shocked her somewhat, which was a good thing; if not for the shock, she might have started in her seat and instantly spewed her food back out onto the table.

As things stood, her jaw had clenched and her lips had mashed up tightly together.

“So, you’re looking to move out to the countryside?” Mrs. Waters asked.

Ryan’s eyes were somehow dry, yet also stinging with tears.

She made a show of puffing out her cheeks and pointing towards her closed lips to buy herself more time to chew. More time to… suffer through chewing. Every cell in her body wanted to spray the wet, slippery greens as far as they would go. Her inherently liquid diet didn’t often require her jaws or her back teeth to do much work, beyond the initial slicing into the flesh of a live pray, of course. It was oddly tedious and repetitive work.

Not to mention her guts were practically revolting in protest already. Before she’d turned immortal – more immortal than most other immortals, in fact – Ryan had lived through more diseases than many creatures who still roamed the earth, and she didn’t appreciate the reminder of what sickness could feel like.

But none of that mattered. The current situation called for her to be sociable. There was no room for anything else.

The story was that she was planning to move to the countryside with her partner, who suffered from a rare lung disease and would benefit from a fresher kind of air than the stuff readily available in the suburbs. They were planning on adopting two rescue dogs, and as soon as they were settled in, Ryan planned to take back up her long-lost hobby of painting portraits of animals in Colonial-style dress. This last detail had been Ryan’s own contribution to the charade, and Nancy had raised an eyebrow at it.

The more seemingly innocuous drivel included, the more convincing the fabrication, Ryan had assured her wife, and when it seemed as though Nancy had been about to protest, Ryan had done what she generally did when Nancy was about to protest. She’d kissed her on the mouth.

She couldn’t quite tell Mrs. Waters the truth, that the house her son resided in was plagued by the densest swarm of demons the world over, or that her son himself was possessed by a demon, or that Ryan was monitoring him for fear he’d caught the attention of the most dangerous immortal on the planet.

These were simply not appropriate lunchtime topics of discussion.

“Well… that’s exciting,” Mrs. Waters smiled. She smiled more with the left side of her mouth than the right. “Can I ask why? Are you just… looking for a change, or is there a job…?”

Ryan’s lips trembled, and she wanted to smack them to make them behave. Her lungs gulped in air, despite her efforts to refrain from excessive breathing, as she swallowed the foul mouthful. It gurgled in her throat, her internal muscles twitching and spasming as it was forced down, into a stomach that felt how she imagined Felix’s did when he had to watch a creature being slaughtered.

With a disdainful curl to her lip, Ryan certainly hoped she didn’t look the way Felix did when he had to watch an animal being slaughtered.

Below the table, her stomach burbled.

She pressed a poised finger to her lips, stifled an indigestive burp, and nodded in response to Ingrid’s question. “Well, my partner, you see, has a rather uncommon lung condition…”

___

Ryan sat in her car long for an excessive amount of time after arriving home. The shadows that had descended as the garage door closed behind her had felt like a blanket encircling her shoulders, shrouding her from the prying eyes of the world. The sensation disgusted her. Ryan never had need for blankets or warmth or self-pity.

And as soon as her defences went down, they went down. Hard. The cogs in her brain began to analyse every moment of the interaction, criticise every facial expression, pick apart every selected word, twist at every hum of agreement.

Even the fact that she was sitting in her car, emotionally paralysed, told her that she, herself, needed improvement. If spending the afternoon with a human person could take this much of a toll on her, then she was in dire need of… practice. Exposure. She had once attended Lions Club meetings and taken painting lessons; perhaps it was time to explore those options again. Spend some time with beings other than witches and vampires and… others.

Ryan rested a hand against her abdomen as she pressed her spine into the car seat, feeling a rather violent tension pushing against the buttons of her crisp white shirt. Her stomach was bubbling and squelching away, as though it thought its sluggish efforts would achieve anything close to digestion.

She used the heel of her hand to knead the space beneath her ribs where her meagre meal sat like a thick slime. The wretched organ might as well have been a dried-up clay pot, for all the good it was doing her.

And yet, no matter how many strategies and recalculations spun through her brain, she couldn’t see how she could have excused herself entirely from eating. She could have implied that she was on a diet, or taking medications that limited her mealtime options, but she couldn’t see Mrs. Waters reacting well to either of those. Well, why on earth did you agree to a meeting over lunch? She would have been too polite to say this, but Ryan knew she would have been thinking it. She was thinking it herself.

Thinking about Shayne, Ryan wondered if Mrs. Waters would have felt guilt for eating her lunch if Ryan hadn’t also ordered something. If she’d learned anything from her latest protégé, it was that mortals had the fascinating ability to feel guilt over the most inevitable of their human needs.

Luckily, Ryan was not a human.

And she had things to do.

She drew her shoulders back, released the tension in her stomach - the result was an even tighter press against the buttons of her shirt, but she could ignore it - and opened the car door.

___

As she entered her study after a slow ascent of the stairs, Ryan’s stomach was snarling like a small animal attempting to assert its dominance. She gritted her teeth and bore down on her abdomen with her knuckles. If anything in there wanted out, it should… well, it should make haste. While she usually preferred to shut the door to the upstairs hallway, Ryan left it ajar today, so that she could make a brisk exit to the bathroom when the time came.

Grrrlllrrrgghh.

Ryan listened to the distressed gurgling with a muted sense of contempt. If her stomach was so unhappy with its contents, why hadn’t she thrown up already? She didn’t have all day to wait around for it to happen. Two hundred years, and two transformations later, and it seemed her earthly form was still not without its flaws.

So concerned was she with her despondent gut that she wasn’t even aware that the thrum of Nancy’s footsteps had taken a route from the bedroom to the study, and the soft knock on the doorframe made her heart jump into her raw, delicate throat.

Nancy poked her head around the door with a soft, almost slow-motion swish of her ponytail. “Oh, you’re home!”

“Nothing gets past you, does it, my love?”

“Oh, enough of that,” Nancy tsked, tugging on Ryan’s hand and pulling her about to plant a kiss on her lips.

Ryan softened a little, overcome with relief that she wasn’t married to another vampire. Despite her fantastical abilities, Nancy’s senses – the five main ones, that is – were as dull as the average mortal’s. She wouldn’t detect the scent of salad on Ryan’s breath, so long as Ryan didn’t exhale near her. Therefore, it was a very chaste, brief kiss that they shared.

“How did it… Ryan?” Nancy gasped as she stood back, holding a hand to her mouth as though to quiet herself. “Why do you look like death warmed over?”

Ryan curled her lip as she stalked over to her desk. She thumped the documents onto the wood. “I did not think this was news to you, Nan, but it did. Two hundred years ago, to be precise.”

“Sweetheart, I meant that you –”

“Yes, yes, thank you, love. Incidentally, you also look radiant this evening,” Ryan murmured. As she slumped into her chair, her stomach gave yet another obnoxious, unproductive grumble. She cleared her throat and gazed across at Nancy.

“Sorry, Ry,” Nancy said, cheeks reddening. Then she swept her hands down the front of her skirts, with an air of starting on a clean slate, as she planted herself in the plush armchair that sat to the side of Ryan’s desk. “How did everything go?”

“Fine.”

“Everything signed?”

“Of course.”

“Wonderful,” Nancy smiled, with a distinct lack of the excitement she’d had at every other point of this endeavour. “What was Charlie’s mum like?”

“Mrs. Waters,” Ryan rather snapped,“was akin to a pleasant, yet overall remarkably ordinary, individual.”

Nancy let out a gentle scoff, once again brushing her hands over her skirts. “Well, don’t overwhelm me with details.”

“I do not know what more to tell you. Except that… I am…” Ryan’s eyes widened as she trailed off. She’d been trailing off an awful lot today, even though it was a habit that irked her in others.

But a tingling, numbing wetness began to fill her mouth at an alarming rate, worse even than when she’d been taking bites of the salad that was prickling at the base of her oesophagus. The air felt like hot soup against her skin, in her lungs.

Why, why couldn’t Nancy have been occupied elsewhere? Now Ryan was obliged to share her discomfort, or continue her silence and risk giving her wife an untimely fright. “I believe I am… ‘bout to experience… emesis.”

Nancy blinked. “You –?”

Ryan’s eyes were wrenched back so hard in her skull that they ached, and her back arched forward so hard that she felt like a doll being pulled by the hair. The wheels of her desk chair rattled as she trundled out of range of anything particularly porous… Her stomach muscles clenched so hard that Ryan – in a moment of hyperbolic weakness – thought that her internal organs might come up through her nose –

And yet, while her senses braced themselves for the wet, clattering sound of stomach contents hitting the tiled floor, nothing came. Ryan swayed between emotional relief and dismay at being denied the physical relief.

“Oh, sweetheart, come,” Nancy murmured, and then her delicate, warm hands were guiding Ryan’s shoulders up and out of the desk chair. “I knew something was off about you. Did you eat?”

“I may have… ingested… a few mouthfuls of leafy matter.”

“A salad?” Nancy could neither have looked nor sounded more horrified if Ryan had hinted towards having had a stick of plutonium for lunch.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“A refusal to ingest would have resulted in…” Ryan slapped a hand to her stomach – silly as it sounded, her instinct seemed to be to try to physically suppress the spread of pain through her insides. “… Suspicion or discomfort.”

Nancy’s lower lip dropped down silently, but Ryan knew her wife well enough to guess what her thoughts were; how can someone with so much wisdom and experience be so stupid?

Thankfully, dear, sweet Nancy spared her the actual voicing of the thought.

“How… How was it?”

Amidst holding down her gorge, and fighting the urge to slump to the floor and take Nancy with her, Ryan managed to muster up a look of derision. She cast it lengthways as she hobbled from the study with her hands clasped on Nancy’s shoulders. Nancy looked back at her with a gormless grimace.

“Right. Never mind.”

___

“It. Refuses. To. Emerge,” Ryan moaned into the toilet bowl.

"Sweetheart," Nancy murmured distractedly.

Ryan flung a hand up in the air, then clapped it against her thigh in a display of finality. “It will never emerge! I shall now persist with rotting vegetation in my tract for the remainder of my existence.”

Nancy gave a light-hearted click of her tongue. “This,” she hummed, “coming from the woman who refuses to give up on a single other person on earth.”

Ryan attempted to spit the sour taste from her mouth, but her excessive saliva had dried up, leaving her with nothing but a tacky residue that clung to her cheeks like cells held together with collagen. If she’d had more spit, maybe the foul contents of her stomach would have slipped up and out of her by now, instead of sticking to her insides like leeches.

“What makes you the one and only hopeless case on this entire planet, hmm?” Nancy’s eyebrows quirked as she focused on something she’d arranged in her lap, nestled in the folds of her skirt. “What makes you so special?”

Ryan sank back from the toilet, though couldn’t quite get her head to remain straight without supporting it against the side of the bowl. She rubbed miserably at her gut; the chances of producing a physiological benefit were low, but she couldn’t fight the instinct to try. Her mood shifted once she’d realised that her wife was concocting something; not hopeful, but lured back from the brink by scientific intrigue.

Her weary eyes skimmed over a couple of ingredients that Nancy had used to throw together potions over the years, though Ryan had never seen them in this combination before. From her knowledge of Nancy’s works, it seemed to her that the result of this project would be rather… well, explosive would be a word for it.

“An elixir,” Ryan murmured, “to induce emesis?”

“Mmhmm,” Nancy’s voice pulsed in her throat, as though parting her lips to answer would have been too much of a distraction.

Disappointment clouded Ryan’s curiosity, rendering it difficult not to sink into the pains in her stomach, not to feel them so completely that everything else dimmed once again. “It will not be effective on me.”

“What if I told you I have added one very special ingredient,” Nancy said, raising one sardonic eyebrow, “for one very special lady?”

“I would remind you,” Ryan muttered, “that I am not merely a special ‘lady’, but an organism of unnatural qualities, including a resistance to the potency of –”

“In that case, you would have nothing to lose, isn’t that correct, my love?”

Ryan snatched the vial with what was probably excessive force and knocked back the liquid. Something stirred in her memory as she gulped, as though her taste buds had somewhat drifted out of slumber, just for a nanosecond. Mostly, she enjoyed how cool the fluid was as it snaked down her burning throat and carved its steady way down towards her stomach.

“It,” she spat, mouth dry as she lowered the vial, “will be ineffective.”

Nancy wore a patient smile almost as well as she wore a sweetheart neckline. More impressively, even, for Ryan knew that Nancy’s reserves of patience did not run as deep as their boys, or her students, thought. That patient smile was a thing of fine craftsmanship.

“If so,” she said softly, “I apologise. But wasn’t it worth a shot?”

Ryan had to turn her face away to avoid the humbling light of Nancy’s well-fought-for optimism. Her stomach rumbled in acknowledgment of its latest arrival, confirmed even further by a vibration through Ryan’s hand. “I suppose so.”

Nancy stretched her arms above her head, tilting her folded knees to keep her equipment and ingredients from rolling over the tiled floor. “Whew. I for one am mighty tired of this floor, Ry. Mind if we move you to the bed with a bucket instead?”

___

Bed and bucket proved a mundane combination to an immortal woman with work on the brain and an immovable lump in her stomach.

Ryan lay slumped on her side, face right at the edge of the bed so that she could keep an eye on her designated bucket, for so long that the sun set behind the curtains. About six kilometres away, a cricket began to shriek, adding itself to the din of the city. The world moved on, progressed, thrived, while Ryan lay overwhelmed with nausea, unable to digest or eject the offending food.

And yet her stomach continued to grumble its discomfort.

Nancy had stayed awake with her, fondling her hair in a way that reminded Ryan just vaguely of being fussed over by her mother. She wasn’t certain if the memory was welcome or not, and tried to let it wash over her like the tide. Nancy had also massaged Ryan’s back for a while which, whilst failing to dislodge the knots in her stomach, had done wonders for the tension in her muscles.

Gghhhhrrrlllgghh.

“Ssshh,” Ryan hissed, pressing her knuckles harshly against her stomach muscles. The pressure evidently would offer no help in inducing vomiting, but there was nothing to say a little aggression wouldn’t discourage the infuriating noises that continued to –

“Ry,” Nancy chided, closing her fingers around Ryan’s fist and guiding it halfway across the bed. She pressed Ryan's wrist into the top sheet, far away from where it could do any more persuading. “Please don’t do that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“It is wearing on my nerves like –”

“I don’t care.” Nancy’s tone prodded at the fog of nausea and rage, and Ryan caught glimpse of herself through her wife’s eyes. “You’re wearing on mine with this nonsense. You’ve put your body through an ordeal already today, and now is the time to let it recover in whatever way it needs. Isn't that the wise thing to do?"

She exhaled noisily through her nose – was that a snort of amusement? – as Ryan’s stomach gurgled and bubbled a few inches from her elbow. Ryan’s brain flared with annoyance, which she quickly threw some reins on.

“Perhaps.”

“There is no ‘perhaps’,” Nancy said. “But you’re already suffering enough bodily, so I won’t put you through the mental torture of admitting that I'm right."

Ryan hummed in appreciation. Nancy didn't let up on her hand, so Ryan eventually turned her palm upwards so that their fingers could interlock. She almost found herself drifting off to sleep when she realised Nancy had shifted and slipped her hand away. Ryan felt her tug a wisp of Ryan's silvery-blonde hair back from her face, heard her wife holding her breath in a way that invited conversation.

“Yes?” Ryan had slurred before Nancy had even spoken.

“Will you try taking a second dose?”

It took Ryan longer than she was proud to admit to realise that Nancy was talking about the elixir she’d concocted earlier. If she thought about it hard enough, Ryan was sure that she could still feel the cool, slightly sticky medicine sitting alongside the offending mush in the pit of her stomach. Not making anything worse, but certainly not improving anything.

Ryan grunted. “I do not think it will –”

“Let me rephrase,” Nancy interrupted. “I have a second dose for you, and I strongly suggest you take it.”

With an even more aggressive grunt, Ryan hauled herself into a somewhat-upright position. It would be easier to take the useless potion than to incite further argument. She winced as the sudden movement made it feel as though her intestines were poised to crack inside of her.

“Give it to me,” she deadpanned, but Nancy was already un-stoppering the vial for her. Ryan slurped it back, fueled by nothing but the assuredness that this was not going to work, and was astonished to find herself licking her lips as soon as she’d swallowed. Even more bizarre, she found herself anticipating the smooth sensation of the medicine coursing down her throat, cooling and almost pleasant in its –

It stuck. It stuck, like a rock in the centre of her chest.

Ryan swallowed again, her posture turning rigid. She was only vaguely aware of Nancy’s hand coming up to rest on her waist.

A bubble of pressure slipped into the back of Ryan’s throat, and her stomach muscles jolted, resulting in a high-pitched exclamation and a thunderous, sloshing gurgle.

And then a belch.

A deep one, one that she felt reverberate under her lower left rib. The moment had a faint gloss of eureka to it, like she’d made a world-changing discovery, but at its core was a pit of dread, like she’d made a world-ending discovery.

She shuddered, torn halfway between turning towards the edge of the bed and turning to face her wife in disbelief.

“What… what’d you –?”

"Don't worry about it, cookie."

"But..."

In her desperate curiosity, Ryan almost choked on a mouthful of vomit. She would have ejected it all over the bedroom floor, had Nancy not laid gentle hands on the sides of her head and directed the spray downwards. There was a conveniently-placed bucket beside the bed, primed to catch and contain her vomit.

The bulk of it, at least.

As the retch had lost momentum, a small wave of thick slime had dripped from Ryan’s lower lip, hitting the floorboards between the bed and the bucket with a weighty thwop.

“Wonderful,” Ryan choked out, swiping her chin with the back of her hand. She barely had time to consider where she was going to wipe said hand when her guts gave another powerful lurch.

This time, a delicate hand slipped across the bed and tugged the rim of the bucket closer to Ryan’s side of the mattress. Nancy’s chest and stomach brushed softly against Ryan’s back.

“Great job,” Nancy murmured softly.

Ryan would have scoffed, if she’d been able to catch her breath. Great job? Great job suffering through the consequences of a bad decision? Great job smearing the hardwood with her gastric juices? She was not a child; even a child shouldn’t have been praised for anything she was doing.

Ryan cried out instinctively as she gagged again, the hollow ring of her voice echoing loudly inside the metal bucket over the gushing and splashing. She felt Nancy’s hands move to her shoulders, fingers lightly massaging the tumultuous muscles there.

"Oh," Ryan sighed as soon as she could get a word in between heaves. The mechanical harmony of clenching muscles and ejected fluids was almost as comforting as her wife's touch. After all, what could be more reassuring than the knowledge that one's body is working as it should?

"Better?" Nancy whispered, using her pinky to fish a pale curl away from the edge of Ryan's mouth.

Ryan hung her head over the side of the mattress, slack-jawed, unwilling to close her mouth and risk inhibiting further substance elimination. Nancy shifted her hands as though to hold her in place, and although she wasn't, Ryan found she was rather enjoying the illusion.

"Yes," she slurred, though she knew her ordeal was far from over. "Ineffably so."

[morningstarbee]

one of the things i think about a lot is Hannibal's reasoning for letting Will's encephalitis progress in season 1.

obviously in the show, we get a few reasons that are either outright stated, or pretty heavily implied:

it made it much easier for hannibal to frame him, since he just has stretches of time he doesn't remember. also because all of his violent dreams and hallucinations made it easy for will to believe he could have done what he was being framed for.

it removed the barriers and mental blocks will had up against indulging the part of him that enjoyed violence and killing. it made him more suggestible to acting on those desires.

it further obscured hannibal's identity as the ripper from will, since will was too busy losing his mind and seizing to pick up the clues in front of his face

he was kinda curious what would happen.

What I think about a lot is, did it really do Hannibal any favors? Like did making Will go through that really benefit either of them in any significant way?

Before the encephalitis really sets in, Will is already admitting to enjoying it. He tells Hannibal he enjoyed killing Hobbs at the end of episode 2. And we see later in season 2, and even in season 3, that after he has fully recovered from the encephalitis, he doesn't hesitate that much when attempting a murder.

My thing has always been wondering...wouldn't the encephalitis hinder his self-acceptance? He could attribute any of his violent thoughts to his impaired state of mind while being sick. Hell, even with the way season 1 ends, he could easily dismiss any of his own feelings on the matter as a product of Hannibal's manipulation and the encephalitis clouding his judgment. From my point of view, the encephalitis and Hannibal's involvement with it gives him a free pass to separate himself from all of it.

There were certainly other ways to obscure Will's discovery of his identity. Really, if he hadn't been so exciting to encourage will to "cultivate his instincts as the inspirations they are" he probably could have gotten away with it a bit longer. Will could have easily been blinded a bit longer by Hannibal's usual method of just being so polite and such a good friend and general upstanding citizen that no one ever thinks to look at him. Especially if he inserted himself into Will's recovery as much as possible, similar to how he did after Will collapsed after the whole Gideon incident. Really, if Hannibal succeeded at anything in Season 1, it was getting Will to trust and rely on him above anyone else.

Idk I've always imagined a world where Hannibal spent more time ingratiating and endearing himself to Will while simultaneously being a safe space for Will to admit to and indulge his darker desires. I think Will finding out Hannibal was the Copycat/Ripper in that instance would go a lot smoother. No matter how you slice it, Will's anger in the second season is definitely more about the betrayal and lies than Hannibal being a serial killer.

But, Hannibal wouldn't be Hannibal without the self-sabotage and need to sow chaos would he? What did Chiyoh say? "There are other means of influence but violence is what he understands."