#those thoughts have been living in my brain this weekend. anyway

[dragongeek1]

well friends I have officially joined the Chronic Pain Club, it’s not great to be here, there’s a chance it’s only temporary but my gut says ‘hmm many doubts’ and I won’t really know for a couple of weeks anyway until my doctors appointment. So. Been navigating that for four days and well we’re navigating at least

[toomuchracket]

fourth of july (politician!matty x reader smut)

another summer75 fic. warnings for shibari (light) and breeding kink (HEAVY). bon appetit <3

“you're sure you don't need anything else, ma'am?”

“thanks, claudia, but we're all good,” you smile at your assistant, her eyes flitting between the windows (and the party on the lawn outside) and you. “it's been a busy morning - i think you should go and relax, do some celebrating of your own, yeah?”

her eyes light up. “really?”

you laugh. “of course. just, piece of advice? don't drink anything anyone tries to serve you from a fishbowl tonight,” you grimace, shaking your head. “too many 5th of julys have been ruined for me that way. and for the president, actually, he was so much worse than i was at parties. stupid boy.”

claudia giggles. “noted, ma'am. i'll be sure to have a glass of water after every drink, too.”

“smart girl. well, i'll leave you to it,” you stretch, moving to close the door to the presidential living quarters. “have a good weekend!”

“and you, ma'am!”

closing the door behind you, you wander through towards your bedroom. aside from the sound of your husband humming to himself in there, the place is quiet, only the two of you around.

just how you like it.

you smile as you enter your bedroom, ogling matty as he pulls his shirt over his head. his hands move to his belt, but he stops his undressing in favour of walking towards you with love in his eyes and a grin on his lips; you pretend to sulk, but open your arms anyway. “damn, i was enjoying the show.”

“of course you were,” matty kisses your forehead, pulling back to arm's length to look at you. “i don't look half as good as you do, though. i love that dress, baby.”

“i thought it was pretty,” you clasp your hands behind matty's neck, and his find home on your hips. “it's really uncomfortable, though.”

it's a blatant lie, and you're sure you aren't being very subtle, but matty has the good grace to play along anyway. “is that right, my love?” he coos, hands moving across your back to undo the halter neck “well, we'd better take it off, then.”

“fabulous idea, mr. president,” you snuggle into him, sighing when the fabric of your dress falls to the ground and your bare chests press together. matty's arms wrap tightly around you, and the feeling of home washes over you. the two of you hug in comfortable silence for a second, your fingers gently twisting into your husband's curls, before you speak softly. “m'really proud of you, you know. it was a good morning. and i know you were reluctant to host anything today, but… i'm glad you did. it was fun.”

matty huffs out a laugh into your hair. “was only reluctant because it cut short our usual long weekend plans. and you know how much i love those.”

his hands travel towards your ass, sliding under the waistband of your thong to squeeze it; you giggle softly in response, pressing a long kiss to your husband's neck and enjoying the moan he lets out. “sometimes i wonder if you'll ever get bored of driving to the cabin whenever we get a few days off.”

“if we ever get rid of the shibari rigging hooks, i might.”

“as if we'd do that. be serious, please, matthew.”

matty laughs, scooping you up and dropping you onto the bed. “i love you, my perfect little rope bunny. and wife, obvs.”

“love you too. i also love that you've got your priorities straight,” you bite your lip as you watch matty undo his trousers, leaning up to kiss him messily as he crawls up to hover over you. it's a good kiss, sloppy and passionate, one that goes straight to your underwear and prevents your brain from thinking about anything other than matty inside you. “fuck, baby. tie me up now, please? we still have,” you glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table. “two hours before we need to start driving. pleeeeeeease?”

matty simply raises a brow.

you pout, batting your lashes. “come on, baby, please? just a little design? a little preview for the rest of the weekend?” you wrap your legs around his waist, smiling prettily the way you've done to get whatever you want from matty since you were twenty-two. “because you love me?”

at that, your husband sighs, nodding and trying to keep the smile from his face. sap. “legs only, alright? just because i love you.”

“mhmm,” you take his face in your hands and pull him in for a kiss, smiling at the way he melts against you. “thank you, my love.”

“sweet girl,” matty strokes your cheek, before moving off you and reaching to pull a box from under the bed; inside, you see pink rope neatly arranged in loops of figure eights. your heart leaps and core gushes at the sight, but matty makes a face at it. “not very patriotic colour-wise, is it?”

“pretty sure the amount of time i'm gonna spend on my knees worshipping you this weekend will make up for that, mr. president.”

“fuck. underwear off, now,” your husband quickly takes two separate loops of rope from the box, twisting them into position while you shimmy your thong and lie down, practically vibrating with happy anticipation. “and speaking of knees - bend them for me, darling, that's it. tell me if it's too uncomfortable, yeah?”

“i will.”

“good girl.”

with that, he begins to loop the rope around your left thigh and shin, securing them together with an intricate pattern you hope to god will leave a mark on your skin. you can't remember whether it was you or matty who first suggested trying shibari a decade or so ago, but you both took to it with enthusiasm - since then, every extended private moment you've had together has involved some sort of artistic bondage, exploring new designs and positions and making each other feel good. the rope took a bit of getting used to, initially, but now you love the feeling of it against your bare skin; it's a reminder that, for at least the next few hours in your busy lives, it's just you and matty, alone together, getting to love and appreciate and care for each other at the most primal, most intimate level.

once he's done, matty taps your bound knee. he moves back, smiling at his handiwork. “that feel alright, gorgeous?”

“yeah. thank you, angel.”

he blushes, and your heart flutters. “you're welcome, my darling. gonna do the other one now, yeah?”

“go ahead.”

the two of you settle back into comfortable silence, matty continuing his work while you smile at the way his tongue pokes out of his lips in concentration, one of the things that first endeared him to you when you met at law school. suddenly, those lips part as he speaks. “isn't it funny how many people just, like, handed their babies to us at the garden party this morning?”

your brow furrows slightly. interesting topic of conversation. “happens to me quite a lot, to be honest.”

“yeah, i've noticed. s'happened eighteen times to you in the past week alone.”

your brow furrows further. “you've been counting?”

matty's cheeks go pink again. “well… not deliberately, darling, i just,” he sighs, finishing off the shibari and sitting back on his heels to look at you sheepishly. “i can't help but notice when you're interacting with babies at the minute. like, i really can't.”

oh. how interesting. and, if you're honest, not entirely unwelcome. you smile. “you think it's time?”

his eyes widen. “for… for us to-?” he clears his throat. “for us to… have a baby of our own?”

“yeah, sweetheart,” you reach up to caress his face, smiling softly at the way matty leans into your hand. “do you think now’s the time?”

“well… yeah.”

you smirk, removing your hand from your husband's face so you can use it to pull your bent legs open as wide as possible and expose your glistening cunt. “let's make a baby, then.”

matty blinks. suddenly, your instructions seem to sink in, and he follows, not even bothering to take his boxers off fully before sliding through your wetness and pushing inside you; his lips meet yours as he bottoms out, the two of you sighing into each other's mouths.

home at last.

for a moment, there's nothing but the two of you kissing like teenagers, passionate and messy and desperate, matty throbbing inside you in the most delicious way, and then he moves, pulls his hips back and snaps them forward again, over and over and over, drawing soft moans from your lips every time he slides in. a huge part of the reason matty was elected, everyone says, is because he does everything with focus and conviction - the way he fucks is no different.

he pulls back from your lips, resting your foreheads together in the most tender way and sliding his hands over yours against the pillow; when you intertwine your fingers, he smiles. “sweet girl, taking me so fucking well.”

“your sweet girl.”

“that's right. my girl, all mine,” matty beams. something about the ownership reminder spurs him on, makes him thrust faster and harder and deeper into you. you whimper his name, and he kisses your nose. “what is it, darling? need me to fill you up, is that it? put my baby in you and let everyone know you're mine?”

the words go straight to your cunt, brain too hazy with pleasure to properly take them in. “please.”

“cum for me first, sweetheart, and i will,” he coos, stroking your face and dropping a sweet kiss onto your nose. “touch that pretty clit for me, yeah? and then i'll fill up that needy little pussy of yours. promise.”

“okay,” you exhale, hand sliding down your sweat-shiny chest and between your legs, circling your aching clit the way you know matty would. ecstasy shoots through your body the instant you touch the bundle of nerves, causing you to whine and clench around your husband's dick - which in turn makes him whine - but, somehow, it isn't enough. “matty,” you croak out, blinking up at him. “need you to talk to me. please.”

“oh, my darling,” matty grins, not unkindly. “need me to tell you how good you feel, how much i love how fucking tight your cunt is? even after all this time, after all the pounding i've given you, she's still clenching around me like a fucking vice. could stay inside you forever, you know. wanna do that. i think you want me to, as well, don't you, gorgeous? feels like it, anyway.”

the pleasure's practically blinding you at this point, tightening your muscles and clouding your mind - all you can do is frantically rub your clit, and whimper. “yeah, yeah, want you in me all the time.”

“needy girl,” matty's lips crash onto yours, tongue licking into your mouth before he murmurs against you. “can't fucking wait to fill you up properly, sweetheart. please tell me you're close.”

“i am, oh shit, i am!” you aren't lying, either - your legs are quivering as much as they can within the rope, and the pressure building in your lower stomach feels like it's about to reach breaking point. you're vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face and pooling on your chest, but all you can focus on right now is matty. “gonna cum, please, please let me cum.”

your husband leans forward, cock driving impossibly deep and lips ghosting over your ear. “do it, my darling. cum for me, let me give you a baby. our baby.”

and that's all it takes.

you cling to matty like a liferaft as your orgasm hits, although the more accurate nautical metaphor would be to liken him to an anchor; without him above you, hands digging into the flesh of your legs almost as much as the rope, you're certain you'd float away, buoyant from sheer fucking ecstasy. he cums with a guttural moan of your name as you clench around him, kissing you deeply as his thrusts get more and more shallow, and you don't think you've ever been more full, metaphorically (of love) and literally (of cum, crass as it sounds). once he's done, your husband nuzzles into the crook of your neck, both of you sweaty and breathing heavily.

for a few blissful minutes, you stay like that, weaving a hand into matty's messy curls and scratching his scalp while you exchange murmured “i love you”s. your eyes flick sideways to the alarm clock, and you tap his shoulder in a feeble attempt to get him to move. “sweetheart, we need to get cleaned up before we leave.”

“just give it another minute or two, darling,” matty mumbles into your skin; he pulls himself up just enough to kiss you, looking adoringly into your eyes. “have to make sure the baby sticks, after all.”

you giggle, stroking his flushed face with your thumb. “we'll miss seeing the fireworks from the cabin if we don't get a move on, though.”

“trust me, my love, you'll get your fireworks this weekend no matter when we leave.”

“whatever you say, mr. president.”

[frenchkisstheabyss]

୨୧ ｓｔｒａｗｂｅｒｒｙ ｊｕｌｉｕｓ ୨୧

୨୧ Pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x chubby!fem!reader x boyfriend!namjoon

୨୧ Genre: fluff, smut, rocker au/crime au combo

୨୧ Summary: The night of an event you've been stressing out about for weeks, you find stress relief in an unexpected but welcome place.

୨୧ Word Count: 2.4k-ish

୨୧ Warnings: unprotected sex, double penetration, double creampie, anal, light choking, dirty talk, pet names, strong language (I can be a potty mouth, sry), pet names (love, baby), dom vibes if you squint, & that's all I think.

୨୧ A/N: I really wanted to mix two of my favorite au's with two of my favorite people so here we are. There's definitely gonna be a part two because my brain won't shut up about this. Anyway, I hope you like it my loves 🖤

Punk music blares from the speakers in your living room, the distorted strumming of guitars and brutal drumming enough to shake the walls of your two story home. Playing your music as loud as you want whenever you want. One of the few perks that come with living on the edge of the city where your nearest neighbor's an elderly woman a mile down the road who never uses her hearing aid.

A hearing aid. You’ll need one any day now if you keep this up but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’re having the time of your life fresh out of the shower, dancing around in your towel while you tear your closet apart to find an outfit for the party tonight. Everything has to be perfect. Your hair. Your outfit. Your makeup. Jungkook says you’re perfect already. That everything else is just decoration.

With all the effort he put into getting your band invited to this party, your “decoration” needs to be more memorable than ever. Everyone who’s anyone on the punk scene will be there tonight. From journalists to producers to some of the women who inspired you to start a band to begin with. The pressure to make a lasting impression is insane and the precise reason you’re running on 4 hours of sleep right now. You’ve been moving non-stop since this morning, trying to outrun your doubts and insecurities.

“Love, slow down. Let me help you” Jungkook whispered in those moments he caught you burning yourself out. You don't know what you'd do without the sweetheart that he is. Digging through your top drawer you pull out a pair of fishnets, the ones he can't get enough of, and you're instantly reminded of the other side of him. Thoughts of all the filthy things you’ve done in these fishnets bring a tingle to your cheeks that spreads between your thighs like wildfire. 

“Not tonight” you say to yourself, tossing them back in, “I’ll never be able to focus.” Shaking off vivid memories of being fucked against the questionably clean mirror of a dive bar last weekend, you continue to raid your closet, carelessly making a mess that’ll be a problem for future you to deal with.

“Baby!” Jungkook shouts, stepping through the front door twirling his keys around his fingers. His heavy black combat boots hit the hardwood like the steps of a giant as he marches over to the speaker and turns the music down. “Baby! Where are you?” There’s an adorable pitter patter of feet from above before your voice sounds from the top of the stairs. “I’m here! Get everything you needed from the store?” 

His brain glitches. The store? Oh, yeah. That lie he told you about needing to run to the store for something. You never pressed him for specifics. A testament to the level of trust you have in him. Trust that hopefully won’t be shattered by the fact that he lied his ass off. He cuts his eyes at the tall man looming by the door, knowing that his presence is the only thing that’ll redeem him. 

“Uh, yeah, I did” he lies, appearing at the bottom of the stairs, “Could you come here for a second?” Without bothering to answer, you skip down the stairs, only hitting the second to last step before he has his arms around your plush figure. The towel bunches up around your waist, raising your towel just enough to allow your ass to poke out the bottom. He can’t resist brushing his fingers along the softness of your ass.

A move that reignites that tingling you felt earlier and has your lips latching onto his before he can say another word. Jungkook dives right in, shoving his hands beneath your towel to hungrily grip handfuls of your curves. There’s no time for this but he’ll make it. He has to. Something about you drowns out his reason. He’d postpone his own funeral if it meant he got to touch you one last time. 

“Does everyone who comes over get to watch or am I just special?” Namjoon teases, slamming the front door shut. Jungkook’s stomach sinks, suddenly remembering what he’d actually left the house to pick up. Yours sinks even lower. That voice. It hasn’t lived within these walls for years. Jungkook steps back, waving Joon over. “I, uh, got something extra from the store.” 

A half dozen emotions brew inside of you, none of them identifiable. You only know that your feet are glued to the ground. That your mouth is drier than it's ever been and your heart’s beating in your throat. Joon approaches you, his arms outstretched to welcome you into a hug. When you don’t budge, your pouty bottom lip the only part of you able to move, he pulls you into his arms anyway.

The strength of his hug, the love laced within it, heals something inside of you that has your vision going hazy with tears. Lifting you from the stairs, Joon brings you between him and Jungkook. They hug you from both sides the way they used to before Joon went away. 4 years in prison. Light work for washing dirty money but an eternity for your close knit trio. You haven’t laid eyes on him since that last day in court.

He’d only let Jungkook come visit, insisting that you shouldn’t be in a place like that. You lost count of the hours you spent in tears hating him for keeping you away but loving him too much for the feeling to ever stick. Your Joon didn’t belong locked away with killers and god knows who else. Everything he did, everything you did together, was to survive. He'd never hurt anyone and knowing he might be surrounded by people who would made being kept at a distance sting that much more.

There was no way you and Jungkook would’ve survived without each other. Him losing his best friend and you losing one of your loves. No matter how far your careers advanced, how nice this house was, or how much money you had tucked under the floorboards in the attic, nothing could change how incomplete you feel. How incomplete you felt.

“Ouch!” Joon cries, jumping when you pinch his side, “What was that for?” “What the fuck are you doing here?” you shout, wiping the tears from your eyes. Joon just laughs, “I still live here don’t I?” “Duh, you idiot! But you’re not supposed to—your release is months away—I thought—” You turn to Jungkook who grabs your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours before you pinch him too.

“Early release. I was gonna tell you, I just thought it’d be a fun surprise. Plus you were so freaked out about tonight. I just didn’t wanna psych you out. You mad at me?” Jungkook pouts, those brown puppy dog eyes pulling you in like they always do. “I’m not mad” you huff, rolling your eyes while leaning in to let him peck you on the cheek. Joon kisses you on the neck from behind, his large smooth hands massaging your tense shoulders.

You reach back, running your palm across his buzz cut hair, “I like the new hair. It’s kinda hot.” “Only kinda?” he asks, nipping at your neck, revenge for that pinch earlier. His hands slide down, patiently rounding your curves to reach your exposed thighs. “Stop” you giggle, a chill running up your spine, “I have to get ready.” Jungkook pulls his phone from his pocket to check the time. “We can always help you get ready” he grins, pushing his knee between your thighs to make enough space for Joon to run two fingers over your slit.

“It’s so wet down there” Joon hums, “Is that just from the shower or—.” Twisting free, you rush back up the stairs, stopping halfway up to glance back at them. “I still need to do my hair.” Jungkook shrugs, taking two steps toward you, “I’m pretty good with hair.” You swallow hard, wiping your sweaty palms on your towel. “And…and my makeup.” Joon tilts his head to see you better, “I can do that.”

Why are they like this? So annoyingly persistent. It’s not like you don’t want it. The thought had crossed your mind to have a quickie with Jungkook when you were standing in your bedroom zoning out with those fishnets in your hand. With Joon back you find yourself wanting it even more. Those feelings that overcame you are much clearer now. Passion. Love. Lust. Joy. All fighting for dominance and right now one in particular’s winning.

Look at them. They’re both so fucking handsome. And the closer they get the harder it is to ignore the voice in the back of your head telling you to give in. “Just a kiss” it whispers as Jungkook catches up to you, his lips dangerously close to yours. You close your eyes as your lips meet, his tongue snaking against yours. One kiss. Just one.

Joon dreamt of being with you like this again. Him lying across the bed, pillows beneath him to keep him at the perfect angle to lower you into his lap. Fingers digging into the plush of your hips, he guides his length, coated in lube from base to tip, to that gorgeous ass he got a few nibbles of when you first took your towel off. “Joon…ah” you gasp, biting down on your bottom lip as the warm tip penetrates your tight hole.

Anal was never Jungkook’s thing. Seeing those cute heart shaped butt plugs you liked to wear when he had you bent over was the extent of his interest. Joon on the other hand had always been insatiable and time hasn’t changed that. “Fuck, still so tight for me” he groans out in pleasure, the tightness of your ass choking his dick the deeper he goes.

When he finally bottoms out, you fall back onto his bare chest moaning weakly, drool already leaking from the corners of your mouth. Earlier your body wouldn't even move. Now you can’t stop it from trembling, the fullness overwhelming you enough to turn your brain to soup.  Joon locks an arm around your waist, the other coming around so he can palm your breast. 

“Missed you” he whispers, rocking beneath you at a pace slow enough for his and your sanity. Your hand skims his forearm, nails digging in when he does a slight bounce to mess with you. He’s definitely put on some weight while he was away. Whatever they were feeding him, whatever weights he was lifting, you approve because he’s stronger than you ever knew him to be and you’re loving it.

“You sure you can take both of us?” Jungkook taunts, shifting his weight on the bed to hover between your legs. He places a hand on your knee, dipping two fingers into your core. He's achingly hard, twitching, leaking precum on the blankets at the sight of how wet you are. Your pussy glistens so beautifully, your walls clenching around his fingers while Joon fucks your other hole. Jungkook awaits your answer but he’s only met with your needy moans and cries.

“You have to say something, baby” he says, his thumb strumming your clit, “Tell me what you want.” The hand on your knee comes around your neck, his hold on you firm yet gentle. Joon slows his movements, offering you a second—and only that—to get your thoughts together. “Come on, you can do it. Tell us what you want.” Jungkook’s fingers are still working inside of you, mercilessly milking your g-spot.

“I…I can take it” you whine, forcing the words from your throat, “Fill me up. Please. Want it so bad. So bad.” “That’s my girl” Jungkook smiles, popping his fingers out of you. You watch as he strokes himself, using your arousal as lubricant. Joon’s hips begin to move again, leaving you pulsing in two places at once. Your clit stiffens as Jungkook rubs his tip between the silken folds of your warmth, sinking into you without warning. 

They take turns thrusting into you, one then the other, making sure you feel every arch and defining vein along their shafts. This perfect dance of pleasure and overstimulation has you crying out, tears leaking from watery eyes. Incoherent moans flow out into the ether and it’s not just you, it's them too. You can’t get enough of it, rotating your hips as best you can to pull the dirtiest noises out of them. Joon pulls your head back to kiss you and the moment you break for air Jungkook’s kissing you too, suspending you in a constant state of breathlessness. 

You’ve forgotten all about the party, your worries reduced to nothing by the ecstasy of this unexpected reunion. There’s nowhere else you want to be but here between the men you love, tension winding in your belly. You whine something between Joon’s lips and they just know what it is. Letting go of your throat, Jungkook slips his hand between your waist and his, rubbing your clit to push you over the edge. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” you scream, ears ringing as juices stream from your core, making the sound of your bodies snapping together even sharper. 

You feel weightless, disembodied, floating above yourself, jerked back to reality only by the pressure of Joon coming inside of you. You hold his hand, pressing down onto him as you kiss him over your shoulder. At the same time you’re tugging at Jungkook’s hair, keeping him flush against you. “Harder” he begs, his thrusts growing sloppier the harder you pull. One final tug has him unraveling, another wave of warmth filling you just as the other fades away.

The energy in the room gradually comes down, heavy panting turning to light breaths as you cuddle beside each other, your sweat slicked bodies still tangled together. “Still need help with your hair?” Jungkook asks, lovingly petting your head. Joon peeks over to find you sleeping more peacefully than you have in years. He kisses you on the forehead, pulling the blanket over you. “I don’t think so.”

[sevdrag]

hello sev i am sorry to bother you but. if you have the time. could you PLEASE elaborate on how you thought elon musk was a tumblr meme i have not been able to stop thinking about it

So. The first thing you need to know about me is that I haven't been able to follow the news for the last, like, well. About 10 years. First I was in a black-hole-of-employment, and then once 2016 hit, reading the news just made me unhealthy levels of furious. So I stopped doing it for my own sanity. This, more than anything, allowed me to live a blissful life where Actual Husband could update me every weekend on anything important, while I had a drink in my hand. I ignored as much news as I could during those years, cause it turned me into something horrible. So! That's the foundation of this story.

I also don't pay attention to, like, famous people and stuff. At all. I thought the band was called One Directional, okay? I am happy in my little corner.

The second thing to note is that while I'm quite intelligent, I also am incredibly scatter-brained. It's the ADHD.

The third is to note that I'm a heavy Tumblr user. I've curated my dash here to show me, mostly, things I like to see. It's relaxing.

So I saw all the memes about Glup Shitto and Blorbo and a million other made-up Tumblr names (whatever they were back in like 2015-ish) during my daily lunchtime scroll, right? SO when I see a post about a guy named Elon Musk, paired with something absolutely fucking ridiculous, my brain just goes: Oh. Tumblr made up another meme guy. This one's rich. That's funny.

I don't remember, but I'm possibly even reblogging stuff about Elon Musk during this time, still thinking it's a meme name. I mean, look at it. Elon Musk. Sorry, dudebro, but your name be dumb.

Elon Musk wants to build his own spaceship. Okay, Tumblr. Sure. It's like a Tony Stark that's just buttfuckingly stupid. I get the meme. Cause, like, he does crazy fucking stuff, right? Crazy stupid stuff. Gotta be a meme. Tumblr's really going for it, I think. Alright.

Anyway, Elon Musk comes up in a Discord GC one day, and my friends are talking about him like he's a real person, and I just said:

Hold on. I thought he was a meme.

Chat, of course, is silent for a drastically embarrassing amount of time, and then explodes.

And that's how I learned, in front of a bunch of friends, that Elon Musk was NOT a tumblr meme character, but a real-life idiot doing real-life crazy ass shit. It took me a humiliatingly-ass time to realize it, and I DO still get Sevdragged about it to this very day.

tl;dr due to my head-in-the-sand tendencies and my love of Tumblr, unlike the rest of you, I had a blissful period in my life where Elon Musk was completely made-up.

I wish that were still true.

[fruitcoops]

hi!! been loving all your fics lately 😍

I’m wondering if you’d have fun writing something where logan and sirius (and talker? someone else?) are playing video games with the headsets on and talking to each other and then somebody steps away and accidentally leaves the headset on and the other two overhear stuff with the boyfriend(s) 👀

could be coops or o’knutzy or both, could be before everyone knows about whichever relationship or after, or both!!

Silly fluff on a Thursday! Utterly non-spicy, too :) Character credit goes to @lumosinlove!

“Fucker.”

“From the bottom of my heart—and know that I mean this with every bit of my soul—I hope you die.”

“Oh, sh—fuck, sorry guys.”

For just a moment, their dismay harmonized. The sounds of battle ceased and the screen went dark.

Sorry, You Died.

“I mean, maybe if you two didn’t discuss half your plans in French…”

“Woah, woah, hey, come on,” Logan protested over Sirius’ indignance. In the small icon to the far right, Thomas raised his hands with a look that distinctly lacked apology.

“This is aggression against Canada,” Sirius scoffed. “Classic Americans.”

“Aggression against Canada?” Thomas spluttered.

“Yeah,” Logan chimed in, adjusting his headset over one ear as he reached for a handful of chips. “That. Totally.”

“Tremzy, if you eat those into your headset, I will crawl through the screen and suffocate you.”

Logan narrowed his eyes at Sirius’ video square and made sure his microphone was in prime position to capture the deafening CRUNCH that followed.

Twin groans answered; Thomas removed his headset with a fake gag. “That just echoed across my living room, you little weirdo,” Sirius grumbled.

“Get a headset like the rest of us, lame-ass.”

“It’s worse that way,” Thomas chimed in.

“I told you,” Sirius continued with a whine Logan wished the press could hear before lauding him as some solemn superhero. “It was supposed to be here today.”

“Oh, yeah?” Logan said mockingly, just because he could. “Where is it, then?”

Sirius groused a little more under his breath; the sound of aggressive clicking followed as he moved his character over to whale on Logan’s for a few seconds. It didn’t damage his XP too much, but Logan filed that away for later. Somebody wasn’t getting his extra tincture of healing at the next checkpoint.

The Field of Regeneration was further from their goal than he would prefer—it had taken them an hour and a half to get to the mountains the first time, but he had faith that the fourth time would be the charm. There was a saying about that, he thought. Something like it. He rolled his ankles under the coffee table as their characters moved over the hills in a pack, bracing his arches against the table leg for a better stretch. His toes popped and he grimaced; they really hadn’t moved much today. Then again, early summer was made for lazy days in front of the television with his friends.

Sirius swung by the boulder pile and collected the healing kits the same as before. Logan didn’t bother waiting for him—they had been though this section enough that he could catch up on his own. He had promised Leo they’d reach a stopping point by 6:30, anyway, and there was no chance he would pick video games over acting as a sous chef, paid in kisses.

The chirps faded as they made their way past challenges that had once been world-ending. Logan was glad they weren’t dragging this out longer, too focused on reaching the checkpoint to fuck around. It was one of many reasons he would choose Sirius and Thomas for weekend games over anyone else; they had fun, but they knew how to settle down and win.

Logan grimaced. Hockey brain was supposed to be banished until at least July.

“Let us know when your setup gets here, Cap.” Thomas’ voice startled him; he barely avoided stumbling into a ravine.

“Ouais, we’ll give it a test run.”

They were coming up on the edge of the forest, now. Logan swapped his inventory around and carefully sidestepped the spike trap he had (unfortunately and with great embarrassment) fallen for the second time around.

Sirius’ mouth twitched. “Hey, Tremz, watch your—”

“Shut up, god, I hate you so much.” Their digitized snickering filled his ears and he made sure to be on solid ground before freeing a hand to flip them the bird. “I’ll go call Sunny and Kuns to play instead. See if I care.”

“Don’t you have two boyfriends within arm’s reach at all times?”

Logan rolled his eyes. “They are on a date, if you must know. And Leo hates character games.”

“Ew, you know what kind of video games they like?” Sirius teased.

“Aren’t you literally married?”

Thomas skipped past a cursed runestone and reclined back in his seat. “I think we can all agree that I’m winning here.”

“If you were here in person, I would throw something at you for that,” Logan informed him. Did it matter that he was greatly looking forward to having Thomas around for Christmas in a few months? No. Not here, not now, not while he was within chirping range. The very lenient penalty for dating his sister had been clear from the start. Logan couldn’t let him get too comfortable.

The greatest threat to achieving their goal appeared just as they reached the base of the mountains. Logan was feeling so proud of their quick time before that.

“Which game?” Remus asked from the corner of Sirius’ frame, unloading his pockets on the side table.

Sirius tilted his chin up for a kiss to the cheek, like he had no respect for Logan’s poor, innocent eyes. “Legendborn, with T and Tremzy.”

Remus hummed. He tugged at the collar of Sirius’ shirt with one finger, biting at his lower lip. Logan’s stomach dropped through the fucking floor. “Want to come upstairs for a bit?”

“NO!”

Remus flinched hard at the resounding shout from three different voices, then burst out laughing; Sirius reddened faster and more vibrantly than Logan had ever seen. “Dear god, Loops!” Thomas sounded downright scandalized. “The man doesn’t have a headset! Give us some grace! Some warning!”

Logan wrenched his microphone closer to his mouth with a clumsy hand. “You’re paying for my therapy, Lupin.”

Remus managed to pull his face from Sirius’ shoulder long enough to stumble through part of an apology before breaking down into laughter again. “Fuck—my bad, my bad, I didn’t realize.”

“Clearly!”

“Keep your husband under control, Captain!”

Sirius turned a lecherous smile on them, then caught Remus by the front of his shirt and pulled him down to lick a long, wet, horrendous stripe up his cheek. Logan threw his controller aside and flopped backward on the couch, hands over his eyes, as hysterical laughter and Thomas’ spluttered protests filled his ears.

“I thought you two would finally be normal and boring after you got married,” he groaned, sinking deeper into the cushions. Sirius, the menace, was damn near cackling. “Can you stop being freaks about each other for two fucking seconds?”

“Nope!” Remus said cheerfully. “It’s state-sanctioned now, actually.”

“Marital bliss,” Sirius agreed. “You’re just jealous.”

Logan peeked through his fingers and found Thomas shaking his head. “T, if I ever lick one of my boyfriends, I want you to take me out behind the rink like Old Yeller.”

“Jealous,” came Sirius’ singsong answer. Remus made himself comfortable with his chin on Sirius’ head, grinning madly.

Losers, the both of them. Lame and sweet and married to a nauseating degree. God, Logan couldn’t wait for his turn. Preferably, though, it would wait until after he had logged off.

[kazoosandfannypacks]

summary: percy finds a new favorite song

word count: 415 words

a/n: "hey juliet" by tufts beelzebubs has been on my percabeth playlist and lives rent free in my mind, so i decided to write a tiny little thing about percy with this song, set probably somewhere in between the second and fourth book. ideally, you could even listen to the song while you read the fic.

taglist: @laughingphoenixleader @jedi-nurse {if you’d like to be added to my percabeth/pjo taglist, let me know!}

also on ao3!

Hey Juliet

 Percy didn't usually listen to this kind of music, but this song in particular caught his attention.

 That's a huge deal, actually, at least for Percy. Not a lot of things could reliably catch or hold his attention. Usually he'd start listening to a song, and then his mind would wander, and then he'd find himself seven tracks ahead of where he was without having even noticed a thing about the songs he missed.

 But Hey Juliet by Tufts Beelzebubs was apparently an exception.

 He wouldn't go telling any of his friends that he liked a capella music now. At that point, just tell your friends you sing Broadway hits with your mom and watch opera on the weekends; you'll spare yourself some embarrassment.

 But this a capella song was a bit different. It was fast. It had a good beat. The audio had multiple parts to listen to— several people singing or making background noises at once, and the fact that there were multiple things to focus on held Percy's attention. He'd often throw it into the background on loop when he was doing his homework, giving him something to occupy the back of his brain while the front of his brain focused on his studies.

 But every now and then, he'd stop his work and listen to the words.

 "I just want you to know, I wanna be your Romeo. Hey, Juliet…"

 "I never got the big deal with Romeo and Juliet anyways," Percy mumbled, "some guy wrote a hard-to-read-play about two people who love each other so much that they die? What's the point?"

 But he knew there was a little more to it than that. Something about Romeo and Juliet's parents hating each other, but that those two main characters loved each other anyways, which apparently was interesting to most people.

 Percy Jackson, however, was not like most people.

 "That's actually ridiculous," Percy thought, "that would be like if I fell in love with the kid of one of my dad's rivals, like... like one of Athena's kids… like… oh shoot."

 He winced as one of Athena's kids came to mind: Annabeth Chase.

 "Yeah," he thought, "it would be as ridiculous as me falling in love with Annabeth."

 But ever since that moment, every time Hey Juliet came on, he found himself with another thing to focus on— the thought of Annabeth smiling at him, and the idea that maybe having a Juliet wouldn't be such a bad thing after all.

[possiblyunhinged]

So I've been thinking about Rishi's National Service bullshit and I have some thoughts... I'm sorry... My brain is struggling right now and I don't want to bore the people I love anymore.

So buckle in, lads.

The thing with national service is old folk are going to be creaming themselves over it because, in my view, they believe this will emulate their unfounded 'pride' in their country into younger generations. I think they think the decline of national pride is somehow a design flaw of newer generations as opposed to being the result of a government that actively shows disdain for their future.

The problem is that it clearly isn't going to fucking work, is it?

And yeah, whatever, you can pick to go into a military position for a year or volunteer in the community every weekend. However, how will this induce pride and how will this induce a sense of community when most of these people will NEVER own a home and can't afford a fat wad of Cathedral City or tub of Lurpack?

Frankly, you'd assume it's blatantly obvious that any contempt that younger folk hold for the UK comes from the government's contempt for them and their future.

Even when young people speak of the desire to own a home or be paid adequately for their work, they are told they are simply spunking too much money on avocados and not working enough hours...

Why the fuck would young people like this country when it's quite clear the people who run it fucking hate them?

You're going to have a hard time telling a generation of young people who grew up on the internet that it's just to go to another country and murder people for a bunch of rich pricks in suits. Especially when they're growing up seeing the government's complete disinterest in the suffering of select groups of people...

Whilst not popular for the 'voting class', perhaps monitoring the private rental system, and building more social housing as opposed to just letting private developers build flammable buildings wherever the fuck they want might be a shout.

Making higher education free and not limiting universities' international intake might be a shout too. Abolishing private schools would be DELICIOUS, as opposed to having a two-class system of people who are given the majority of opportunities and those who aren't. Taxing corporations despite the fact they're your 'mates' and you'd reaaaaaaally like to go on their yachts and ask whether you can 'jump in on the line'.... Gove I'm looking at you.

It'd be really nice if the shame was removed from families' struggles and there were free school meals for every child. It'd be even nice if it wasn't a fucking debacle that just makes kids feel worse and aware of their difference. Another idea might be to not fucking close down community hubs that support young people regardless of what is going on with their home lives, they know they have a network of people who gives a shit about them.

Popping more pink men in police uniforms isn't going to reduce crime... because everybody fucking knows rises in crime almost always correlates with a rise in poverty. It's fucking obvious why crime is going up.

This is a very unfleshed-out opinion at this point, but I also can't help but feel the grave disdain for politicians and media isn't helped by the fact we know what's going on.

Yet if we turn on the TV or have a gander at mainstream news, they're more concerned with talking about Eamon and Ruth's divorce... It's maddening and also makes you feel like you are living in the Truman Show.

Anyway, this has been a bullshit hour with me... living exhibit of why mental health waiting lists should be reduced xoxo

[batsplat]

i really want to hear your opinion on this. I feel like some people underestimate pecco a lot. most of the people I’ve seen on here are talking like it’s certain that marc will do better than pecco next year, but I’ll be surprised if it’ll be actually like this. pecco has way more experience on the ducati and nobody understands the ducati like pecco does. see race weekends like assen or mugello, he’s literally unstoppable and I feel like he’s even holding back. plus pecco is 26yo and he’s in his prime and probably will be for at least two more years before the decline inevitably begins, and he’s injury free! but the real advantage he has over marc, in my opinion, is that he literally lives under pressure and he already knows that marc will try to hit him on the track and above all mentally. he knows what he is getting into. when he talks about wanting to maintain harmony in ducati it’s because he’s already aware that marc will ruin it. like yeah ppl r saying a lot that marc is going to destroy pecco and all that, but right now the facts state that pecco is a 2 times wdc back to back (probably 3 by the end of this year) and right now on the ducati he’s the best rider of the grid. marc won his last wdc in 2019, it’s been years since he won, and he got his arm fucked up in the process. so yeah marc will try everything to destroy pecco but he needs to be careful to not destroy himself in the process. (this is not marc hate, I’m just tired of seeing people understanding pecco)

first of all, I'm broadly with you on a lot of this, anon, though I wouldn't quite as far as to say I'm predicting pecco to beat marc. second of all, I do think I have a bit of a problem where I have my rational sports brain - but I also have the other less rational bits of my brain. and some of those irrational bits are currently stuck in this mode where I have two different fundamentally contradictory mindsets that are kinda... mental blocks in terms of me predicting what will actually happen next year

mental block #1 is 'you've been following sports all your life and you know how this goes'. like, I've kinda been conditioned to think if you aren't a wunderkind, one of the talents of the century, already a megastar when you were in your nappies bla bla, you're basically fucked? certainly fucked when you are going up against one of those prodigies. you may get close and trick everyone into thinking it's actually possible, but... idk. this is a mindset that broadly stood me in good stead when I started watching motogp, like you just don't bet against fuck you talent. something like 2017, I never really thought marc was going to lose that title. so when I look at marc and pecco, however much I rate pecco there's a bit of my brain that automatically goes 'yeah but marc will win anyway'. it's that kind of... sometimes things that look slim differences in sports, margins that should be small aren't actually small at all, and in a way the end outcome feels like it was always kinda inevitable. I get that same sense when I'm watching 2005 last lap duels between sete and valentino - these are situations where you both parties should have a decent shot, but somehow you know that if you ran the simulation one hundred times, it'd basically always go one way. it's the illusion of competitiveness. one guy's always got something a little bit extra in the back pocket

mental block #2 is that it's actually been really fucking long since I've seen marc win and there's been a lot of false dawns on this front. I thought he'd win the title in 2020. I kinda thought he'd win the title in 2021. I was at least open to the possibility he'd win it in 2022. okay, in 2023... but you could still go 'yeah but he's finally physically fit now' (or, well, you could until the first race weekend was done). and honestly? gut feeling, I was feeling pretty bullish about 2024, partly because I didn't think the gap between the bike specs would be this noticeable. so by now it's a bit? you know, I kinda need to see him win again to believe it? which he probably does too, just a touch, and that makes it a completely different proposition from all those other titles... within this sport in particular, it's really not that easy to recover from years in the wilderness. you never really know if he can get close to handling the field like he did in his prime until he does it again. and... however impressive I've found him this season, which I really, absolutely have, I still haven't seen that from him. I also feel like currently... the magic is still there but his pace is so fragile, and that used to be the really scary thing about him - the relentlessness of his pace. this year, it's one lap pace, it's weekend to weekend, it's how sometimes he's slower in races than you thought he'd be - and yes, there are all these other explanations, but... well, again, if the bike is holding him back, if it's the ducati adaptation period, then that's all well and good. but I'm not really going to feel that's true until I actually see the next step

now obviously both of those things can't be true - and the fun thing about next year is that I don't actually feel it's a done deal. because, yes, people do underestimate pecco. and also because, yes, there's still some real question marks about the version of marc we're getting. just look at this sachsenring situation... obviously 'someone could get injured' is quite a depressing way to look at future title fight permutations, but you can't really treat it as a certainty that it won't happen, no? I feel like one element of last year that doesn't quite get the attention it deserves is that pecco was winning that title a whole lot more comfortably before a bike ran over his leg. the race right after that was misano, where pecco had won the two previous years and there's zero reason to believe he couldn't have done so again rather than take two laboured p3's. that's not a title fight anyone's primarily remembering as an injury arc (cf too the le mans crash) - but it clearly did play a big role and could easily have been decisive, without actually taking out one of those two contenders of competition. marc used to win his titles with a whole lot of throwing himself down the road to find the limit of his bike, but he can't afford to do that any more (if he ever could). we still need to see what version of marc we're getting, if we're getting a version who can just be fast anywhere come sunday - or a very good version of marc who isn't quite that. who knows exactly how much worse the gp23 is than the gp24! who knows how much more there still is to come in terms of ducati potential from marc! we have rough indications, but it's far from definitive. maybe one of them doesn't click at all with next year's bike! we'll only know when we see it play out!

and yet I still expect deep down that marc wins that. it's just kinda supreme belief in his fuck you levels of talent, the belief that he'll figure it out somehow because I've seen him do it so many times. and of course, the other big problem is we don't know what version of pecco we're getting! I have talked before about how historically unusual pecco is as a champion in many ways, which for me always makes it quite tricky to figure out what he'll do in basically any situation. like, where is his ceiling? is he still going to get better? is he going to get his act together? my problem is that I feel like I enter every single season going 'yeah I reckon this year pecco will get his act together, ugh he's going to dominate the field' and then it's just a bit? is this just who you are as a rider, or is this something you can still change?

the thing is, with my fullest respect to pecco's titles, however much I enjoyed those train wrecks, obviously you cannot do this against a version of marc marquez that is remotely up to scratch. like, you just cannot. pecco cannot do a 2022 and expect to win the title. against an even slightly serious version of marc marquez. on the same bike. pecco can't really do a 2023 either. I'll give him a pass for some of those late season results, but if you're chucking it down the road that often early on then, yeah, no

that being said... low key if you ignore all the little numbers, this year is actually a serious title fight...?

like I am always aware that acknowledging this could make them both dnf five times in a row but...? there's one sunday race one of them haven't won, and cota is its own thing. everything else...? whisper it softly but this is a good title fight? 2022-23 were sort of accidentally good because everyone's errors and runs of good forms and performance trajectories just kinda coalesced so you got late season drama, but this? consistent high level of performance from both blokes, decent wheel-to-wheel action between both title rivals at several different races (definitely more than in 2015 and everyone remembers that as a classic, also on course to be more than in 2013 and most years 2007-12). idk, at what point do we just have to acknowledge these guys are pretty good at what they do? sure they're on the strongest bike, as are the vast majorities of blokes who win titles historically. but bastianini's reasonably highly rated and he's not even gotten particularly close to winning a sunday race this year on the exact same bike - one p2 on merit snagged on the last lap and another one less on merit when vinales was highsided to the moon for mechanical reasons right ahead of him. yes, the title contenders have had some howlers... pecco's portimao and catalunya sprints were... well, y'know, and martin's jerez race and mugello sprint were also... y'know. but apart from that?

idk man... we can cry over photos of casey on his gp7 all we like, but at the end of the day these twits have come out with some class performances these last two years. and at a certain point you've just gotta hand it to them. they've become more experienced at how to manage a title fight, which is how you get a version of martin this year who is still fast but is less likely to phillip island it. some of those performances late last season were great! for every martin qatar and pecco india, you also get a martin thailand and a pecco indonesia. maybe they'll stop chucking it down the road so often, or maybe they'll keep chucking it but so will marc, because these days they have ridiculously many opportunities to do so! I also think it's worth pointing out that minus some questionable early season form from pecco, those two are basically always on the pace! they're always there or thereabouts! that's how marc used to kill his title rivals, not necessarily by winning a bunch of races but by making sure he was always picking up points - because he didn't have any truly slow weekends. these guys don't either at the minute! we are seeing them actually get better in front of our eyes, it's great

the other stuff... oof, I don't know what pecco's prime will end up being - remember, actually he's low key already edging out of title-winning age. he's now 27. this century, only two riders have won titles when they were older than 26 - valentino twice and jorge once. obviously, that's partly happenstance, and you don't suddenly get struck down by 'being washed' lightning when you turn 27... plus on the flip side, I also think the fact that pecco has only reached his prime relatively recently means he could have quite a few more years to go. who knows! who knows if marc being increasingly more breakable becomes a big factor! recovering from injuries gets tougher the older you get and the more knocks you've taken! on the other point, the ducati is a bike pecco knows very very well and has a lot of time riding... but broadly speaking I do trust marc with a year's worth of experience get as much out of that bike as he ever will. just the fuck you talent again. we don't know what that performance level looks like, but I don't think it'll be a question of familiarity any more at that stage

so where does that all leave us? do I really want to be making motogp predictions this far in advance? yeah, sure. if I had to put money on it, I'd still back marc, I think? but I really do hope we get a proper fight, and I really do think we might! I'm far from convinced in writing off pecco. basically *grabs the crystal ball, aka checks the races we've literally just watched* let's say pecco absolutely dogwalks the field at a few circuits. like maybe a mugello, an assen, a cute qatar, even a catalunya now he's faced down his demons (though maybe jorge on that aprilia goes bye bye at montmelo). then give marc his races where he laps the field twice in cota and sachsenring. and we're going to get a few classic duels, for the fans. if those duels happen at the mugello's and catalunya's of this world, pecco's might be in deep shit. if they happen at the misano's and aragon's and maybe even jerez's, we can get something going. they both have at least one silly early season crash (also kinda tradition for marc outside of his peak peak seasons lbr) and everyone gets to call pecco a bottler and crank out the good ol' crashquez. and then hopefully we can massage those numbers enough that pecco isn't crashing three times to marc's one and we actually get a proper title fight. and hopefully they don't get injured too badly. I've said this before, but I could easily see a title fight where pecco wins most of the big duels but his inconsistencies let him down. if his bad days are p3's, however, or if marc himself is a bit flaky at times, then we're suddenly having a very different conversation (also don't feel that comfortable in writing off aprilia/ktm and their respective star riders, especially in year two of the factory ducati partnership)

one thing about pecco (that you do also bring up anon)... if there's one trait in his competitive makeup that most reminds me of marc, it's his resilience. he's very good at bouncing back, he's very good at dealing with adversity, a lot of the times he's at his best when he's under ridiculous amounts of pressure... if anything, he's worse when he has reason to feel confident. it comes through both in what a class defensive rider he is and how good he is at dealing with title fight pressure. if there is ever a time where he mentally gets his act together at the very start of the season, surely it's going to be when he has the famous marc marquez in his garage. if that doesn't do it, literally nothing ever will. and listen, knowing marc will try to mess with you isn't quite the same as being able to stop him from messing with you. wanting to maintain harmony doesn't mean your chances of maintaining harmony are necessarily great. but... you know, pecco got his first ever win by defending against marc lap after lap, facing essentially the most stressful situation imaginable with the 93 on his tail. marc made him a better rider that day. marc might make him a better rider next year too... you never know

[survivalist-anon]

Log 16: A bark worse than his bite

Pine Hills most reputable bar: Big Foot Saloon. Ironically, we don't get bigfoot sightings here in Pine Hills, but with nearly 8ft space soldiers with occasionally some quirk about will probably confuse a few folks now.

The morning staff now finally get to have that night out drinking they wanted.

Fjord by this point was just enjoying himself, he was more familiar with a bar setting than I thought. He practically blended in, if were-vikings were common place the west coast.

Ronnie and guys were laughing about some plans they're going to make this weekend.

Jonas was telling us a story that happened to her for the billionth time.

Fjord intensively listening. As for me, my brain checked out a little while ago.

"-And so than, I had my tonsils removed, for the thrice", Jonas concluded.

"....Jonas I'm not certain you CAN remove your tonsils more than once...", I'm certain the last time she said 'twice'.

Frank hand walked up to our table with a rather sizable tab. "Here you go folks, hope you enjoyed your drinks", he looks to Fjord who had drunk a horrendous amount of alcohol, specifically beers, IPAs and I believe I recommended him an actual craft mead, he absolutely loved it. Yet he was more sober than I was with my one bottle of hard cider.

"Oh right, ugh, this be my 'treat'," he quickly handed the little bag of gold nuggets to Frank.

Frank takes the bag without question and promptly leaves.

Ronnie looked at me wondering why Frank accepted a mystery bag rather than cash (Frank apparently didn't believe in the American banking system). "Dang, thanks Fjord...that must have been quite the bill. That had to have been like...I don't know hundreds of dollars.".

Jonas nudged my shoulder again, "dang girl, is he loaded too?", giggling.

"Ah no worries, I just wanted to show my appreciation for being so welcoming.", his smiled warmly. Suddenly he snapped to head to the door.

Oh no.

Jeff and his gang were at Frank's tonight. I guess their usual hangover hang out at Tom's house may have gone wrong considering he lives with his mother.

I was sitting next to Fjord and I FEEL his growling. I had to whisper to him, "Fjord ...Fjord not here, you don't need to do anything.".

His eyes were locked on to Jeff, I was starting to get scared of he was going to kill him in front of everyone in the bar.

His friends from the station were laughing, meanwhile he still looked so drained, a little more rested but drained.

"Hey what are you looking at asshole!?", Tom aggressively spoke to Fjord from all the way across the bar.

Jeff turned around to see who it was...I could tell there was something brewing in him. I would feel more sympathetic to him if it weren't for everything I'd gone through with him.

His eyes shot to Fjord, it was a look of jealousy.

Fjord was standing his guard. Me and him knows he could take every single one of them. However I was more worried of the scene this could cause.

The others at our table began to worry, Ronnie looked at Jeff, than to Fjord. Whom by this point resembled a guard dog than that tall strong friendly weirdo who made wolves howl.

"Lorey, what's going on? Does Fjord know those guys?", the concern in his voice began to match my anxiety with the situation. I look to him and began to gently touch Fjord's arm to calm him down.

"Fjord, you can relax. Please. He isn't going to do anything....he can't anyway.", I felt like I didn't get through to him yet. So, I pull his arm a little, put my arm around his shoulders and place my face on to his, I didn't care about the pungent alcoholic smell from either of us... just close as contact I could get sitting next him.

It was for some... primordial reason....all I could think of doing.

Fjord, finally began to loosen his guard. "Lass?".

"Please Fjord, I'm ok, you're ok, and everyone here is ok...", all I could do is speak as if I was soothing him. I'm not even sure if it was the correct way to do it, but it was working.

He shuffled closer and wrapped his arm around me. "Yes, ok...thank you lass....".

It was a strange moment, time stopped, the sounds of the bar faded out, and it was just our hearts beating.

"Hey, man, come closer to us and-", Jonas was threatening someone as I had my eyes closed.

"-or what... you'll call the cops?", a dead toned, familiar voice had rung out.

"oh shit.", I whispered. I look up to see Jeff.... just standing next to our table. The look on his eyes was of betrayal? Bags under his eyes and an unblinking stare.

"Jeff.... seriously. Please leave us alone.", Ronnie and the guys at our table had not begun to raise their guard.

"....who's....the red head....", Jeff didn't ask...he just made a statement disguised as a question.

Fjord just turned to him, expressionless as he could muster. "....Fjord....you must be Jeff...."

"yeah..... you're not from around...are you?", Jeff was just looking at Fjord, trying to make sense of him. This huge, big red haired man, something about Fjord reminded Jeff of.... monsters...".... where are you from...Fjord?"

Jonas interrupted, "He's from Europe, Jeff, of course he's not from around here.", although Jonas could have been off by a few light-years. Her comment actually helped.

"oh...like...where.... Ireland.... Scotland?....", he continued monotonly.

Having no idea where or what was either of the two countries, "Yes. Both.", I couldn't help but think maybe Fjord was messing with him. "I have family there.".

Jeff just stared at him, than to me. "....you moved on pretty qui-", suddenly Fjord just barked at him.

"Wrouff!", it was as if I had a large but gentle dog next to me.

The scream Jeff let out along with the startled jump he did was the greatest comedic timing one could ever ask for. Not even on accident you could ask for a better jump scare.

He fell to the floor as his Tom, Beck and Mark help him up, "See I told you we should have gone to Portland today!", Beck scolded Tom.

"What and have my girlfriend find out?! Hell no.", he refuted.

Struggling to get his friend up as he was a bit tangled in the chair he felt on, "You asshole it was your idea!", Mark squeaked.

The gang was laughing harder as some of the patrons, who already had their share of grievances with Jeff's gang of friends, began to laugh too.

"Come on man! He wasn't even that loud.", Ronnie cackled.

I hid my laughter so I didn't make it worse for Jeff, Fjord's laugh sounded like the victorious chuckle of some fantasy hero who's just defeated a dragon.

"What is the matter lad? Dog got yur tongue?", Fjord quipped, the laughing continued.

Jeff quickly shuffled up to his feet, "YOU SON OF A BITCH! THATS ASSAULT OF AN OFFI-", Tom tapped his shoulder.

"Bro that isn't going to work there likes several witnesses and Chief already said you can't just say that.", Tom had made a serious point. Jeff for the longest time had always used that excuse whenever he had been inconvenienced by some of the people around. Now, it's completely pointless to do so.

Huffing angrily, "I'll get you for this! FORD!".

Tilting his head, "Ugh...it's Fjord.".

"WHATEVER YOU FUCKING SWED!!!!", he huffed again and looked at me.

Probably hoping for some cheesy revelation that Fjord is some highschool picking on the little guy trope....but it's not going to work anymore.

I just gave him a look of pity. "Jeff... please. I'm sorry for what's happened between us...but its really over now...".

The ball dropped for him right there. "...you know what....fuck it lets-", he was about to put up his fists until a heavy hand was placed on his shoulders. It was Frank.

Frank the only retired Navel officer in the whole time. He had trained out at sea for a better part of his youth, took absolutely no shit from anyone....and he wasn't just going to let a bar fight happen in his nice and reputable place.

"No pig fights allowed.", it was barely a warning, he just dragged Jeff outside along with Tom in tow, Beck and Mark were also being forced out but his brother and husband. All four where kicked out of his bar. "AND STAY OUT, chumps.". He went back behind the bar and went on like nothing happened.

Fjord was impressed by this, "Oh...thank you Frank! I owe you a debt of gratitude!", he waved.

Frank just grumbled to himself just satisfied that no one split nose blood on his nice clean wood flooring. "Oh, Pauly, can you please call Chief Colt and tell him his rascal son is causing a commotion again. He's also banned.".

Pauly cocked his eye, "Wasn't he banned from here last time for that Christmas party last year?".

Frank stopped for a quick second to think about that, "...well he's banned again until I forget.".

After a few more minutes, it was finally closing time.

Ronnie checked if it was clear for us to go to back to our cars. These guys were still police officers after all. "ok, looks like they left."

As everyone headed back to their cars and said their goodbyes, me and Fjord head back home.

I sighed from the fun, all though a little bit too close for a close shave situation, we had back at the bar. "Fjord I have to ask, why are you still so sober? I swear you had drunk like 2 gallons of beer or something.".

Licking his lips remembering the mead likely enough, "Oh yes. You see lass, all Astartes had a special organ implanted in us. It helps filter and purify any contaminats, poisons or anything that could inebriate us. However, life can be pretty boring of you're sober lass. So...we the mighty Vlka Fenryka, had found a cure for such an issue...MJORD. Unfortunately...I can kill mortals like you just by getting a whiff.", he laid back a little.

"Ah yeah, I remember you telling me that...", the mystery toxic concoction he told me about a while ago had me wondering. "...what is it made of?"

He gave a tilted smile, "heh, nothing that could be made 'ere on earth. It requires the vegetation and Fenric roots to ferment for weeks, than a ceremony has to be done to purify it so it don't just turn into some nurglelin sludge.", he huffed a little and looked out the car window to see the stars. "....I wonder where Fenris is from this planet....".

I could tell he was homesick, "you miss your home don't you?", I glanced over to him laying down comfortably.

"Well ...yes, there are aspects of Fenris I do miss...yet...so far here has been great too....it's... peaceful."

The word peaceful may mean two different things from both our perspectives. In my eyes, the world had gotten very dangerous....wars, the climate, the looming doomsdays that supposedly needs to happen.

Maybe from his world view, this place is peaceful not because it is.... because it isn't the world he is use to.

"Yeah, it's nice out here, I'm wondering...do you think I'd like Fenris if it was possible of me going?", wondering what he would say.

He looked at me a with shock, "Would fancy bein frozen the second you step foot on the cold sharp winds lass?", he said it with much urgency it was cute.

I giggled a little from his reaction, "no not really, funny enough it sounds like you lived in a place similar to Antarctica. It's the coldest place I know for certain.".

He sat there wondering about what I said, "ugh... pardon me lass but where is Antarctica?".

"It is a cold, isolated place in the most southern pole of Earth, it's name purely defined by the fact it has no bears.", I felt the need to throw that little tidbit.

The cogs in his brain were trying to figure out how dangerous were the bears on earth to the point we named a whole continent after not having bears.

He just laughed off, "Alright lass, such a strange planet this is... wonderfully strange."

We drove back home with the volume of the car low.

As we get out of the car, I checked my new yellow mail box for regular mail. Nothing new, just bills and useless advertisements.

We head inside and lay down to relax after an eventful day.

"So lass, I believe it is time for your slumber I presume?", he sat on the couch, laying his head back watching me place my things on the kitchen table.

"yeah, it's past midnight, lucky for me I have a day off tomorrow.", as I tell him this, that business card falls right out of the pocket.

"hmm.... Ben....I wonder....", I remember what Ben and his gang wanted to do but I had begun to wonder how much they knew of the space marines. "Hey Fjord, let's go out tomorrow. I want to do some...reconnaissance.".

He turns around, "Oh, what for lass? Is there something you think Aldercon needs to know about?", he gives a cheeky grin.

"Maybe, there's a guy in town who tries to find Space Marines. I'm wondering how much he actually knows...you know....to see if he could be helpful or a threat?", I look at him, he knows what I mean by threat.

"oh ok lass, do you need me to do anything for now?", he asked.

A bit of a strange question, "ugh, no I'm fine. I better get to bed.", I yawned a little, I get a glass of water for him if he needed something to drink in the middle of the night. "Goodnight Fjord, I'll see you in the morning.". I give his head a little scratch and caress.

"hmmm, goodnight lass.", his eyes close as he dozed off.

I turn off the lights and head to my room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Driving down the highway, a large bus full of people drive past the welcome sign of Pine Hills.

There was noise in the bus, chanting, incantations humming in the air.

The driver.....blank masked man.

An old, greyed lady in bright, fashionably colored robes lifts her hand up. "STOP."

The bus makes a stop in a camp parking lot, the bus door eerily opening, with the clapping of her sandles, the lady steps out and examines the clearing. She looks to the stars, uttering in tongues to herself.

Praying to something....or someone.

Turning around, with a terrible grin on her face, "COMMENCE....the pilgrimage! TO THE GREAT ONE!", pointing dramatically to the forest trail. "HE awaits.....".

As her command was heard by the group of 20 or so people. As they all get out from the bus in a single file line. They collect their things, and march to the mountain ridge.

The lady stays behind, waves her hand at the bus....as a pinkish and blue glow emanates from her palm, a familiar sigil appears.

The bus begins to fold, unnaturally like if it was being crumpled like a piece of paper. The driver inside, unreactive to what was happening. He too, began to fold like paper. With metal bending, glass cracking and plastic squeaking.

The bus had shrunk down into the size of a model toy version of the bus. The driver was strunken as well.

The lady walked up to the bus, picking it up and peaking into the bus. "Soon...the great one will consume this pathetic world...and create a new world. HEHEHE HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHA!", her manic laughing echoed through the night.

What had once been considered an impossibility, had now begun to leak...into our world.

End of Log 16

@kit-williams @barn-anon @egrets-not-regrets

@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @walking-natural-disaster @starfrost740

@squishyowl @sleepyfan-blog @lawnchair86

[holymusicalmothman]

Heat of the Moments - Dan Avidan x Reader

This is based off that second dream I had about Danny.

Also I’m tagging the people who liked that post in case they were interested.

Anywho, as per usual. No Ashley. I’m not including her in any of my Danny Fic

The way I had to google the weirdest stuff for this lol. I’m going to try to be writing more, it keeps me calm and wedding stress is driving me nuts since it’s only a month away. ANYWAYS. So while requests aren’t technically open, I’m totally cool with being sent fic ideas for the characters I typically write for. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be inspired

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of anxiety, mentions of being led on

Word Count: 2610 (gosh dang. good job me!)

Comments are always appreciated! I love hearing y’alls brain thoughts after reading lol.

Masterlist

Two years. It had been two years working for Game Grumps. Quite honestly, it had been one of the best years of your life. You had always been fascinated by the Youtube Gaming community, and you were grateful to finally be a part of it. Granted, you were mainly putting your art and animation talents to the test, but knowing what it all went toward was more than enough. You were more than content to live as you were.

However, it was not without its challenges. Outside of the fact that you were doing what you loved, over the last half couple months it had begun feeling rather tense-ish with a certain coworker. Well, tense for you at least.

Dan Avidan, Game Grumps host, musician extraordinaire, and coworker had been seeming rather…flirtatious? Was that a good way to put it? 

Yes, you supposed it was. It was one of those things, however, where it’s such casual flirtatious comments that you can’t tell if he’s actually hitting on you or not. If you thought about each moment from different angles, you genuinely couldn’t tell if he was being flirty or friendly.

Moment No. 1

It had been a Monday morning and everyone had seemed to have a case of the Monday Morning Blues. It had rained all weekend and everyone seemed to have that bleary eyed sleepiness. Even Arin was having a bit of trouble bringing what he called his “Internet Funny Man” energy to the office that morning. The weather seemed to be making everyone feel sleepy.

And you were certainly no exception. You stood in the kitchen, in front of the Keurig, just staring into the nonexistent void as you waited for your coffee. 

A light touch on your arm startled you out of your stupor and you found a mildly concerned looking Dan at your side.

“Oh, hey, sorry. What’s up?” You asked lamely, unsure of how long he had been standing there.

Dan’s brown eyes furrowed in confusion. “You didn’t hear what I said, did you?” 

You just shook your head. 

The confusion vanished as it turned into mirth. “That’s alright,” he smiled, “you seemed like you were witnessing the depths of the abyss for a second, so I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

A light chuckle escaped you. “I can’t say much for right now, but if you give the coffee a few minutes, I’ll be good. It’s just a case of the Mondays.”

“Good, wouldn’t want my favorite animator succumbing to madness. Talk to you later, sunshine.” 

And with a quick pat on the shoulder, he was gone. Leaving you alone in the kitchen wondering what the hell just happened. 

Moment No. 2 

Late. Late. Late. You were oh so terribly late. You somehow managed to sleep right through your alarm and were now rushing to work. Not good. 

Granted, you were only going to be fifteen minutes late, and you also knew Arin would understand and no one would mind. However, it still sent you rushing around in a state of panic. 

You hurried into the office with a relieved sigh. As you sat down at your desk, you let out a frustrated sigh. 

Brian raised an eyebrow from his spot across from you. 

“You good?”

Shoving the frustration to the side, you smiled. “Yeah, just ran late and skipped breakfast, then left lunch on the counter. It happens, but this is what DoorDash is for right?”

Brian gave you a concerned look that only a father could manage. “Just make sure you eat something.”

“Yes, sir, Ninja Brian, sir.” You gave him a mock salute before tucking yourself into today’s work, unaware that another set of ears had heard the exchange. 

After a few hours, you stood to stretch and take a quick restroom break. Upon returning to your desk, however, there was now a take out bag resting next to your computer. 

You blinked. The restaurant was familiar, it was close by and also an office favorite, so it wasn’t uncommon for take out to be seen around the office.

But you hadn’t ordered lunch from anywhere yet. 

You peered inside the bag, immediately catching sight of the blue sticky note.

Hey!

Heard you missed breakfast, so I grabbed you some lunch! 

This one’s on me, so don’t sweat it.

♥️ Danny.

You stared at the little heart. Not only had Dan bought you lunch, he had also signed it with a heart. 

What was going on. Was he into you?

Moment No. 3

It wasn’t very often that you got to sit in on a Ten Minute Power Hour, but when you did it was always a blast. 

So you were crammed off screen next to Allie, watching the guys try and do a Draw My Life but with their friendship over the years.

Arin was red in the face from laughing. “What is that?!” he wheezed. 

Throwing up his hands in exasperation, Dan exclaimed, “IT’S LINK! CAN’T YOU TELL BY THE HAIR?”

Cue the entire room dying. 

This only spurred on Dan’s frustration. “Someone come fix this!” He threw his marker down and stood, walking over to the background shelves to dramatically sulk. 

Arin only laughed harder and waved you over. “Come help him out, cause I can’t think right now.”

You hesitated for a moment. Watching on the sidelines was one thing but actually being on camera and involved in an episode like this wasn’t something you had prepared for. 

Allie nudged you gently and you stood. You were an artist, it was essentially what you did for a living and had been doing your whole life. So why were your hands sweating.

As you grabbed the marker and surveyed Dan’s disaster of a drawing, you spoke. “It’s not that bad. I mean, it’s not good, but its salvageable.”

You quickly erased the stick-figure Link’s hair as Dan pulled away from the shelves to watch you work.

“This is the only Get Outta Jail card you’re getting, dude.” Arin said, grinning. 

“I’ll take it, man. This is a nightmare.”

You laughed and shook your head as you finished redrawing the hair and added a little sword in the figure’s hand. 

“There we go!” You stepped back and quickly rejoined Allie, anxious to be out of the momentary spotlight.

“Hey! It looks like Link!” Dan grinned at you. “Thanks, lovely!”

Your heart stuttered against your will. “Anytime.” You said, covering up your momentary malfunction.

Lovely. Granted, Dan called the fans “lovelies” but something about the way he had just said it was different than how he addressed the fans. You had to force yourself to not think about it. To not play into the way your heart was slowly starting to formulate a crush. You were just reading into things.

Moment No. 4 

It wasn’t unusual to find yourself working on a quick little Grumps animation for one of the videos. Every now and then, Arin asked if you could make a little one to slip into a video, never anything super long. Just long enough to keep people entertained. He tended to use them as intermissions of a sort, in case they got interrupted by something mid video. 

You had just finished one up and were going over it to double check on everything when someone leaned over you. 

“What’cha working on?” Danny asked, looking at your screen with curiosity. 

You felt your palms go clammy at the close proximity, but hid it well. 

“Just a short animation for one of the recent recordings.” You explained. “Wanna see?”

Dan gave an excited nod and you handed him your headset, trying (and failing) to not watch how he brushed his hair out of his face. 

It had been a little bit since the Ten Minute Power Hour moment and you were still warring with the fact that you might have a crush on the lanky musician. 

Dan braced one hand on your desk and the other on the back of your chair, “Show me what you got.”

As you hit play on the animation, the only thing you could think of was those stupid cliche moments in novels where the guy leans on the girl’s desk because this was exactly how you pictured it looking and feeling like. Your palms went from a nervous clammy to an anxiety sweaty. Or somewhere in between, you couldn’t tell.

You were very aware of the way he was leaning over you and you swore you could smell him. He had a very faint woodsy scent to him, you couldn’t tell if it was a cologne or if it was just him. A lock of unruly hair brushed against your shoulder and it took everything into you to keep pretending to watch the video. 

Eventually it was over and your headset was handed back to you. 

“That was really good!” He was smiling at you. “Is that for the ‘technical difficulties’ from yesterday?” 

The air quotes he put up when he said technical difficulties had you laughing. 

“If you mean when the resident ghost knocked over the shelf,” You said. “Then yes.”

Dan’s smile was infectious as he leaned closer and dropped his voice. “It was the ghost of all the games we never finished finally coming back to haunt us.” 

You both laughed. 

“Anyways, I was just curious to what you were up to. It looks really good, you’ve got an insane amount of talent.”

And the war was lost. Because with just that sentence, you knew you had a major crush.

Moment No. 5

The next moment didn’t even happen at work. You weren’t even around him at the moment.

All you had done was throw a quick pic of a work in progress up on your instagram. It hadn’t even been up for ten minutes before you got a comment notification.

@dannyavidan : This looks so good! I’ve got to get you to do a piece for NSP someday!

You stared at the comment. Dan wanted you to do a piece for his band? 

You don’t know how long you sat there thinking. Eventually, a ding sounded and you checked your instagram again. 

Dan had messaged you.

Dan: Hey! I was totally serious about having you do a piece for the band! We’ve got a new project coming up and I would love to have someone as talented as you on the team for it!

You: Seriously?

Dan: You wound me! Of course. You put a lot of effort into what you do and it’s really good. Why? Dost the fair maiden think I jest? 😆

Your fingers hesitated briefly before responding, your heart and brain going a million miles an hour. Yes, he was being kinda dorky, but it was endearing.

You: I’ll think about it. But it shouldn’t be a problem. 😀

A few hours passed and you were scrolling through Instagram before bed. Just a few minutes and you’d go to sleep, it was a weekend night after all. Flicking through stories, you almost passed NSP’s insta story. 

“Guess who may have just gotten the coolest animator ever to do a video!”

Whelp. There went any hope for sleep. 

Present. 

It had taken a lot of internal thinking, panicking, and general theorizing over the past few month for you to finally make up your mind.

But all the past moments had you sure of your crush on Dan. And, after confiding in a longtime friend, you were sure he felt the same. It couldn’t be a coincidence. 

So you had decided to take the plunge. You were going to take the initiative. You were going to ask him out.

And the thought almost left you breathless. 

But as you walked into work that morning, ruminating over the past few months, you mustered your determination and found Dan in the kitchen area.

“Morning,” you greeted him, smiling. 

He gave a little wave and continuing making his tea. There was a pretty large recording session for the guys that morning.

“Can I ask you something?” You said, not giving yourself a chance to abort the mission at hand.

Dan nodded. 

“Would you wanna go on a date this Friday? With me?” And there it was.

He froze. 

A moment passed. Then another. And a third.

And both your heart and stomach went through the floor. 

Dan finally spoke, his voice coming out strained. “Um, listen…”

You held both your hands up. “No, it’s cool, I misinterpreted. It’s fine. You don’t need to answer. I’ll see you around the office, ‘kay?”

And you bolted without giving him a moment to even try to respond.

You felt sick. The rug under your feet was gone and the tears pricking your eyes were starting to sting from you trying to hold them back. You made a beeline for the Power Hour room, knowing it’d be empty and you collapsed onto the Grump Couch. 

You took a deep breath and let them slip silently down your face.

You felt like such an idiot. Yes, Dan had seemed like he was flirting, but obviously it hadn’t truly been that way.

You heard the door open and close softly and you jumped up to see Arin standing there.

“You okay? Need to talk about whatever it is?” he asked, genuinely concerned.

You sat back down and wiped your eyes with a shaky breath.

“It’s nothing. I just misinterpreted signals and it’s on me,” you admitted. “Mistook friendliness as flirtiness, that’s all.”

“Was someone leading you on?” He asked, seating himself next to you.

So he must’ve not seen you get rejected by Dan, becaused he sounded like a concerned older brother who was about ready to fight someone.

You shook your head. Dan didn’t even seem capable of something like that. 

“It honestly was just a misunderstanding. With any luck we’ll just both forget it ever happened and things will just go back to normal.” 

The door opened again, albeit a lot less gently than it had when Arin entered. 

“Hey, I didn’t—” 

You stared at Dan like a deer in headlights and you knew that he was looking at the tears on your face.

Arin stood. “Alright you two, play nice and get this sorted out.” He said, shaking his head as he left the room, closing the door behind him.

A awkward pause, and then Dan was sitting next to you. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I did not mean to make you cry. You must think I’m such an ass.” He rambled. “I didn’t mean to sound like I was rejecting you at all. God, I must’ve sounded like a jerk.”

You said nothing, staring at him. Your silence urging him to continue.

“I wasn’t expecting you to ask me out first, and you caught me with a giant piece of turkey in my mouth and I was trying to find a way to tell you that there was way too much food in my mouth but you were already gone. I am so sorry.”

“You weren’t expecting me to…” your words failed you.

“No, not at that moment,” Dan looked away, suddenly going from panicked to rather shy. “I honestly was still trying to get enough courage to ask you.”

A moment of charged silence passed as you both mulled over your thoughts.

“So, will you…?” Dan trailed off.

You snapped your gaze to meet his brown eyes.

“Will I…”

“Would you go out with me? This Friday? Seven o’clock?” He asked, nervousness, uncertainty and hope in his eyes. 

You grinned, ignoring the way that tears once more tried to make an appearance. “I’d love to.”

Dan’s eyes sparkled in response. 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

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For the people who liked the other post: @perhaps-im-dave-rolland @shnashq​ and @pwudding-pwup

[grabyoursaintsandpray]

Want to read an Elsa/Jack drabble?

Considering this is only relevant to a handful of my followers, I've thrown it and some backstory behind the cut.

Well first to explain, I've been ridiculously ill all week, some kind of flu/chest infection I'm not sure, all I know is it's wiped me out and I've been getting home from work and going straight to bed every day. I hadn't written anything in days and I think I made like one gifset this week because looking at the screen so intently hurt my eyes. So this was a pleasant surprise possible fever dream

It's like 900 words, not quite crack but possibly crack adjacent, completely unedited because I wrote it on my notes app which has no spell check or anything and why was me being ill relevant to the story? Well because my brain is mostly mush at this point, my temperature has been 39c (Standard is 36-37) so I'm just warning you that this isn't necessarily good and also probably expect errors.

But I thought I'd share (though it's not ao3 worthy) because I haven't written anything for WBN since January, honestly I was a little worried that maybe I'd lost the ability but no turns out I just need to run such a high temp that it melts the writers block right out of my brain.

Hopefully this is the kickstarter to being able to crank out an actual story at some point but for now I'm going to go back to huddling up on the sofa in my Gengar Oodie.

----🐺----

Elsa was not one for sitting idly, much preferring to have some kind of mission, some kind of goal in mind.

Maybe that's due to the life she's led, constantly on the move, never staying in one place too long. It comes with the monster hunting territory she supposes.

It's different now, life is different now. She has a home, somewhere real and permanent that she can return to. She also has more of a purpose, the Bloodstone that is currently conspicuously absent from around her neck seeing to that.

She slides her eyes over to the man beside her, who is practically buzzing with glee because there's one last difference, a big one and his name is Jack.

If there was one thing that had completely turned her life upside down, it was him.

Not that she minds of course, most of the time anyway. In fact normally she's eternally grateful for him quite literally stumbling into her path and changing the direction she had been heading in.

Today though, well today she was not grateful because in all his questionable wisdom, Jack had decided that she was due for some R and R.

Yeah, in theory? Sounded great. Maybe they take a weekend off from monster hunting, rent a little place somewhere the two of them can be alone and reconnect with each other.

Unfortunately, she wasn't being whisked away to a cabin in the middle of nowhere or a quiet island with a private beach.

No, she was checking them both into a spa.

"Do you like it?" Jack had asked as they pulled into the car park and as she turned, seeing those beautiful eyes, wide with excitement and nerves, she found her irritation crumbling.

"It's great" She promised him, mouth tilted in a half smile. He practically slumped in relief and she withheld the sigh wanting to escape her lips.

It was fine, she could get through this. It was hanging around a bunch of people and trying to relax, not torture. She'd laugh about it in a bit.

----

She wasn't laughing. Two hours later and she's slowly losing the will to live.

They'd been in the jacuzzi, great except for the four other people there with them. Steam room, same deal and honestly it felt like sitting in a bloody volcano anyway. Who enjoys that kind of shit?

She begged off going into the swimming pool. Jack, it turns out wasn't too keen on swimming either, which did at least amuse her slightly. She thought all dogs were born with the ability to swim, or was that some kind of strange myth she'd picked up over the years?

With all the various wet things fortunately out of the way and Jack unfortunately out of his swimming trunks and back into his regular clothes. They headed into the relaxation room before their massages.

Her arse was numb from lying on what was truly some kind of instrument of torture masquerading as a bed. For a thing supposed to promote comfort and relaxation, they sure chose a bizarre style in which to do it.

It was solid for starters, no soft fabric to sink into and rest your head on, in fact she painfully banged hers with a loudly echoing thump the second she tried to lay down.

She understood the tile which it was made of was to keep it heated easily but that still didn't stop her from feeling like she was lying on the bathroom floor.

The bizarre hazy purple hue to the room had also left her feeling mildly disoriented and she worried for the sake of her eyesight once she stepped back into the sun.

Not to mention the music being piped in, some hideous repetitive... plinky plonky sounds that barely classified as actual noises, let alone music. There was a wonderful change-up an undetermined amount of time later with seagull sounds being added in, that truly made her contemplate jumping through the nearest window.

She turned her head, neck cracking at the stiff position it had been kept in, to check on Jack. Surely he must be bored by now? If she finds it hard to sit still normally then he is usually like a kid hopped up on sugar.

It really shouldn't surprise her to see that he is completely knocked out. His chest softly rising and falling soothingly.

She lets out a quiet whisper of his name, nothing.

A spiteful part of her wants to yell it, watch him startle so hard he falls onto the probably much softer floor. She stops herself, she's a bitch sure but she has some decorum.

Plus he deserves this much more than she does. They've hunted nonstop for the last few months with the last one being a close call that she truly doesn't like to think about.

She hadn't been paying attention and it nearly cost her life. Worse, it nearly cost his life because of course he spotted the incoming danger and threw himself in front of her, taking the brunt of the damage to a terrifying degree.

She knows that's the reason he's booked this spa for them. It had shaken them both to their core and he just wanted some sense of normality, of just being a couple without all the death and destruction inherent in their line of work.

So she'd give him this, she would let him sleep and soon she would endure being prodded by a stranger and at the end of the day she'd tell him how great it felt and how relaxed she now was and they'd go home, feeling that little bit closer. If she gripped him a little tighter at night, if she woke him up screaming his name in terror then they'd both gracefully ignore it but he'd tuck her closer and whisper sweet nothing's into her ear in Spanish until she drifted back off, the same way he always does.

It was a fair trade and honestly, she'd laugh about this tomorrow, she's sure.

[lettalady]

Directors Commentary for Who We Were Before when Dove is hired for the Zemos or The Baron and the Dove when Helmut figures out Dove is pregnant 👀

💕💕💕💕

Well just make it impossible to choose why don't you?! Both? We'll look at both. Cause we can and I'm going to shake some words loose over the long weekend. (I thought for a good few minutes that I didn't have a divider bar for WWWB and then realized I'd just saved the file in a different location than all the other dividers for the sprawling series.)

LJH: Who We Were Before - C1. Something discovered & C2. How if becomes when

I wanted the opening chapter as a whole to show how strong the bond was between Helmut and Heike, the teamwork between them that felt solidly established and unbreakable. I think anything less than a partner that knows the best and worst and is choosing to be there anyway wouldn't have made sense for the lengths Helmut goes to in Captain America: Civil War.

Of course they'd be exacting in entrusting someone to become part of their lives. At the same time I wanted to peel away the layers and show how life in the household might once have been, structured but ... lighter, for lack of a better way to say it. (Forgive me. For a shorter workday my brain is still edging dangerously close to fried.) Hope. There's hope and life in the hallways of the Zemo household. Sure, Helmut and Heike are tired from the strenuous process of interviewing potential candidates to help with Carl, but that strain doesn't translate to sharper tempers - not with each other, not with any of the preexisting household staff, or those potential candidates left to interview that day.

As to how Dove becomes Nanny to Carl - I'm not sure if it's a single thing that can be pointed to as the reason. I wanted all three Zemos to have opinions, of sorts, in the hiring of Dove. Carl's little moment of hide-and-seek, allowing that early attachment to show without influence of anyone else in the household. Not to mention the fact that he was able to manage his way from wherever he was napping to interact with the potential candidates that would be charged with his care.

Circling back, though, to Helmut and Heike: one of my favorite things was showing their connection, that same wavelength flowing between them that took the need for additional dialogue because they were holding wordless conversations. A little look or tone emitted to convey something. We, just like Dove, are outsiders looking in - not quite catching all of what passes between the couple.

LJH: The Baron & The Dove - C13. Two weeks, one day and four hours after the great grate escape

Dove isn't even awake to witness the exact moment Helmut's brain offers the conclusion that she's pregnant. They've been chasing a fantasy that he's trying to nail down into some form of reality: a safe place, a future. They've hardly taken a single precaution to safeguard against the possibility that that future isn't possible - at least that Dove is aware of. For everything he's told her, warned her about, there's a good half dozen things or more that he's kept to himself. Old worries and new ones that he'll shoulder until she asks the right question, or it's no longer a concern... or it's forced.

It's the first night after they've found that little house at the end of the lane, and furnished it with at least the immediate needs. All the little things he's noticed that suddenly align and he suspects...

Excitement. Fear. Guilt. Listening to Dove sleep while he sits there staring at the bare walls of this house he means to make safe. For her. The future that's a lie, a hope, a dangerous daydream that's solidifying. Fear because if she is carrying his child, he's risking more than their lust-laden wants and desires. There's so much than can still go wrong, so much beyond his control. Old fears, with how close he came to losing Heike and Carl both. Thinking of them ushers in the bitter tasting guilt, sharper now for his bedding of the young woman that once was of the household. Heike and Carl are gone, yet this... feels like a fresh betrayal. Another promise broken. He misses them, yes, but that desperation to be reunited has shifted, softened, morphed into something else.

The near-certainty of that moment in the middle of the night is why Dove woke to find him sitting in bed vs sleeping, and why he rocketed out of said bed when she reached out to touch him.

In terms of when he first started wondering if maybe she was pregnant - I've always thought that he had an inkling on that ferry ride, when she fell asleep tucked against him. When she simply slept, rather than shifting and startling herself awake with dreams she refused to fully reveal.

[rayeim0gen]

My doctors are well aware of my meth use. I didn’t hold back with my reasoning.

My life went completely to shit in the past 4 years to the point where my failing mental health lead me to ending up homeless and losing everything but what I could carry.

I showed up at the hospital a few times, begging for help, unmedicated, and got dismissed and/or treated like a criminal without ever getting help.

At one point I was living in a trap house for a few weeks. I came “home” one day to find my room cleared out of anything of value I had left. Something snapped in my brain, and I’m told I was found by the police walking on the freeway.

That’s the time I was told “getting in isn’t an option for you. There’s nothing the ward can do for you anyways”.

I went back to the trap house. There was a half dozen or so people sitting in the living room passing a meth pipe around.

I had nothing left to live for.

I sat down in the circle, and as the pipe made its way to me, I figured “fuck it” and took a hit.

I felt pure euphoria.

I no longer had any desire to kill myself.

My problems became irrelevant.

Where have you been all my life?

I stayed in the trap house a couple more weeks, and would partake whenever invited to.

I managed to secure stable, safe housing, and spent the first few weeks detoxing and withdrawing hard. But I made it. Without help from the healthcare system.

I met my now girlfriend a month and a half later, and life has been on the upswing since. She’s amazing.

I finally got help back in January of this year, after a particularly bad episode and attempt, but only because my girlfriend and a close friend refused to let them turn me away.

Since then I’ve had a chance to reflect on how truly fucked up everything I experienced at the hands of the health authority actually was.

I’ve gotten noticeably cold and bitter in the past few months.

PTSD attacks the second my mind starts to wander.

I’ve been struggling to stay focused at work, and have been taking advantage of the slow season at work and cutting out whenever I have the chance.

My cheque this week is pathetic.

I was clean almost a year.

Till May Long Weekend this year.

I hate long weekends.

Wow! An extra day to sit around and be reminded of everything and everyone I cared about that cut ties with me because, as one person put it:

>“if you were actually trying to get help, you would have gotten it by now. You need to stop lying to the doctors and those who care about you”.

I started to spiral BAD mentally.

I became actively suicidal.

But this time was different.

I was craving meth.

Then I realized that the last time I was that low was when I was living in the trap house, and the euphoria it gave me.

It took a bit of work, but I got my hands on some.

I felt pure euphoria.

I no longer had any desire to kill myself.

My problems became irrelevant.

(Yes, I copypasta’d that part).

I lived to see the sun come up.

Mission successful.

So I made a promise to myself.

It can’t become a regular thing, but I know that when I start craving meth, I know I’m starting to get bad again.

I have no intentions of humiliating myself in the ER begging for help again.

Can’t rely on the healthcare system.

The mere thought of setting foot in that ER ever again only serves to accelerate the spiralling.

So what can I rely on?

Yup.

Technically it’s less harmful than eating a shotgun or stepping in front of a bus.

Less dramatic and drastic too.

And a good chance I’ll live to see the sun rise.

I’ve had a few more of those nights since then.

Not proud of myself, and I know it can’t be a long term solution, but I’m still alive, aren’t I?

I’ve made it perfectly clear to my doctors that it’s going to take a lot of work with medication and therapy before the ptsd gets to a more manageable level where I’ll be willing to give up Meth.

The healthcare system doesn’t get to ignore my cries for help as long as it did while my life burned to the ground and I lost everything I cared about to suddenly get to shame me for struggling with drugs and alcohol.

When and if I want help, I’ll ask.

But don’t you fucking dare look down your nose at me for the negative coping mechanisms I may have picked up because of the healthcare systems’ own negligence and outright refusal to lift a finger to help me.

[stiricidewrites]

All the Things We’ll Leave Behind: ch 36, pt 9

Hope you had a good weekend. Mine has been tiring, and I think my brain is broken???

Previously

~

The attendant took a step towards the girl’s station, their normally bland and unimpressed expression falling away into one of shock and confusion. As much as they were trained for accidents, ones such as this weren’t common in more professional matches—coaches ran their alpha’s through drills, making sure they wouldn’t injure themselves in such predictable ways. The alpha took another step, but they were too slow. The girl was drowning, bleeding more red into the lake, and their supposed overseer was panicking.

Lu Ming’s hands moved, pulling himself more upright, and then he was diving smoothly through the water towards the girl.

To jzxuan’s everlasting embarrassment, through the screams of the locals, he heard his cousin loudly mutter about how Lu Ming was both a show-off and about how he should have jumped in to make sure he was okay when he fell in—as though falling into the water were the same as bleeding into it. jzxuan was tempted to abandon his own position to go kill his horrible, self-centred cousin. The fact that he would one day have to work with the man in running the Jin holdings…

That fact alone was enough to make him want to disappear. Forget about being attracted to other alphas or hating his family’s empire in general. The worst fate would be having to spend the rest of his life listening to that man! And, he’d surely get worse with age. Just as their father’s had mated and grown more entitled as the years went by, his cousin would almost certainly follow that same path.

It was terrible, and while his first thought was that he needed to move to a different country and live under a new name, his second was that he should sic his brother on his cousin. jgy had always hated jzxun, who had never accepted his uncle’s illegitimate children as relatives. The only reason jzxuan’s half-brother hadn’t yet done anything to jzxun or his equally horrible father was there were more important issues to deal with.

As much as that side of the family was just as terrible as the main branch, there were bigger issues to sort out among the Jin holdings and the smaller branches of the family. Corruption was, unfortunately, rampant in their family, and jgy had spent the majority of his time working for their father sorting those people out. Their father hadn’t exactly agreed to it—unsurprisingly, given his own corruption—but as control of many of the businesses were returned to the main branch, and jgy had discovered and put a stop to a few very illegal goings-on…

Well, their father had capitulated and allowed jgy to take the reins in controlling much of the company, using his newfound free time to fuck more omegas. At least no other half-siblings had popped up since then—not yet, anyways.

[makipedia]

Tsukumo Yuki continued to occupy my brain for the third week in a row so may I request some Yuki x reader in which Yuki tries to help reader relax by spontaneously taking them on a date 👀

all this yuki content😭 ok yeah that sounds fun to write! also have u read 206???💀

Paring: Yuki Tsukumo x F!Reader (i hope u dont mind loll)

warning: none🙃

(reader is working in the police force after quitting on being a Jujutsu sorcerer lol)

You ran your fingers through your hair as you kept staring down the paperwork in front of you. There were so many words on it and your brain was racking with other thoughts separate from those papers on your desk. Your boss had given you a ton of papers to fill out from the last crime scene you'd previously investigated.

The tea you'd just made did nothing to help you concentrate as you kept tapping your finger against your scalp.

The clock kept ticking as the seconds passed by, turning into minutes, and you still haven't gotten down a single word.

Soon enough, your girlfriend, Yuki, walked through the door and proudly (and obnoxiously) marched through your apartment and opened your office door.

"Good evening, my love! I've been given yet again, another day off! Those annoying higher ups better start assigning me missions sometime soon! I couldn't tell you the last time I fought a curse!" She exclaimed as she kicked open your door, finding you with your fingers in your hair. Seeing as you didn't respond, she marched over and squeezed you with her big arms.

"You ok, honey? You seem a little.." She trailed off. You finally let a genuine smile stretch across your face as your hand trailed up to her forearm. "Stressed?" You finished, turning to face her. She nodded before glancing over and seeing the thick stack of papers.

"Jeez, was the case that serious?" She questioned with a judgmental face. You shook your head, "No. This case had multiple victims and I had to fill out what information I knew for each victim on every paper." You grumbled before turning back in your spinny chair. She frowned before reaching over and snatching the papers from you before you could get the pen back on the paper.

"Hey! I need that! Those papers are supposed to be given back by tomorrow and I've had since Saturday to do them!" You yelled, getting up and attempting to reach over Yuki's tall figure to grab your papers. "If you've had all weekend to do them, why'd you stall up until now?" She asked with a smirk. You frowned before attempting to reach your arm around her built shoulders once again. No luck.

"Besides, what's the worst that could happen if they're just a tad bit late?" She asked still keeping the papers behind her back. "Well, there's the possibility I could probably lose my job if I don't turn those papers in. And I don't suspect that we could be living off the minimum wage you get paid as a Jujutsu sorcerer with how little missions you get assigned." You said before reaching behind her for the third time and successfully getting the papers back in your hand.

"Well, you crime scene investigators do get paid a lot of money, so I guess that's a fair point. Anyways, you're taking a break. I bet you've been working on those papers all day today since you got home." She said before dragging you by the hand. You scoffed.

"At least let me get my jacket, jeez! I'm not trying to freeze out there!" You yelled before reaching for your coat and finally set foot outside the door.

..

..

The cold air hit your face as you stepped out of Yuki's car and onto the sidewalk while you heard the other car door shut with a thud.

"Seriously? Food? I ate a while ago." You griped before Yuki started walking towards the door. "Whattt?? I thought you loved Mediterranean food!" She exclaimed just before you got closer to the door with her.

"I do. It's what I ate earlier." You reminded with a small smile. She huffed before opening the door. "What's wrong with having it again?"

"Nothing." You replied with a soft chuckle.

---

AHHH im sorry i took to long to write this :(( also sorry the endings bad💀 i didnt know what else to write :/

[merlions]

My grandpa died on Wednesday. And this is just a side note I'm not able to put anything into a way that makes sense. But it's been really strange - just, the turbulent circumstances of his last few years, the unpredictable nature of his health ups and downs and my family kinda going crazy as a result of the stress of it - I'm finding myself feeling not the complicated grief I'd expect, I feel like I almost...already have been mourning him for years, dealing with the complicated feelings, and now he's actually passed I just have the pure unadulterated sadness. I'm not feeling it strongly but I never do - I remember when my grandma died when I was seven, even then I found it weird that I couldn't cry until I was actually at the funeral. I'm just like that, I've always been.

Weirder though is like - I can usually tell when I'm having Big Feelings but just avoiding them. I feel them lurking behind me, hot breath on the back of my neck while I'm focusing on this single blade of grass in my hands with everything I have so I don't have to turn and see them waiting to pounce. But I'm not getting that now.

But I'm almost getting like...purely cognitive effects, as if I were having those emotions? I had a panic attack today about the volume of homework I realized I had to do this weekend - it's easily at least 20 hours of work - and usually I'd just be like eh whatever I'd probably just be researching medical info anyways as a fun hobby I love, which is why I'm studying it in school. But this time it just felt utterly impossible.

And I was like wtf I love doing this though? And realized I just don't care right now, it just seems meaningless. But not in any way depression or sadness usually makes me feel. No huge heavy misery. It was more like just kinda, "I'm busy right now." But like, I'm not, yknow?

It feels less like diluvian torrential grief downpour and more like walking with small ankle weights. Already on the verge of nonfunctional the tiny added difficulty is rendering me incompetent. So maybe it just feels like a bigger thing must be lurking cause this way I'm feeling doesn't match with the ways my brain is different now than it was on Tuesday.

Maybe it's my other typical kind of emotional avoidance, the flitting around on top to not get dragged into focus and then caught unawares and mugged by emotions I'm trying not to feel. But I listened to a song earlier and cried a bit and that really should NOT have been possible if I were actually in emotion lockdown mode.

I don't know, I process by saying things so I think this is just processing. I don't know if it's becoming digestible. I feel half in a dreamstate. He loved ice cream and ate some every single day so my whole extended family ate ice cream on the day he died, without even planning it, we just all instinctively thought to do that. Apparently he also really loved raw onions but no one did that one. He told me once that until he was 12 he lived in terror that his parents had secretly named him "Isaac" and were hiding it from him and calling him by the first of two middle names so he wouldn't find out. He was fairly significant in the invention of the internet and invented a filetype still in use today. He wrote a book on software programming and told me it only ever sold like 100 copies. He won two national fencing championships. He had a lifelong blood feud with the squirrels who would steal seeds from his bird feeders. I love him and miss him very much.