#birdie writing

[nhothicket]

Ever create a band au even though you cant draw instruments?

more info below the cut :>

Meet Bdubs, 38, stage name BdoubleO - Boomer is often mistaken for his first name, but is just another nickname for the pile. Infamous online, if it weren't for the fact that he makes disgustingly good music he would probably have more hate followers than genuine fans. The line between charming asshole and just asshole is one he fails to tread lightly most days, but he's mostly harmless. Let's just say the Bdoubleo could also stand for boorish. A bit of a sellout, but he enjoys what he does and many appreciate his extremely.. candid attitude. Best likened to a cartoon villain dressed as a rockstar, with the ego to match. (It's usually his unrelenting pretentiousness that gets him into Twitter spats.)

Thank you @foxden-frontier for always helping out with my stupid aus ^v^

Annoying at worst, unfortunately very charismatic at best. You could say he's a softie at heart, but that implies its at all difficult to spot. Once he's done "clapping back at all the haters", in person he's still got a temper (he thinks he has a bad boy reputation to uphold) but is enthusiastically friendly.

Etho, 32, resident keytarist of creatively named band Canadian Bacon. Joined by his two best friends, Pause the frontman and bassist, and Beef their drummer. A deceptively popular band if judging by their permanent rough draft name and their nerdy-college-student dress code. Etho himself is just a guy who likes playing music with his buddies, their hobby having blown up under their noses. Now, as an unfortunately successful touring artist, Etho's anonymity is scarce, but he continues to wear his mask to discourage widespread photos of his face. In spirit. He's concerned about having his face plastered all over fan accounts, which still occurs, but a perk of having a completely rabid fanbase is that many will defend your boundaries to their last dying breath. Like his face, his legal name is out and about online, but its similarly discouraged. Best likened to just a guy.

If asked on the subject of his scar, the entire band has various different whimsical stories, brand new everytime. His lack of internet presence means Pause and Beef are free to make up whatever misinformation about him as they please completely unchecked (in jest of course), and they do take advantage of that. Many of these alternative facts are passed around on wikis and in fan circles.

To say Bdubs is jealous of Canadian Bacon's popularity is an understatement. They weren't even trying at all and yet they're the hot shit? But instead of putting that jealousy to hatred (which he had considered of course) he's instead set himself on proving himself. And if that means impressing Etho then so be it. Why does it mean impressing Etho? Good question, never ask it again. They say keep your enemies close, and Bdubs' enemies don't deserve personal space.

As it turns out, Etho wasn't too difficult to impress or maybe Bdubs was just that amazing. Either way, they end up hitting it off. Their friendship is an interesting one, mostly because Etho's fans basically hunt Bdubs for sport online. We're talking scribbled out of pictures, get behind me, #FreeEtho. Etho thinks he seems pretty cool though, if not a bit much sometimes, so no harm no foul.

Okay, rapid fire, some other notes for this au.

> Etho's legal name is Ethel. Because it is. My heart is so set on it. But if you're boring, Ethan or Ezekiel or something work too I guess.

> Etho's keytar mimics a more traditional guitar in most cases, though he's known to experiment a lot with how far he can push that.

> Etho's scar is from a mugging in this au, not a very fun story to tell. Beef practicing his brand new razor blade throwing hobby or fighting a bear to beat Pause in a bet is much more entertaining.

> Canadian Bacon is meant to have a manager, but I couldn't think of anyone I felt fit. Just a note.

> Bdubs has a habit of grabbing Etho by his tie and pulling him down to his level or otherwise using it as a leash. Etho doesn't usually wear the tie outside of show stuff or interviews, but he wears it around Bdubs because thinks its funny. When there's no tie that doesn't stop Bdubs, collars and hoodie strings are subject to the same usage.

> Etho isn't aware of how infamous Bdubs is when they meet as they meet at a festival with a big group of other musicians. Most of which already know Bdubs as his more excitable friendly self. He only finds out later when Bdubs complains about Etho's fans flaming him anytime he mentions him.

> Bdubs still has a self-imposed curfew, 10pm every night unless it conflicts with a show. He needs his beauty sleep.

> The trigger reason for the animosity toward Bdubs is due to being blamed by fans for the split of his last band that had a pretty hardcore cult following (OOG, I've not named their band yet), and that has since snowballed into what it is today, despite his actions being relatively harmless. To note, this was not an assumption at all promoted by either party, it was entirely a fanmade judgement.

> For those who can, picture s5 jungle Bdubs mixed with drunken OOG(E) ctm maps for his approximate personality. Still goofy but with a sharper tongue and a lot worse of a temper.

> Originally I considered Cleo as Bdubs' manager so he's not all alone in narrative sense, I still think it's not a bad idea I'd love to see her chew him out for acting like a moron. Ren or Scar would be also be options for manager.

> Bdubs needs a touring band, but I'm not well versed enough in the hermits to actually pick one out. Just a note.

Okay, that's most of it! There's some more pg-13 headcanons for this au, along the lines of fuck yeah rock'n roll lifestyle, but it's not really important I'm sure just that is enough to get the gist of it. Thank you for reading this overly long note. ^v~

#Definitely expect more stupid aus - ive been having a lot of fun throwing them into random scenarios #ive been watching a lot of older bdubs content lately and ive been loving his attitude #band au #bdubs #etho #birdie art #birdie writing #bdoubleo #bdoubleo100 #hope i did the alt text right - let me know if it needs fixing #bdouble100 fanart #bdoubleo fanart #ethoslab fanart #etho fanart #ethoslab #hermitcraft fanart #divorce duo

[lemonberries]

i want the k for raenna/baxley <3

Raenna and Baxley: 15. Kiss With Tongue

except it’s also oral oops

For the love of god, Raenna was so whipped for this man. He could do whatever he wanted to her and she’d melt in his hands. She’d like to do the same once she gets the opportunity, but for now she settled for what she could control while grinding her nook on Baxley’s face.

“Fffffffuuuuck~!” Thighs already quivering with an impending orgasm, Raenna found his hand and laced her fingers with his with a tightening grip. Tongue deep would have been an unremarkable statement until one knew what his looked like- felt like. Long, deep, full control, oral expertise.

Her head fell forward as she struggled to steady herself between labored moans and silent pleads for release, bangs sticking this way and that to the sweat collecting on her brow. It didn’t take long for her to reach her climax, unabashedly gushing her mess all over his face.

She didn’t mind the blurred lines between their friendship and sexual fun, especially in moments like this. The vibrations from his deep chuckles against her nook made her squirm in surprise from sensitivity. Raenna then collapsed off of him with a satisfied sigh, holding herself as she rode out that delicious orgasm.

When she came to, she pulled him in for wet, appreciative kiss. She choked on his tongue in her throat momentarily, relishing in the taste of her own cum and hazy high it brought her.

Breathlessly, her head fell back with a plop. “Wow…”

#your biggest fan #raenna IC #srp #ask #oneirictrolls #birdie writing

[bloodybellycomb]

Tumblr announcing that they are unbanning nudity immediately after elon musk starts burning twitter to the ground is like pouring gasoline into an already open flame and then spitting on the ashes. The vindictive pettiness is so entertaining to watch--just outstanding

#twitter #tumblr #elon musk #writing #also its just good business and marketing tbh #companies still suck but this is funny so im letting it pass #for now at least #birdy chirps

[birrdies]

“when I say you are killing me” (desert duo one-shot, 2.6k)

Every inch of his climb is agony. White-hot and endless, it ricochets through Scar’s body as if it bought an expressway pass through his veins like a highway. Would it have killed Grian to get an apartment on the first floor? Hell, Scar would even take something on the third or fourth-floor if he had to. Anything would be better than dragging himself, slowly and painfully, up twelve flights of rickety metal stairs. In the snow. In the middle of the night. Bleeding.

Scar’s having a bad night.

Blood dribbles between the gaps of his fingers. It’s slower than it had been, but each heave up another flight of stairs blinds him with pain and sends a few more fresh droplets of blood sliding down his middle. His shirt (whatever tatters remain of it anyway) and pants are wet and tacky, sticking to his skin like a perpetually wet bathing suit as he tries to climb the rest of the way up to Grian’s apartment.

The fire escape is an old decrepit fixture of rusting metal mounted to the brick siding with nothing more than a few loose bolts and a dream. It groans beneath his weight, the barest shake of wind causing the metal to ripple and shudder. The metal saps the warmth from his already cold, pale fingertips. He’d had gloves, but had to get rid of them as they were soaked in blood and not all-that conducive for climbing-under-the-influence (of blood loss). Scar’s not afraid of much, least of all heights, but he chooses each step up the fire escape carefully, muscle memory a crutch as he drags himself past open windows with the lights still on. Last thing he needs is another broadcast claiming HotGuy is nothing but a petty creep with a penchant for B&Es.

By the time he reaches the twelfth floor he’s shaking from head-to-to. Each breath sears through him, rivaling the sharp-edged pain of lightning, setting him alight. It burns through him, the aftershocks never ending as he pulls himself upright and grasps onto the edges of Grian’s windowsill. A pained whine catches between his teeth; he refuses to let it out.

Curled up at Grian’s windowsill as he peeks through the drawn curtains at the warm lamplight cascading through the glass, Scar finds the painful climb was well worth each and every second of agony. No better minded than a moth drawn to a flame Scar leans in to rest his forehead against the glass, the warm, golden glow from within Grian’s apartment beckoning him forward. Inside, Grian’s sitting at his desk around a cluster of books and papers strewn around as if a bomb had gone off. His hair is fuzzy and curled at the tips, as it always is whenever Grian lets it air dry after a shower. His shoulders are hunched and the sides of his face are illuminated by the blue glow of his laptop screen. Even through the glass Scar can hear the incessant clacking of his keys as he furiously types away at whatever assignment he’s working on.

It takes Scar more than one try to build up the courage to disturb him. He looks peaceful (or about as peaceful as someone working on a lab report can be), and Scar knows that peace will shatter the second he knocks, the second he barges in, yet again, on Grian’s evening and sweeps him up in his vigilante shenanigans.

Scar’s bloodied hands grasp onto the windowsill, red streaks staining the chipping white paint like a crime scene out of some gruesome horror movie Grian would have him watch. He winces at the sight; it’ll be a nightmare to scrub out. He’ll have to remember to buy Grian dinner one of these days to make it up to him and hope that Grian will have the heart, eventually, to forgive him.

“Grian,” he mumbles, startled to find his voice nothing more than a gravelly rasp. He reaches to knock, but his arms are as stiff as uncooked spaghetti noodles and don’t listen to a word he has to say. With a huff of frustration, Scar pitches his weight forward and thumps his head twice against the glass. The dull ache through his forehead is nothing compared to the feverish burning tearing through his chest and stomach.

Inside, a shadow bolts across the floor. Grian’s cat, Maui. In his chair Grian twists around at the sound. He’s wearing his glasses— Scar’s heart drops low in his stomach at the sight— and squints through the darkness to see Scar sheepishly waving at him through the glass, his breath fogging it up just enough to be seen.

He unfurls himself from his chair and comes to pry the window open. Scar comes face-to-face with his heart-patterned pajama pants, two sizes too big and pooling around his ankles. Wait, are those Scar’s?

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Grian is asking before Scar manages to start dragging himself in through the open window. It’s only for the briefest millisecond, in Grian’s ignorance, that Scar can be grateful for the starless, moonless night. The dark shields him not only from the prying eyes of neighbors, but from Grian’s scrutiny. In this dark he can’t see the blood, can’t see the tears in his shirt. In the dark, he might just look a little ruffled, no worse for wear than he usually is after a busy night patrolling. In the dark, he and Grian can pretend, albeit for only a second, that everything is normal.

But as the pain and dark corners throbbing in his periphery are keen on reminding him, everything is very much not normal.

“I seemed to have lost my watch,” Scar says as he pulls himself in through the open window. Every movement is measured, half-withheld, ginger— everything that Scar isn’t, and he’d be a fool to think Grian wouldn’t notice. He does immediately, because he’s Grian, and he’s never been truly ignorant when it comes to Scar, despite Scar’s best intentions.

Grian steps back with wide eyes. The color drains from his face as Scar holds his weight against the wall with one blood-slicked hand and struggles to stand at his full height. Every inch he tries to stand taller, the more the swelling edges of the wound start to pull and ache.

“Scar?” Grian’s face, usually so warm and vivid, especially under the light of his desk lamp, pales to a near lifeless color. He staggers toward him, hands held out in front of him as if to catch Scar. “Scar, what happened? Are you okay?”

“Right as rain, G,” Scar says, managing a wry smile. “Honest.”

“Don’t give me that.” Grian rushes forward, grabbing Scar around the shoulders and steering him towards the futon in the middle of the room. The second Grian touches him some of Scar’s pain fades, if not just because he has somewhere else to pitch his weight, to take some of the strain off his bloodied, torn middle.

The pair of them hobble to the futon, Grian whispering mumbled nothings as he lowers Scar onto the edge and forces him to sit back with firm hands on his shoulders. Scar allows himself the smallest mercy of relaxing into the cushions, his arms and legs limp at his sides as his head lulls back to rest against the back of the futon. It’s as if every string tying his marionette up, stringing him along, has been cut all at once. It’s somehow blissful and terrifying all at the same time. He’s not sure he’s ever been this roughed up, this exhausted.

And in front of Grian of all people?

Grian, whose face is drawn tight, whose shoulders and jaw are rigid as if he’s been made out of wood. Grian, who anxiously flutters at Scar’s side for a second before disappearing in a flurry toward the kitchen. Scar’s head is too heavy for him to lift, but he hears Grian rummaging and cursing under his breath before he returns just as quickly as he left. In his arms he balances a handful of small dishtowels, a first-aid kit, and a box of blue rubber gloves.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, to himself more than to Scar, as he sits on his knees on the cushion beside Scar and leans over to assess the wounds.

Gingerly he pulls the tattered shreds of his black shirt away from the wound-bed (as much as he can with some of the fabric stuck to his body with blood like glue) and winces at the gory sight. Scar’s skin is torn in jagged ridges, three gouge marks clawed from just under his ribs and down across his right abdomen. Thankfully, the worst of the bleeding seems to have stopped, dark, thick globules of blood already starting to stitch together like wads of hot glue around the wound, crusting on the skin.

Grian examines it all with a crease between his brow that Scar, after all this time, has come to know means he’s irritated. He’s always looked especially cute when he’s angry (part of the reason it’s just too easy for Scar to give into the temptation to push his buttons whenever possible), but the downturn of his lips, the whites of his eyes, reveals something far more serious. Worry. Grian’s worried about him, and maybe it’s the blood loss starting to get to Scar in earnest, but Scar finds he far prefers this sight. He can’t help but smile back at him, even though he knows it’ll likely earn him a punch when he’s no longer bleeding out on Grian’s couch.

“Scar.” Grian says his name as if he’s been saying it for a while, but Scar’s only just now hearing it. “This is bad. Like, really bad.”

Scar blinks down his nose at him, brow furrowed. “You should see the other guy,” he says with a weak huff of laughter. “Stuck him so full of arrows you could call him a porcupine.”

“Scar, this is serious,” Grian admonishes, snapping on a pair of gloves and brushing his hair from his eyes.

“But you’re gonna fix me right up, ain’t you, Doc?” Sar teases, lifting his head just enough to catch Grian’s scowl as he flicks open the first-aid kit and fishes out a small brown bottle.

“I need you to tell me what happened,” Grian says, and there he goes again— detached, analytical, dawning his ‘I’m calm and collected’ persona. He pulls a pair of scissors out of the first-aid kit and tests the snap of them. “This doesn’t look like it was from some kind of a knife—”

“Ravager,” Scar says, gritting his teeth in anticipation. “Jerk got too close.”

Grian raises an eyebrow. “Sounds more like you got too cocky.”

Again, Scar finds himself fighting (and failing) to conceal a smug little smile. “You’re worried about me, just say it.”

“I’m pissed off is what I am,” Grian snaps. He peels up one edge of Scar’s shirt and begins cutting away as much of the fabric as he can without disturbing the edges of Scar’s wounds. He winces only when the shirt tugs too sharply on the red, puffy edges of the wound. And Grian, to Scar’s surprise, nearly flinches every time he does.

“Sorry, sorry,” Grian whispers each time, sounding so unlike himself. His face is pale, and if Scar isn’t mistaken there’s the faintest tremble to his hand.

“It’s okay,” Scar says, just as hushed, as if the slightest movement or raise in his voice will spook Grian. “Do what you gotta do. I’m tough, I’m strong. I can take it.”

Grian scoffs and peels a foil lid from the bottle’s cap, dumping a bit of it onto a folded dishrag. “Yeah, okay. We’ll see how tough and strong you are once I start cleaning this.”

“Give me your worst, Doc.” Scar lets his head loll back to stare at the ceiling, taking as deep a breath as his tense, wounded chest will allow. The twinge of pain reminds him to stay awake, has his fingers curling into the fabric of the futon beneath him.

Grian doesn’t give Scar a warning, which he appreciates. The anticipation is the worst part. He grits his teeth and bares it as Grian firmly, but not violently, uses the alcohol-soaked rag to wash away the blood from his torn skin. Scar scrunches his eyes shut and breathes through it, the pain an unrelenting impulse racing through his veins like faulty circuitry gone haywire.

And as soon as it starts, it’s over. Grian sits back on his heels and tosses the now blood-soaked rag to the floor. He wipes at the sweat blistering across his forehead with his arm, taking a shaky breath in as he examines his handiwork.

“It’s not too deep,” he says, sounding the slightest bit relieved. He twists to reach for the first-aid kit again. “You’re lucky I swiped this stuff from the lab. Though I won’t begin to guess why you came here instead of a hospital. This needs stitches, probably.”

“Eh, I’m not worried about another scar,” Scar dismisses, ignoring the small beads of sweat starting to gather on his own brow. He can’t handle Grian thinking he’s caused him any more pain; the only thing worse than suffering as he is now is to watch Grian torture himself over things he can’t control. Like Scar. “Besides, I can’t exactly keep up the whole secret identity thing if I go to a hospital half in costume, now can I?”

“Secret identity,” Grian parrots mockingly, unraveling a bundle of bandages and starting to tack them down around Scar’s middle. “You nearly got gutted, and that’s what you’re worried about. Of course.”

He’s angry. Scar would be an idiot to not be able to see it, and maybe it shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does. But it’s not the anger that catches Scar off guard. It’s what lingers beneath it: Grian’s gloved, trembling hands, the way he can’t look Scar in the eye more than a second before having to look away, burying himself in sorting through the first-aid kit for the fourth time as if looking for something to help and, just like every other time, coming up empty-handed.

Grian’s scared.

Scar’s known Grian for years now, and over that time he’s been a lot of things. Angry, judgmental, infectiously funny, bright. But afraid has never been a word Scar has used to describe him.

“Grian…”

“Of course I’m worried,” Grian says, catching Scar off guard. His voice is so quiet, so hushed that Scar wonders if he imagined it. Because something so vulnerable and soft sounding couldn’t come from someone as headstrong and impervious as Grian. It simply isn’t possible. “How could I not be? Have you looked at yourself?”

“Hey.” Scar can’t dream of sitting up, but he manages to leverage himself up just enough to reach for Grian’s wrist. He’ll feel bad about staining Grian’s sleeves with blood later. For now he needs to grab hold of him, pull him in close. To reassure him. “I’m fine. I’m still here, aren’t I? I’m in good hands, yeah?”

“Scar,” Grian says, sounding like he’s about to start crying. He curls his fingers into a weak fist, as if to pull from Scar’s grasp, but he doesn’t try it. He only holds it there, waiting. “I’m not exactly qualified. I’m a bio student, not a—”

“You’re doing fine,” Scar insists, caressing the inner aspect of Grian’s wrist with his thumb. There, he can feel the furious pace Grian’s heart takes on at the touch, like his pulse is ready to leap out from beneath the thin layer of skin. He flashes a smile, just to prove it to Grian. “I’ve bounced back from a lot worse than this. I’m just glad I don’t have to do it alone this time.”

#desert duo #desert duo fic #scarian #<- just in case #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fic #goodtimeswithscar #grian #birdie writes #sometimes I forget I am a writer and forget to post the things I’ve been writing like a madman #blame fishbloc for making me post this one

[homoqueerjewhobbit]

If I could ask Rian Johnson one question about Glass Onion, it would be "Which came first: the idea that she sold sweatpants or the line 'did you think a sweatshop was just where they made sweatpants?'"

#This is actually a serious question #Like was he writing along having her make sweatpants and that was the best line for the scene? #Or when he was plotting out the movie brainstorming what her business could be did sweatpants win out bc he could use that joke #That wouldn't work if she sold crystals or Juiceros or whatever #glass onion spoilers #Glass Onion #knives out #knives out spoilers #birdie jay #post o' mine #rian johnson

[withahappyrefrain]

for those smutty prompts you reblogged ☺️ 29, which also goes pretty well with 7 too 💁🏼‍♀️

They do and they fit Birdie and Roo very well!

Warnings: Bradley's hands, reader has a nickname (no appearance described), smut, mentions of insecurities, did I mention Bradley's hands?

You should've noticed it earlier. Any other time when you weren't at your job, when you didn't have to be a professional.

But when Bradley went to give one of your students a high five, the stark juxtaposition of his hand compared to an eight year old's was astounding.

They were huge.

You wanted to entwine your hand with his, to feel his calloused fingertips. You wanted to feel them all over your body, particularly your throat.

But you were at your job. He was here to talk about his job for Career Day, filling in for a last minute cancellation.

So instead, you cleared your throat, "Let's give a big thank you to Mr. Bradshaw for coming in!"

Your professionalism nearly faltered when his hand laid itself on your shoulder, giving you a gentle squeeze.

"I'll see you later?" Bradley whispered, brown eyes full of hope.

One could see your quiet nod as a way to not draw attention to the interaction.

But you knew the truth. It was to keep yourself from saying something highly inappropriate in front of twenty third graders.

After your illy-timed revelation, it felt like the universe was doing everything within it's power to draw attention to Bradley's hands.

When you came home, you found Bradley in your kitchen, long fingers splayed out across one of your cabinets as his other hand worked to tighten a screw. His brows were knitted together in concentration, the tip of his pink tongue sticking out between his teeth as he focused.

His sweet brown eyes lit up when he saw you at the doorway of the kitchen.

"You'd think for how much your landlord charges, they'd have the decency to make sure all the screws are on tight."

It was such a sweet gesture. You hadn't mentioned it at all, meaning he must have noticed it himself. He took the time to grab his toolbox, bring it over here, and begin fixing it himself.

And all you could do was stare at his hands.

"Birdie? You okay?" His question broke you out of your trance.

"Oh yeah! Thanks Roo," you quickly kissed his warm cheek before excusing yourself to change.

This was bad. It was too early in the relationship to say something. You two had only slept together a handful of times. You still fucked in missionary there was no way you could ask him to choke you.

And what if he wasn't into that? What if he thought it was weird? Wouldn't be the first guy. But the difference now was that you really liked Bradley. You could see a future with him and he felt the same way.

The last thing you needed was to make him run for the hills.

So when you went into the kitchen after changing, you focused on reheating leftovers. Not the way Bradley was playing with Ladybug in the living room, those God damn hands scratching the dog's belly much to her delight.

This plan was going pretty well, until you felt large palms skimming across your bare thighs, a broad chest pressed against your back.

"Are those new?" Bradley asked, referring to the soft lounge shorts you had on.

"Uh yeah. They were on sale so I decided to treat myself," you quietly explained. God, his hands covered so much of your flesh. The way they gently kneaded the soft muscle of your thighs was heavenly combined with the hairs of his mustache brushing against your neck.

"D-do you like them?" Your voice was shaky, though it was an honest question. Okay, maybe you were trying to distract yourself again because thinking of the least attractive thing wasn't taking your mind off the way his fingers had slipped underneath the hem of your shorts.

Usually thinking of the way Stephen King wrote female characters always did trick. At least it did until Bradley Bradshaw came along.

"Love 'em. Love when you show off your thighs," he rasps in your ear.

"Really?" It was never a body part you noticed. In fact, you tried not to think about your thighs and the stretch marks that danced along the skin there or how much space they took up when you sat down.

Bradley nods before placing a soft kiss on your cheek, "Yeah. Don't get me wrong, I love everything about you Birdie."

His declaration makes your heart flutter.

"Guess I've always been a thigh guy? But yeah, your's are pretty damn amazing." You don't have to turn around, the small chuckle he lets out at the end indicates he's flustered.

When you turn around, you're met with rosy cheeks and bashful eyes. Bradley ducks his head into the crook of your neck, placing small kisses along your jawline.

His admission makes you feel at ease, your worries melting away. Your hands find his, several of your fingers wrapping around only one of his.

"I...I like your hands. A lot," you admit.

Bradley's mouth stills, "Really?"

You giggle, "Yeah. Like how big they are. Like how they feel when I hold them."

His mouth moves upward, now against the shell of your ear, "Saw you looking at them earlier. Is that all you were thinking about? Holding them?"

You could say yes and Bradley will drop it. He's had his suspicions about you, that there was more than you lead on when it came to the bedroom. Little things here and there have led him to believe it, as well as that you needed someone to open that door for you.

"I...." You took a deep breath, "I like how your fingers feel inside of me. And....I want to know how they'd feel around my throat."

The groan Bradley let out was gutteral, causing your thighs to clench.

"Jesus fucking Christ Birdie." For a brief moment, anxiety raced through your mind. You had messed up, had gone too far.

But then Bradley's mouth crashed against yours, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs as he picked you up. While the sudden show of strength made your head spin, it was feeling his erection that made you wonder why you worried in the first place.

Once you were placed on the counter, Bradley's hands trailed up your body, squeezing and kneading your soft flesh. His fingers reminded you that you had opted to go braless when you changed, the deft digits paying particularly close attention to your breasts.

All you could do was hold on, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. Before you could even mark up that pretty neck of his, Bradley's hand found yours. His fingers spanned the entirety of your throat.

The grip he had on your neck forced you to look up, allowing Bradley's lips to crash against yours. It was dizzying, how small he made you feel.

Then his hand pressed against your throat and you were a goner. Broken moans filled your kitchen, your hips rutting against Bradley's in a feeble attempt to get more of him.

His other hand slipped past the waistband of your shorts, your body arching into his when his fingers skimmed the thin fabric of your panties.

You loved his touch. You were pretty sure you loved him too but that was a future you problem.

And all too soon, it was gone- his hand around your throat, the other rubbing your clothed core.

If it weren't for the cloud of anxiety beginning to form in your brain, you may have been able to say something witty, like taking it back to the bedroom. But that would require your brain to not jump to the worst conclusion, such as Bradley realizing how weird it was to be obsessed with hands.

Before you could say anything, Bradley dropped to his knees, now at eye level with your lap.

His long fingers trailed up your legs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. They finally stopped at the waistband of your shorts.

Shit.

Yes, you knew Bradley was coming over. God, you even had the chance to change into something more appealing than the plain underwear that could only be described as 'granny panties'. And yet, it completely slipped your mind that perhaps you and Bradley would be doing something more intimate this evening.

Alright, that was a lie. You had been hoping that would be the case, but expecting it would be rude.

So you went to apologize, like you always did. Apologize for not being sexy enough, thoughtful enough, not considerate enough-

Bradley's mouth silenced you as soon as it latched onto one of your bare thighs. Your fingers found his sun kissed hair, clinging onto the roots to stay somewhat stable, which was extremely difficult considering the attention Bradley was giving to your thighs.

You thought he would give them a kiss or two, maybe a bite and then move on.

Instead, Bradley had developed an unpredictable pattern when it came to your thighs. A bite here, sometimes followed by his tongue lapping over the mark, other times his lips pressing open mouthed kisses over your skin.

It was nice. Borderline unusual, considering those you dated in the past hardly spent anytime on one specific body part. Was he doing this because of your unappealing underwear?

No. Bradley said he liked-no-loved your thighs. And Bradley Bradshaw actually meant what he said.

The seed of doubt that had tried to grow in your mind withered away with each kiss, with each love bite and mark he placed on your thighs. With every action done by his stupidly talented mouth, worries about what you were wearing faded away.

Instead, you could just enjoy the insanely attractive man who was in between your legs.

God, he was so fucking hot. In such a short time, he had mastered your body, knowing the perfect amount of pressure when he sunk his teeth into your skin. His fingers gripped your soft flesh, hard enough to leave hand-shaped bruises but soft enough to still be pleasurable.

Tension melted off your body. Your head lolled back, mind focused on how enjoyable it was-

Oh.

This is what it was supposed to be like all along, wasn't it?

"Birdie? You okay baby?" When you opened your eyes, Bradley was at eye level with you.

You could only let out a confused huh.

"You stopped making those cute noises." He thought those were cute? You had been trying to hold back, not wanting to be too loud.

Maybe you should be louder.

"Yeah, sorry, I was just enjoying myself," you said sheepishly.

Bradley shook his head, "Nothing you have to apologize for."

When you looked up, he was giving you that earnest smile that made your heart flutter.

It's that exact smile that gives you the courage to learn forward and kiss him, trying to pour as much passion as one can with one simple action.

Your body arches into his, fingers weaving through those soft curls.

One of Bradley's hands snaked down your body, going past the waistband of your panties. A jolt of electricity went up your spine upon feeling his fingers brush against your soaked core.

When his fingers traced over your entrance, you didn't hold back.

Which was great for Bradley, as the desperate moan you let out made his cock twitch.

Of course his fingers were quick and talented, considering his job. You just never considered how it would translate to the bedroom (or kitchen in this case). The first time he thrusted his fingers inside of you, you thought it was a fluke. It had been ages since someone had touched you, which explained why you came so quickly.

But now? You knew better.

Your small kitchen was quickly filled with the sounds of your moans and heavy breathing. Each time his fingers stroked that one spot, you saw stars behinds your eyelids.

How did he find it so quickly?

When his thumb reached up to draw circles on your clit, all you could say was his name over and over again.

Your head felt like cotton, but in a good way. Maybe he could feel the heat radiating off of your body, but for once you didn't care. A particularly hard yank of his locks earned you a low, guttural growl from Bradley, making your walls clench around his fingers.

His free hand quickly found the sides of your neck, squeezing just enough to make a broken wail fall from your lips.

You were fucking gorgeous like this, ears teary from pleasure, lips parted. Bradley had a strong feeling there was more than what you had initially shown him. But that strong wall of reservation had broken down over time. Seeing you like this was nearly enough to make him cum right then and there.

"Br-Bradley," you barely got out, as he changed the angle of his hand, his fingers now able to thrust deeper inside you. Fuck, were you hearing yourself? Did he make you that wet?

It was absolutely certain.

"Yeah?" His voice was smooth like honeyed wine, "You gonna come for Mrs. Bradshaw?"

Fuck.

All at once it hit you like a tidal wave. Your hips jerked erratically, desperate to get as much of his fingers as possible, trying to ride out the wave as much as possible.

Thank god he didn't stop. You were addicted to the pure bliss that was running through your veins. No worries, seeds of doubt miles away. All you could focus on was the gorgeous man in front of you who was making you see stars.

You could process what he said later.

For now, you just rode it out.

"So fucking pretty like this," He rasped in your ear, fingers continuing their ministrations, "Y'know that?" All you could do was weakly nod, sensitivity beginning to overtake your body as you were pulled back to that pleasurable edge.

"Yeah, you're my pretty girl. All mine." The declaration made your head spin.

"A-All yours-Bradley!"

This time when you came, your hands clutched the soft fabric of his shirt, clinging onto him for dear life. Second orgasms were really a thing? You always thought that your inability to experience it in the past indicated that something was wrong with you.

You were beginning to learn the problem wasn't always you.

When he pulled out, his arms wrapped around your back, pulling you in for a hug. Bradley quietly rocked you back and forth, pressing soft kisses to your temple.

"You good Birdie girl?" He asked, the smile evident in his voice.

You nodded, a dozy grin appearing on your face, "Yeah I just-wow. Never came twice before. Thought it was a myth or something."

"I think you've just been with shit people," Bradley stated, feeling comfortable enough to finally address it.

"I think you're right," your arms around his waist and your head settled against his chest.

"I-sorry about what I said earlier," Bradley muttered.

Oh yeah. That was something to talk about.

"The Mrs. Bradshaw thing?" you asked.

Heat rushed to Bradley's cheeks as he rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, "Yeah....I'm sorry if that weirded you out. You were just really pretty-I mean you're always pretty-"

"It's not the first time you've called me that." You felt calm talking about it. Part of that was seeing Bradley visibly nervous.

You did what you would have wanted someone to do. You take his hands into yours, giving them a gentle squeeze as you looked up at him with a soft smile.

"I mean it. I don't mind at all. It was actually....sweet but also kinda hot," you admitted, feeling heat rise to your face.

Bradley raised an eyebrow, "Oh really?"

You playfully rolled your eyes, "Oh God are you going to use this against me?"

"Absolutely I am." Before you could even protest, Bradley had already picked you up.

"C'mon Mrs. Bradshaw, I'm far from done with you."

#ask #my writing #bradley and Birdie #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradsaw x reader #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster top gun #bradley rooster x reader #bradley rooster x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster x y/n #bradley x reader #top gun maverick

[sin-sidejob]

alright, we’re hunting down Netflix executives

#I’ll continue writing #but im absolutely going to need a while #my asks are open for anyone who wants to cry along with me #I’m so sorry to be the one to tell some of y’all or whoever sees this in this way #inside job #I’m as gutted as you are #but I’m hoping in some arcane way that another provider like Adult Swim may pick it up like they did for tuca and birdie #I love you all and REALLy My asks and dms are open if you wanna cry about it with me #inside job Netflix #fuck Netflix #reagan ridley #jr scheimpough #brett hand #glenn dolphman #andre lee #gigi thompson #myc #robotus alpha beta #personal inside job #my inside job

[slimeshade]

Whenever I see stuff about "making ocs out of fandom characters", I'm reminded of this one au in progress because-

How did I get here?

#not maintaining this one‚ sorry #slimes doodles #into the nothingness (au) #a sneak peek of what's going on in my writing ft a healed birdy #these are covered via headcanons + plot stuff to happen eventually #but it sure is a whiplash to look at THK's sprites and my au notes at once hejehdb #poor birdy got hit with that the hardest huh #not even shadow got it this deep #(maybe)

[keigosstarlight]

More Hawks Headcanons💖

Because my last Hawks headcanons post got some attention, I decided to do some more 🥰

This one will have NSFW headcanons, and I'll try to put those under a read more.

SFW

I wasn't sure to put this in NSFW or SFW due to the fact that a lot of the "his wings being sensitive" headcanons are NSFW, but I feel like this is safe enough.

His wings aren't as sensitive as fanon writes. He's been seen letting people touch his wings. (Manga panel below.)

I think, if anything, it's more like touching his arm. Context matters a lot. So, an unexpected flirtatious touch will undoubtedly be different than a fan touching them.

(Sidenote: I'm unsure if his wings being written this way is an actual thing people believe of Hawks, or if it is simply for fanfic works, but at the end of the day, it isn't that serious.)

Hawks survives on coffee. There's just no argument. He's a top hero, so how much sleep can he get? And he's seen drinking cans of coffee in canon, so my headcanon is that he is 75% coffee.

Has a fish tank?? I dont know. I feel like he would really enjoy going home and watching some fish swim around. It relaxes him. He hires someone to care for the tank when he's too busy, though.

Bird man needs big bed for wings. He will sprawl them out. Prepare for him to starfish.

NSFW and CW under the read more!

NSFW

Cw: bruising; praise kink; not just descriptions. I'm using quotes. Prepare for smut. (F!reader - "girl" used in praise.)

This man absolutely loves being on top so he can throw your legs over his shoulders. He loves how your face contorts when he's able to get deeper than you expect. However, after patrol, he is undoubtedly exhausted. Hawks is zooming throughout the city all day, running on nothing but coffee and fumes. You might have to ride him if you want it done, but that's okay because the way he gazes up at you so adoring while his hands grip your hips and he pants praises makes your legs shaking worth it.

He's absolutely a mixture of soft and rough. He'll lovingly whisper in your ear how beautiful you sound when he fucks you, but God damn, he's pounding you to oblivion and he isn't stopping until you're begging for mercy.

"You sound so beautiful when I fuck you like this, such a good girl for me. God, listen to you."

"Use your words for me, baby. Moaning and squirming isn't telling me what you want."

All while one of his hands is gently caressing your face and the other, you're sure, is making bruises on your hip.

He does enjoy doggy style because of the amount of control it gives him, but not seeing your face makes him have to savor the noises and he wants *all* of you. He wants to see how much he's pleasuring you and be able to lean down and give you kisses as he desperately tries to keep moving his hips.

#birdie chirps #birdie writes #hawks smut #bnha keigo takami #mha keigo takami #keigo takami #hawks headcanons #mha #bnha #my hero academia #respectfulsimping

[nhothicket]

Art I did for a fic I just posted ^v^

Based on Rusalka, Rusalka / Wild Rushes by The Decemberists.

#this art style and this fic are both wildly out of my comfort zone but im trying my best! #etho #bdubs #ethubs #birdie art #birdie writing #bdoubleo100 #ethoslab #bdouble100 fanart #ethoslab fanart #hermitshipping

[lemonberries]

i want the k FRUIT PUNCH !

FRUIT PUNCH: 3. Licking Whipped Cream off body help

Something Koutah adored about Jet was he could pull some really stupid silly shit with her. As he shook the can of whipped cream and walked back to his room prepared to initiate his premeditated plan, he couldn’t help the snickers that gave away he was up to something. Regardless of her reaction, Koutah thought it was a great idea.

“C’mon, babe, you’re like my little cherry tart~” He bit his lip, trying to prevent her from seeing his shiteating grin. After prying Jet’s thighs apart, he took a moment to give them an appreciative rub and squeeze with a baited breath. He was not immune to his lover’s thighs. Especially when they quivered underneath his touch, moving to those special spots that had her squirm… she became such a mess sometimes. So cute.

Between some giggles and moans, Koutah put the cream on her breasts (of course), licking it up quickly with wonton swirls of his tongue- focusing on the delicate nub of her nipples where he knew she would be sensitive. Once he’d licked her clean, he moved downwards to put some on the inner parts of her thighs where he repeated the motions, running his tongue and pressing open mouthed, hot kisses against her skin until he had her begging for more.

Koutah threw the can somewhere else to be forgotten for now. “Alright. Fuck this. C’mere.” Wrapping his arms around her legs, he pulled Jet closer for much easier access to the real dessert here.

#THIS IS SO CHEESY DONT LOOK AT ME #FRUIT PUNCH #koutah ic #srp #oneirictrolls #birdie writing

[bloodybellycomb]

I really do think that it’s good for the soul to be unironically pretentious about something. Not in a gatekeeping kind of way but in a “yes, it really is that deep and I would love to enthusiastically and passionately explain why” kind of way.

#mine is shakespeare #hamlet #specifically #although i will defend #romeo and juliet #to the ends of the earth #also #the iliad #the odyssey #literature #writing #classics #although it can be so much more than just books #i also think that I would defend the story of kingdom hearts like this as well #probably homestuck too #completely unironically #birdy chirps

[birdie-writ3s]

Longing

Prompt: Yandere Self Aware Vil au - Vil is aware that we are the player/god, while the others are not, because of the strong connection that the player has with him.

Author’s Note: Hi Birb here! This is my first post here on Tumblr! I wrote something quick just in time for Vil’s birthday! This is a special gift for my Vil lover friend <3 Have a nice day/night darlings/fledglings~!

CW: Yandere and Delusional

Word Count: 958

“Rook I have a question for you”, Vil asked his vice housewarden while they were walking towards their first subject for the day.

“What is it that has been bothering you, Roi de Poison?” Rook replied.

“Have you ever thought that Twisted Wonderland is fake?”, Vil asked.

“What?”,Rook stopped walking and turned to face Vil eye-to-eye.

“What if everything is just a simulation and nothing here is re-?!”, Vil looked at Rook’s eye only to stopped when he saw Rook’s glitching face.

ẁ̶̫͓͖̝͙͓̗͍̟̜̉̏̈h̸̹̜̀̄̒̾̓̏͋̔̎̈̀͘a̸̜̽̅̅͑̃̓̄̆̓͌̿͂̽̕̚t̵̨̛̹̻͛̅̆̊͗̽͋̾̒͗ ̴̯̟̩̘͚̤̟̈́̈́ḍ̶̡̢̗̖͂̂̍̎̉̾̊ỏ̸̧̲̩̮̞̉̀͛̂͜͜ ̵̨͒̐̎̆y̵͎͋͜ǫ̴̬̭̺͙͙̬̝̮̺͉̥͉̓̈́̏̆͋̓̍̌̓̏̑͊u̶̧̢̠͙̫̩̓̂̾̊̔͗͒̌̐͗̏̌̍͜͜ ̴͔̟̙̦̤̳̤̪̞̙̭̝͌̅̊̐͋̕m̶͙̲̩̥̻̝̜̪̅̅̋̆̓́̒͠͝é̵̢̢̖͚̪̩̭͉̹͔̟̤̣̞̓̀͋͐̈̄̀̃̂͜͝ä̵͔͚͎͉̥̣̤̍̈́̋͊̈̄̒̔̇̀̇͘̕n̸̡̪̺̪͓̯͍͎͉̔́̎̇̆͊̑́̈́̕ ̵̢̢̛̮̪̗̦̺̓̇̈́͊̑͆̆̒Ŕ̴̗̖̗̖̪̘͔̫͔̙̰͇̯̬̉̍̑̂̏̃́͘͜͝͝o̸̢̡͕̣̦̯̲̪͔̓̀̆́̀͌̓̿̍̅̚͠i̷̙̪͔̜̬̩̥̪͆̃̇̇͜ ̶̣̫̥͒̋́̌̀̀̑̈̀̈́͝d̶̨̞̭̗͔̤̤͚̠͚͖͓̐͆̾̔̈́͑̅̀̌e̵̛̦̘͎̯͐͐̐̀ ̷͓̞͕͕̘̖͑́̑̓P̸̛͖̠̅́͑̒̃̄̊͑͌͌̉̚͝o̶̡̘̟̣̩̪̠̖̅́̅͊̒̊ḭ̸̛̖̗͚͌̒̐̀͂̀́̔̈́̑̋́̕s̷̡̺̞̫͎̥͋̇̒̌͌́o̷͓͓̟̟̠̱̮͙̭̰̎͜͜ņ̴̥̫͎͓̝͔͕̬̙̲̟͚̫͍͂̚?̵̣̰͇̂͛̾̎̒̆̀̇̽̍͋͋̃͒ ̴̨̛͖͙̲͖͖̪̳̠͔͕̎̀̽̃̓̎͛̐̒̽͘͜͝A̷̡̨̢̤̠̜͍̟̾ͅr̸̨͕̫̝͖͈̹̪͉̦͎̯͍̋̈́͒͊ȩ̶̣̲̰̳̩̬͙̰̱̺̻̩̘̅̎̋n̵̡̯̣͚͓̉̎̑̊́͌̈́̔̇͝'̵͖̙̈̀͂̈́́̆́̉͘͝t̷̨͑͌̽̿̓̆̇̅̕ ̷̨̩͕͇̮͚̭͈̲̯̤͍̖̝̔̉̋̇͋̽̽̒̂́͘̚͝͝w̸̧̧̳͈̦͎͕̹͓̩͈̘͒͗̐̚ͅe̷̼͔̒͌̋̒͂̃̌́̅͐̓̕̕͘͝ ̵̤̘̻̻̟̼̺͎̥̝̂̏̕͝L̶͓̬͇̝͍̜͍̜̤̯͛͌͒͐̇͋̆̽̆̌I̵̡̡̪̱̫̦̥̲͕͍͓̯͒̀͋̈́ͅṼ̷̡̘̩̮̪͙͒̉̄̏̀͒̀͜Ĭ̶̳̠̌̚̕Ņ̷̛̳͓̲̆̾́̅̐̕G̷͎͎̗̬̠̹͙͕̩͎̠̿̋̿͑͊̽̑̽͆̓̇͐̓̅͜ ̶̛̦͚̂̀̉̌͂̀̉̌̎Í̸̡̢̨̪̦̜̣͍͔͈͎͕̣ͅŅ̸̗̲̱̀ ̵̰͇̬̫̹̟̤͍̼͂͐̓́̊̎͛̋̕͜͜͝R̴̡̢͙͎̺͇̺͖̱͂̀̿͜É̸̙͗͛̕̚Ǻ̴̢͕̱͙͎̱͓̃́̔̋̈́̑ͅͅͅĻ̸̧̨̨̫͙̗̖͚̩̯̬̅̌͌̐͜Ǐ̷̛̭͙̭̰̥̱̜͎͕͙̖͐̌͑͋̊̈́͒̍̓̽͝͝T̵̡̛͉̺̣͚̺̠̫̙̅̏͑͋Y̷̳̣̘̺̫͍̦̱͍̬̝͇͚͗̃͆̀̈́͊̌͆̋͛̀̅͊͜?̵͉̔̾̀̈͛̐̽́̉̾!̴̡͖͕̱̺̞͙̰̻̯̥͖͍̪̄͂̃͌̔͛͜ 

Rook said in an incoherent mess.

It was Vil’s turn to run and he went to the only place that brought him more comfort in this fake simulation world. 

The Ramshackle.

…

“I always desire for your touch.

I yearned for the warmth you give me.

I feel empty and lonely without you, my sweet potato

I cannot help but be captivated with my devotion for you.”

…

“I have always loved you, (name)”

Vil was last seen walking down the path to Ramshackle. Nobody knows the intentions behind the housewarden’s actions.

“No one in this twisted game knows how much I loved you, my sweet potato”

…

It has not always been like this. 

I used to live thinking that everything around me was real.

When I first laid my eyes upon the vessel during the orientation, I did not feel anything, nor did I find it weird for someone to have such lifeless eyes.

It only started during the time when the rehearsals for the VDC had taken place. 

My untimely overblot ultimately proved my assumptions about the identity of the vessel. For the first time, I was able to see the real world.

When I realized that all of my pain was really a plot device for this simulation, something inside of me cracked.

A part of me resented that fact so much.

But when I saw God… no, their name is (name)... and they are the fairest person that I had ever laid my eyes upon.

I want their beauty…

I want them

I̴͍̋̋͜ ̴̠̯̈́w̴̛̯̤̍A̴͈̋ṋ̷͎͝͝Ṫ̵̫̬ ̶͎̀t̷̹͔̏Ḫ̵͂́e̸̩̳͝M̷̟̎ ̴͓͊̒f̸̗͗Ŏ̴̖r̶̙̅̐ ̸͚̘̒͠M̴̹̕e̶̢͉͑

̷̘̋̽

̵̥̲̆̀G̸͔̊I̵͔̿V̷̮̔̃E̴̱̦̋͘ ̴̢̗̓̿T̸͙̬͌͒H̸͕̐̄Ę̵́̈Ḿ̴̰͎ ̸͉͊̈́T̴̬̈́͛O̷̹͝ ̶̝͔͛M̸͎̑͋È̶͔͝

Alas, something sinister has started to bloom inside of me.

…

“I long to hear you chuckle

That exquisite treasure, yearn for

The sparkle in the corners of your eyes.

I adore hearing your voice,

It is obvious that I'm infatuated with you.”

…

As time went on, Vil’s infatuation with (name) grew into an overwhelming obsession. He would track down (name)’s playing schedule, watching their every move, and finding excuses to be near the vessel. Vil would spend hours searching through hundreds of magical books to learn how to travel through different worlds and dimensions.

It did not take too long for someone as powerful as Vil to learn the “code” behind the game and to start manipulating the game itself.

When Vil, their favourite character, started saying lines that were obviously out of character with what they were used to hearing, (Name) began to find it unsettling.

Lines such as,

“(Name), you would never leave me right? You and I had been made for each other”

And 

“DARLING WHERE WERE YOU? Oh come on, I cannot believe that you will leave me for a few days after all of the things I had done for you? I have sacrificed so much for YOU and this is how you will repay me?!”

The player was too flabbergasted to even think about how it was possible for a game character to say this. Is this a new update? Perhaps increasing the character’s rank in a card has some special effects such as this? Probably…

…

“I envision both of us lying together side by side,

In each other's embrace, there is nowhere to escape.

My love for you has taken over my soul,

I am so obsessed with you, it is simply beyond my control.”

...

A few days after hearing that line, everything went back to normal, at least that was what the player thought. When they were not looking, Vil could be seen working on something.

After months of research about dimensional traveling, his labor has finally come to fruition.

Vil finally found a way to permanently make you his.

To permanently make you stay for good in this dark and twisted wonderland.

…

“I will follow you to the ends of this twisted world,

Just to be worthy of your love, I would give you everything.

I cannot resist this burning desire inside of me,

The devotion the lit my heart on fire, making me even more obsessed with you”

…

Vil's obsession with the player took over his life. He lost interest in his hobbies, neglected his friendships and housewarden responsibilities, and became fixated solely on getting the player to this perfectly simulated world. He would spend hours daydreaming about their imaginary future together, planning their perfect life as a couple in his mind.

“It was only a matter of time… just a little bit more”

“Please, my sweet potato, do not reject my love,

For in your absence, I cannot see the light of my ever so tiring days.

I am beyond salvation from this obsessive love,

Let us spend the rest of our days together and F O R E V E R, my sweet potato.”

…

The evening before his graduation, Vil finally finished all the preparations to make his beloved potato join him in this perfectly simulated world. It is only a matter of time before everything will be set in place. 

“I swear to the Great Seven, no matter how long it takes, I WILL make YOU come home to ME”

T̷̮͆͊̌̂͛͋͂̎̾̿͗̀̄̏̋h̷̨̘̦̪̮̻̻̩̭̘̀̄͊̉͋̋͑̐͆̾̍͗͆͛͠ȩ̴̡̟̣̥͕̩͖̭̱̥̬̟̻̲̓͂͐͊͒̇̈́͘͜͝ͅ ̵̨̳͉͓̥͇̱͔͓̜̬͍̙̱͖̪͂̀̋͊̽̐͛͒͛̎͋̌͘̚̚͠e̴͚̭͚̪̬̼̗̖̖̅͑̄͊̀̽̈́͐͊̅̂̕̕͜͝ņ̸̨̛̯̘͕̘͈̝͓͉̩͚̱̹̝̤̰̏̓̒͊͐̐̍͐͐̿̉̈́̎̕͜ḋ̷̨͓̭̲̟͙̠̺̟̩̗̜̲̝̲̭͎͐͋̌ͅ?̴̢̡̨͇̥̘̞͖̫̊̓̊̈́́̆̐͆͒͒̚͜͠ͅ

#self aware twst #twst #twisted wonderland #yandere #tw yandere #vil schoenheit #yandere vil schoenheit #yandere vil x reader #self aware au #self aware #self aware twisted wonderland #male yandere #yandere male #yandere writing #birb writes #birdie writes #birb twst #yandere vil schoenheit x reader #yandere villain #disney twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twst mc #twst fanfic #twst vil #cw: yandere #tw: yandere

[birrdies]

you awake?

some art for a boat boys au im working on… its hard to describe what exactly it is, but its based on the show ‘WAYNE’ if any of you have seen it.

Joel lost count of the days once they passed D.C. He should’ve kept a book or something—hell, he could’ve found a sharpie and scrawled some tallies on his palm— but it was hard track of time when all you really wanted was to outrun it. But as the sun set, slivers of a dreary dusk streaming in the windows, Joel was trapped in it. But this time, he didn’t mind so much.

Etho’s head was a dead weight on his shoulder. The rumble of the car engine kept lulling the both of them to sleep, but Joel fought. Just in case. Just to count the breaths against his collarbone. Those, he could count. Passing days didn’t matter anymore— this did. Here and now, the road ahead of them, did.

#birdie draws #birdie writes #this is not an actual snippet from the fic i haven’t written this scene yet #but I imagine it going something like this #not intended to be shipping #but you can interpret it however you want it’s ambiguous for a reason #boat boys #boat boys fanart #boat boys fic #double life fic #smalletho #smalletho fic #joel smallishbeans #ethoslab

[skyloftian-nutcase]

The Great Boopathon

Twilight

It had honestly been an accident, a truly sincere miscalculation. Sky tried to remember that Wolfie was Twilight. But sometimes, when the fluffy animal trotted into town, panting from exertion or cheer, Sky just immediately knelt in front of him with a sweet greeting and a gentle boop on the nose.

He didn't think it was possible for an animal to look so offended, but somehow Twilight managed it.

Sky

This was war.

Twilight huffed as he watched Sky sleep. The teenager was out cold, as per usual, curled into himself and covered in blankets. It was a little more unusual than his usual sleep position, in which literally anything was possible because he could fall asleep literally anywhere, but the boy's head cold had him shivering.

That didn't stop Twilight, though. He still remembered the boop. The completely humiliating and degrading gesture, the cute noise Sky made with it as he bapped Twilight's wolf nose gently with a smile on his face and a flush to his cheeks.

Sky moaned miserably, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Twilight swallowed, grabbing his resolve. He walked forward stealthily before laying on the ground, his canine nose stretching forward until it met Sky's own congested one. Then his tail swished back and forth, dusting leaves off the earth.

Sky scrunched his nose in response, tickled by the wetness of it, before he opened his eyes to see a snout. He yelped, trapped in his blankets, and Twilight pounced on him, bapping him with a paw and pinning him in place as he laughed and tried to fight.

Abel

"There's no way you can do it!"

Link glared defiantly in response. He would do this, and there was no stopping him. He would always rise to a challenge. He couldn't afford to fail, he couldn't afford to lose the faith of those who believed in him.

He was stealthier than he'd ever been in his entire life. He could pass for a Sheikah, he was certain. His heart pounded in his chest, anxiety trying but failing to whittle away at his resolve. His naysayer watched with bated breath.

The greatest challenge, of course, were the floorboards. There were some that creaked. It would be absolutely catastrophic if his foe heard his approach. Carefully, Link tried to remember which boards creaked the most, settling his bare feet with such care to distribute his weight properly.

When he finally reached the bed, he nearly failed in his mission. His enemy stirred, almost awakening, but he managed to avoid disaster. Finally, his objective in sight, the Hero of Hyrule leapt, landing on his prey with a mighty hyah.

Abel nearly jumped out of his skin as he was startled awake before getting slammed in the face with a pillow.

"I told you I could do it!" Link yelled at the stairway where his sister, Lyra, was hiding.

Daruk

The leader of the Gorons had many precious memories to make him smile when he was more contemplative in the evenings. Perhaps his favorite, though, was when the Champions met his child, who had been so delighted to meet them that he'd rolled over Revali's toes and crashed into Link's knees, knocking the Hylian over. It had been a fun day in general, but the little boop his boy had given him when he picked him up had been the most delightful part.

It was usually what Daruk would do for the child before bedtime; to have such a simple gesture reciprocated brought him more joy than he could ever articulate.

Shadow Link

He had nearly succeeded in getting away from the damn gloom hands, but his stamina had run out. When they'd caught up to him, he could practically sense the displeasure radiating off them, and his insides froze at the sight of them.

Then one of the hands leaned over and booped him on the nose, making him yelp, before the others grabbed him and teleported him through the gloom back to Ganondorf's location.

"Was that really necessary?" Link grumbled, holding his nose as if it had been burned.

"Yes," the demon king replied without hesitation as he snatched him by his tunic and plopped him beside him. "Now rest."

Mystery Link

Link wasn't sure how it happened, but being completely smothered by his dog was not how he wanted to start his mornings. Nevertheless, it was how Friend decided to be his new morning alarm, slapping his face with a paw as a warning before laying her whole head over him and asphyxiating him.

By the fifth morning, he started wrestling her in response, and she always got so excited about it that she would spend the next few minutes zooming all over the forest, tail tucked and legs flailing in all directions.

Wind

Twilight was acting weird.

Wind was a little worried. After all, he'd only just recovered from his injury recently. Although the sailor had the utmost faith in the elder Hero's abilities, he couldn't help but watch him and see what was up. This was a matter of great importance, and only Wind could truly understand as the others seemed completely oblivious.

He made several observations while the others were pointlessly distracted. Twilight's eyes were wary, looking everywhere as if he were expecting an attack. Wind knew for certain that the rancher hadn't been patrolling because Time and Wild wouldn't allow for it quite yet. But no one else was on edge. It was possible Twilight just felt inadequate or useless, as he was typically the one who tried to shoulder a great deal of responsibility.

Wind moved closer to his dear friend, curious. He was going to ask him outright if he kept this behavior up, but--

Twilight gasped, grabbing Wind around the ribs and holding him like a shield in front of his body, and Wind yelped as Sky poked his nose.

"Hey!" Sky snapped. "No cheating!"

"There are no rules in this war!" Twilight huffed back. Then he gave Wind a squeeze against his torso as a compensatory hug. "Sorry about that, little pirate."

"Ha! Sorry? Let me go, I'll avenge you!" Wind happily offered, already wiggling out of his grip as Sky fled.

Time

"This is getting out of hand," Time said severely, hands on his hips. "And is unbefitting of a Hero."

Twilight looked extremely schooled. If he were in his wolf form, he probably would have his tail between his legs, ears peeled back. Time did not feel guilty in the slightest about it. The camp was in utter disarray, supplies strewn everywhere as Twi's wolf form had utterly destroyed the place and barreled over most of the heroes while he'd tried to escape Sky's little winged mechanical booping machine and Wind's exuberant screams.

Unlike Twilight, Sky looked nearly indifferent, but somehow he managed to convert his expression to apologetic when Time glared at him. Wind, however, was unrepentant.

And giggling.

Time was going to lecture him further when the reason for Wind's laughter dropped out of the nearest tree, landing on Time's shoulders and booping him on the nose.

Sky and Wind cheered as Wild scrambled off Time and fled into the forest, giggling all the way.

#800 boops in twenty minutes is quite the achievement LOL #y'all are too powerful XD #writing #I was tied between Shadow and Mystery being my grumpiest OC Links so I just wrote both lol #different kinds of grumps I suppose #one is teenage angst paired with the insanity/horror of his situation #the other is just 100% Done with everything (which frankly is more fun LOL) #RIP Abel you never had a chance once Link was given a challenge #he does love his side quests and mini games after all and Lyra was ready to give him a challenge #Twi and Sky start to have a boop war #it gets insane #everyone gets dragged into it #Daruk being a Dad made me unexpectedly soft and happy #also RIP Revali's birdie toes #he deserves to be run over it's fine

[hearts-hunger]

i'll be your medicine || sam kiszka x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: They say laughter is the best medicine, but you're pretty sure that's only because they haven't met Sam. | Standalone in the Sunshine Daydream universe

Pairings: Sam x Reader | Genre: fluff, sickfic (migraine), hurt/comfort | Word Count: 3k | Warnings: none! | Title song: “Deep End” by Holly Humberstone

A/N: My very first standalone fic for Sam and Birdie! This fic is a special gift to all the Sunshine Daydream besties. I hope you like it! ♡

“Yeah, man, I don’t know. I think if we add any more freakin’ reverb we might as well trash it.”

You winced a little as you listened to Sam talking on the phone, feeling from the tone of his voice that he must not be in a great mood. You couldn’t exactly tell — he’d been talking to Jake as he came in the door, and they had been talking steadily as Sam started up the handful of household chores he liked to knock out before he settled in for the evening. He was unloading the dishwasher right now, and he seemed to be very impassioned about whatever song they were talking about.

“That’s not going to fix the problem, though,” he said firmly. “The whole tone of the song is riding on that.”

You still couldn’t tell if he was arguing with Jake or just having an overzealous discussion. You didn’t like not knowing; it had always made you uneasy to not be able to read someone’s mood, and that was especially true with Sam. He knew that about you and was usually very good about being straightforward if he was upset, but he’d barely said a word to you since coming home half an hour ago.

As worrying as that was, though, you had more pressing things to worry about. The familiar ache of a budding migraine was becoming less and less easy to ignore, and you felt yourself flinch when the plates Sam put away clattered against each other.

You curled in on yourself on the couch, praying the medicine would kick in before it got too bad. The last thing you wanted was a full-blown migraine with a grouchy boyfriend, if that’s indeed what he was, and you’d rather just take care of it by yourself if you could. Unfortunately, you were beginning to think you’d taken the medicine too late to head it off at the pass. Rosie was curled up next to you, and you tried to relax against her solid warmth and manifest a beautiful migraine-free evening with the power of positive thinking.

It took about five minutes before you gave up that dream. You could feel the pain starting to spread, settling in deep where it usually hit behind your eyes and over the crown of your head. You wanted to ask Sam to get you an ice pack, but you didn’t want make him more annoyed than he already was, and you didn’t feel like you could raise your voice enough to interrupt his phone call anyway.

“Rosie, come get your dinner.”

His voice carried from the kitchen, and you guessed you’d missed him getting off the phone with Jake. You weren’t surprised; it was getting to the point where a bomb could go off and you’d be too distracted with pain to worry about it.

Still, you tried to stay tuned in to Sam; you’d missed him, and you were looking forward to spending time with him now that he was home and off the phone. He called for Rose again, but she didn’t move from her spot beside you. With effort, you sat up and tried to nudge her to go into the kitchen. 

She looked up at you and cocked her head, and you knew she wouldn’t get up unless you did. She always knew when you weren’t feeling well, and she liked to stay close and keep an eye on you when you were sick or unhappy.

You sighed. You didn’t want her to feel torn between you and Sam, but you also didn’t have the energy to try and redirect your sweet, protective, somewhat stubborn dog. 

“Come on, Rosie,” you said quietly. “Daddy’s calling you.”

You only managed to get her to hop off the couch, and she looked up at you as she sat at your feet. You thought you heard Sam again, but all of a sudden, you couldn’t think about anything but the pain you were in; you sat on the edge of the couch and rested your head against Rose, burying your face in her soft fur, trying to ride the wave of dizziness and pain without bursting into tears.

You felt Rosie’s tail thump against your foot, and you guessed that was in response to Sam coming in from the kitchen.

“Rose,” he said, a touch of exasperation in his voice. “Come on, now. I know you want to be with mama, but it’s time to eat.”

She still didn’t move. You felt the tension in her even as she kept perfectly still for you, and Sam came over to see what the holdup was.

“What’s going on with my girls?” he said, hunkering down be the couch so he was at Rosie’s level. “You two just can’t be separated for even a minute, huh?”

Sam put his hand on your knee, and Rose gave a tentative kiss to the back of his hand.

“Come on, birdie,” he said to you. “You know she won’t go anywhere if she thinks you want her to stay.”

You nodded. You did want her to stay, but you didn’t want to annoy Sam.

“Sorry,” you said, lifting your head. You stroked Rose’s ear. “Go on with daddy.”

She gave the quietest bark you’d ever heard in protest.

“Rosebud, you are being downright contrary,” Sam said, giving her a playfully vigorous few pets. “You just don’t listen to anybody now, is that it?”

He looked up at you with a smile that was reassuring to see. “Has she been like this all day?”

Before you could answer, his expression clouded with alarm. 

“Are you crying?” he asked.

You touched a hand to your cheek and felt a few tears. You hadn’t even noticed them.

“Oh, uh... I guess,” you said weakly. “Sorry.”

“What do you mean, sorry?” he said, his voice tight with dismay. “Birdie, honey, what’s wong?”

“Um...” The brave face you’d tried to put on had started to crumble, and even if he was in a bad mood, you needed his help. 

“Migraine,” you said in a small voice. “It’s really bad.”

He took a sharp breath. “Okay, baby.” He kept his voice calm for you. “Have you taken any medicine?”

You nodded. “It’s not — ” Your voice caught. “Not really helping.”

“It will in a little bit,” he assured you. “We just have to give it some time to work. Let me go get you an ice pack, okay?”

He left Rosie with you and went back to the kitchen, and you heard him rummaging around for a few moments before he returned.

“Drink some water,” he said, handing you his water bottle. He turned the lights off in the living room, leaving only the light from the kitchen, and knelt in front of you again to hold the ice pack to your temple. “Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” you said miserably. Your head was wreathed in pain, but the ice was helping a little.

He studied your face with worry and gentleness. “I’m sorry, birdie. Did it come on all of a sudden?”

Your throat felt tight as you looked at him. “No,” you said quietly.

“No?” he repeated. His brow knit. “You didn’t say anything, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t know if you were angry.” Your voice was wobbly. “I thought if I took some medicine, I wouldn’t have to bother you.”

Even in the dim light, you could plainly read the surprise on his face. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Why would I be angry?”

“I thought you were arguing with Jake,” you admitted. “That maybe you had a bad day at work, and you were still in the middle of it when you got home. And since you didn’t say anything to me when you got here, I thought...” You bit the inside of your cheek. “I didn’t want to make it worse.”

“Oh, honey.” He touched your cheek. “I wasn’t angry. I just got caught up talking to him, but I shouldn’t have been on the phone when I came home. I’m sorry. Thank you for being so patient with me when I’m being stupid.”

That coaxed out a watery laugh, and he gave you a gentle smile.

“I’m really sorry, birdie,” he said sincerely. “You know you can interrupt anything if you need to ask me for help, right? Especially if you’re hurting.”

Your eyes welled with tears, but you didn’t know if it was from the pain or the relief of having Sam with you after missing him all day.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

“No need to thank me, birdie,” he said gently. “I love you, and I want to take care of you.” He switched the ice pack to rest against the opposite temple and brushed the tears from your face. 

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice soft and worried. “Does it hurt that bad?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted.

He hummed. “Yeah. Just everything all together, huh?”

You nodded. “I missed you.”

“Aw, birdie.” He kissed your face when you hugged him, holding you close for a moment. “I missed you too. I’m sorry you don’t feel good.”

He ran a hand over Rosie’s head, and she wagged her tail at finally being included after sitting patiently at your side. 

“And you were just looking after mama, weren’t you, sweet girl?” he said. He gently scuffed his hand up and down her side. “You’re a good girl, Rosie.”

She rested her chin on your knee again, and Sam smiled.

“Yeah, you love your mama. I know.” He patted the couch cushion. “Come up here and lay with her.”

She did obey him that time, and you curled up with her as Sam spread a soft blanket over you.

“What can I do, birdie?” he asked, brushing your hair back from your face. 

You tried to think of what had helped last time you got a migraine this bad. You knew there wasn’t much for it but to wait until the medicine kicked in, but surely there was something you could do.

“I don’t know,” you said pitifully, knowing it wasn’t helpful.

“What about some coke?” he offered. “I think the caffeine helps, right?”

You nodded. “I don’t think we have any here, though.”

Sam had already pulled out his phone. “Good thing we live in the modern age. Do you want anything to eat?”

“I don’t think so. Well, maybe. I don’t know.” You groaned. “I hate this. I can’t even think straight.”

“So you’re thinking about Anne Hathaway? Sounds like a pretty good migraine to me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re so dumb.”

He smiled. “Yeah, but I made you laugh, and you know what they say about laughter being the best medicine.”

You tipped your face up towards him, and he leaned down to give you a gentle kiss. You felt an incredible relief to be with Sam, to have him making dumb jokes for you, to know that you could depend on him and rest completely in his care for you. The tension you’d carried since he’d come home gave way to the familiar comfort of simply being with him, and it made all the difference.

“So, a large coke... extra ice, yeah?” he asked.

“Yes please.” You hid your face behind the blanket and pressing the ice pack to your forehead. “I wish this medicine would be the best medicine. That would be great.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, a little distracted as he placed your order. “Listen, I’m just going to get you something to eat, and you can decide later if you want it. Okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

He gave a sympathetic chuckle. “My poor birdie.” He pocketed his phone. “Do you want to watch a movie to take your mind off it? Or will the sound and the light make it worse?”

“I think I just want to lay here in the dark for a while, if that’s okay.”

“That’s perfectly fine, sweetheart.”

“Can you sit with me?”

“Of course.”

With a little maneuvering, all three of you found room on the couch; you lay with your head in Sam’s lap, and Rosie was curled up at your feet.

“Can I put the ice pack on the other side?” you asked, feeling a little sheepish.

“Oh, sure,” he said easily, doing it for you and putting the ice pack between your head and his lap. “You know, I was just thinking I wanted a nice ice pack to the crotch. It’s refreshing, really.”

You laughed. “Thanks. Let me know if you get a little too frosty.”

He leaned his head back and absently played with your hair, breathing a tired sigh. “This is nice, actually. We should lay in the dark more often.”

“Yeah, it is nice.” You wished you weren’t in pain, but other than that, it was nice. “So what were you not-arguing with Jake about?”

He hummed. “Well, that’s kind of a long, involved story.”

You closed your eyes and relaxed against him. “I like long, involved stories. Tell me.”

He did, and it was soothing to listen to him as he wove you a tale of brotherly bickering and artistic decision-making. By the time your food arrived, you’d managed to follow only half of the narrative twists and turns, but the sound of his voice had worked its magic.

“There’s your coke, birdie,” he said quietly, easing you up so he could get off the couch. “Be right back.”

He came back in with bags of takeout, and you found you were feeling well enough to sit up and take your drink when he offered it to you.

“Feeling better, baby?” he asked.

“A little,” you said. You took a long drink. “Thanks for getting this.”

“Sure. I hope it helps.” He set the bags on the coffee table. “Are you hungry?”

You thought about it. You still felt achy and woozy, but your appetite had returned somewhat.

“Did you get any fries?” you asked.

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Yep.”

The three of you got settled again, and Rosie took a few minutes from her vigil to have her dinner; you and Sam started a documentary about the making of Friday the 13th.

“I still don’t know why you like to watch this documentary when you won’t watch the movie,” Sam said. “Makes no sense, birdie.”

You laughed. “The movie’s scary!” you said. “And lakehouses are supposed to be about romance, not murder.”

He gave you a cocky smirk. “You’d know all about lakehouse romance, wouldn’t you?”

You blushed. The two of you had just celebrated your anniversary a few weeks ago; you’d gone up to stay at the same cabin where you’d fallen in love, and Sam had certainly pulled out all the stops to make it romantic in every sense of the word.

He picked up your ice pack and touched it to your cheek. “Here, birdie. Your cheeks are all red.”

You laughed and pushed it back towards him. “You’re awful.”

He kissed your cheek to soothe the icy sting. “You’re beautiful.”

You finally felt the medicine start to work as you had dinner, and Rosie came back with her chewy bone to keep her occupied as she sat next to you. Sam cleaned up when you were done, and when he came back to the couch, he asked if you wanted him to braid your hair.

“I just thought it might help,” he said. “But you look like you’re feeling better, actually.”

“I am,” you said. Between the medicine and Sam’s ministrations, you had started to feel much better. “But I would love it if you braided my hair.”

He smiled. “Say no more, my love.”

You sat on the floor between his legs, and from the first moment his fingers started to gently untangle your hair, you were in heaven. He took his time, lightly scratching your scalp, rubbing circles along your temples and behind your ears, gathering your hair just to brush his fingers through it in a soothing, repetitive motion.

“This is some braid,” you mumbled, content and starting to feel sleepy now that the pain had subsided.

He chuckled. “Does it feel good, birdie?”

You hummed in agreement. “Thank you.”

He kissed the crown of your head. “You’re welcome.”

He finally did put your hair in a simple braid, and you rested your head against his knee when he was done.

“I decided something,” you said.

“Oh yeah?” He traced his fingers over your jaw. “What’s that?”

You wrapped your arms around his leg. “I think you’re the best medicine.”

“Sweet birdie,” he said gently, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m glad I could help, honey. And I’m really glad you’re feeling better.”

He tugged lightly on your braid. “But I can tell you’re sleepy, and I don’t think you want to sleep on the floor.”

Reluctantly, you got up from your spot and joined him again on the couch. You snuggled up to him as he leaned against the arm of the couch, and he tried to pull the blanket over the two of you.

“Rosie,” he said. “You’re on mama’s blanket.”

He pulled it again, gently, just enough to tell her to move. She hopped down from the couch and then hopped right back up, tucking herself by your feet once you and Sam were settled.

“There we go,” Sam said, putting his arm around you. “Sammy and birdie and Rosie, all snuggled up.”

You toyed with his necklace as he put on another movie, knowing you’d be asleep before it was five minutes in.

“Just push me off when you want to get up,” you said. You knew he wasn’t ready for bed yet and didn’t want him to feel like he had to stay for your sake after you’d fallen asleep.

He laughed, and you loved the sound of it all rumbly and warm in his chest.

“I don’t think I’ll just push you off, birdie,” he said. “But thanks. I’ll keep that option in mind.”

You cuddled close. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“You’re very welcome,” he said gently. He ran his hand up and down your back, easing the last of your pain until it faded completely. “I love you, birdie.”

You gave a sleepy, contented sigh as you fell asleep. “I love you too.”

sam taglist: @lil-twilight-glow @ageoffleeet

gvf taglist:@malany-gvf@spark-my-nature@eearevee@madneedshelp@demonrat444@josh-iamyour-mama @honeyandsweettae @mydarlingdanny@gretavandann@sacredjake@myleftsock@joshskittytickler21@hellowgoodbye@watchingovergvf2@fearfulspirit@mywaysoon@carbondancingthroughtime@caprisunsister @eraofstardustchords @sacredthefran@shesawomaninadream @serendipiti @demonrat444@wildflowerxx-x@tearsofdanny @iluvjoshkiszka @jordie-gvf-admin@demolitionndann @hi-hi-hello11 @wildbluesorbit @nessie-glorpa @laneygvf

@gvfrry@ohhey1293@the-chaotic-cow@mountain-in-springtime@xserenax-13@stardustjtk @brooke-gvf@weightofdreams-gvf@jakeydoesit@gretasmokerising@hayley1623@doodle417@finestoflines@brokenbellz@bowievanfleet@s0livagant@strugglingtodoshit@s-u-t@kay-jordan@gretavanfleas@jakeyboiiiiiii@gretavansteph@gretavanbitches@myownparadise96@luverleaver@weightofdreamz@greatervanfleet@maedesculpaeusoubi@jakekiszkasbestie@pineapple-photographer@baguettejuliette@alexxavicry@levi-wants-ur-bones@carlybubs@cowboysamkiszka@dannyandthekiszkas@jordierama@slutforsteve@starshine-wagner@quartzzzzzzz@edgeofdreams@writingcold @lostoverseer @catharu77 @mackalah@jaketlove @haileygvf @blacksoul-27 @ur-m0ms-blog

sorry if tumblr didn’t tag you — it’s stupid sometimes. but i’m real thankful for you, sweet peaches! and if you’re a new bestie and would like to be added to my taglist, check out the form right here! ♡

#sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka fanfiction #sam x birdie #sunshine daydream series #sam kiszka fluff #greta van fleet fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #gvf fluff #maddie writes stuff!