#that height difference is a ship all on its own

[wayhaught-observations]

#kacy #lucy x kate #ncis hawai'i #lucy tara #kate whistler #yasmine al bustami #tori anderson #ncishawaiiedit #oh look #tumblr trying to tempt me into shipping again #not quite invested yet #but i enjoyed their scenes #might gif a thing or two after all #gosh it's been a really long time since a ship piqued my interest #watch it crash and burn now that i'm low-key interested #oh well been there done that #also #that height difference is a ship all on its own #and most importantly #smiling into kisses!! #it doesn't get better than smiling into kisses! #*sighs quietly*

[ameagrice]

Capsize

chapter thirty | fine line

percy jackson x fem reader

There are silver streaks shared by Annabeth and Percy, scattered through their hair.

It’s something that will connect them forever, you know for certain. It’s a symbol of a shared strength.

It’s just one more thing to make your heart melt.

Realistically, you should feel nothing but proud of them both, and in your own way, you do. But there has been too much loss to feel any sort of good from the ending, and you can’t get Zoe Nightshade’s death from your mind.

“I can see the stars, my lady,” she whispered, so gently you’d barely heard her at all. The wound on her side gaped, and bled, the golden ichor of an immortal on her way out. An inch of a smile appeared on her face, struggling, before it dropped, and the light faded from Zoe Nightshade’s eyes. A wisp of silvery light lifted from her lips, drifting up into the air, before it, too, faded.

In the sky, the stars showed an image of a girl, running across the sky. Zoe Nightshade had, finally, found her peace.

Atlas was in his rightful place. His daughter had been stolen from the world. Luke Castellan was kicked to his death by Thalia’s action.

Except, they couldn’t find a body.

Body, upon body, upon body. They just kept piling up.

Bianca; Zoe; Luke. Lost lives; people who could have had so much more than they were given.

But Gods who couldn’t care any less.

And if you had to, you’d bet they didn’t even know their names.

You could see now, just why Luke was so angry. Because you felt it too. And it was terrifying.

“You don’t believe me about Luke,” Annabeth said, sounding faded amongst your thoughts. “We’ll see him again. He’s just under Kronos’s spell.”

Thalia jolted away, somehow seemingly unbothered by the height at which you travelled in the sky, Artemis in the lead. “There it is,” she pointed, sitting up. “It’s started.”

“What’s started?” Percy leaned forward, catching your hair between his hand on the seat he held onto. You didn’t say anything.

High above the Empire State Building, Olympus was its own island of light. A mountain ablaze with torches and braziers.

“The Winter Solstice,” she breathed. “The Council of the Gods.”

In the early-morning darkness, torches and fires made the mountainside palaces glow twenty different colors, from bloodred to indigo. Apparently no one ever slept on Olympus. The twisting streets were full of demigods and nature spirits and minor godlings bustling about, riding chariots or sedan chairs carried by Cyclopes. Winter didn’t seem to exist here. The scent of the gardens in full bloom, jasmine and roses and even sweeter filled your senses. Music drifted up from many windows, the soft sounds of lyres and reed pipes.

Towering at the peak of the mountain was the greatest palace of all, the glowing white hall of the gods.

You touched ground outside towering, silver gates, just inside the courtyard. Pegasi travel was rather terrifying, and you were much more than glad to be alive and on the ground. Olympus glowed with warm, the kind that settled in your bones. The warm wind, blowing from nowhere, shifted your hair when you clambered down to the ground.

“Yeah,” Percy muttered.

“Huh?”

Percy froze. “Uh—the horse. Sorry! Pegasi.”

A laugh escaped you, startling in the night. Thalia turned, eyebrow raised. “Why are you talking to a horse? It didn’t say anything.”

“Didn’t I tell you? Haven’t I told you?” He averted his gaze.

“What,” you landed your hand on your hip, waving the other to the pegasi. “You talk to animals now, too, like Grover?”

“Just sea creatures. And horses. Pegasi, sorry!”

“Yeah, you’ll really have to explain that later,” you trailed off. “We’ve got more important matters at hand.”

The Pegasi flew off, leaving yourself, Percy, Thalia and your sister together. You liked to think, years later, laying on the glass floor of a ship, that you were all trying to gather the courage after everything to step inside the giant building, and face gods you had once only ever heard about in stories.

Side-by-side, you walked into the throne room.

Twelve enormous thrones made a U around a central hearth, just like the placement of the cabins at camp. The ceiling above glittered with constellations—even the newest one, Zoë the Huntress, making her way across the heavens with her bow drawn.

All of the seats were occupied. Each god and goddess was about fifteen feet tall. Under their judging eyes, despite your own mother being one of them, you were uncomfortable.

“Welcome, heroes,” Artemis said.

“Mooo!”

That was when you noticed Bessie and Grover, the latter standing at the side of a pool of water which Bessie swam in.

“Grover! You made it.”

He started to run towards your friends, then stopped, and looked back at Zeus, who up close, felt a lot scarier than he looked. You only realized then, that there was a major difference in terror of humans, and the intimidation of gods. You could deal with this kind.

“Go on,” Zeus nodded once. But he wasn’t looking at Grover—he was looking at Thalia.

None of the gods spoke. Grover’s hooves echoed on the marble floor, Bessie the Ophiotaurus mooing warmly at your arrival.

You took the time to observe the gods up close, because you might never get the chance to again. Artemis, looking as if she hadn’t ever even been hold hostage, watched the exchange between Percy and Grover. Percy’s father, Poseidon, dressed so casually you might have laughed in other circumstances, had this sort of barely-there smile on his face, bright eyes shining just the way Percy’s own did, too. Apollo, sunglasses covering his eyes, had his earbuds in, golden head of hair tilted back to the ceiling. And…

Ares. It was impossible to not feel him looking at you. Why the special interest, you wanted to ask. Do you see yourself in me? You wondered. Do I see myself in you?

Your eyes met his dark ones, a stark difference, between the extreme fatigue, and the colors. Your eyes burned with exhaustion and the tears you had shed since yesterday. He wore his signature black leather jacket, dark, dark hair being tousled by Aphrodite’s touch. When it was obvious her husband wasn’t looking at her, perched at his side, her love-ridden smile slowly fell away, and those sparkling eyes fell on you as well.

Or maybe it’s you, I see myself in. Too romantic. Too caught up in feelings. After all, you only had so much love to spare between friends, and the dead ones.

What do you see in me? You were desperate to ask, curiosity clawing at your chest. Why am I the way I am?

Gods sometimes took a special interest in heroes. All the tales told you so. You just had to wonder, what would come of this.

Ragged and bruised, you felt as though you were being picked apart under the watchful eyes of so many olympians.

You hadn’t realized Grover was doing the rounds until he yanked you into a hug. You found it in yourself to hug him back—at least he was still alive.

“Glad you made it,” you whispered.

“You too.” He nodded. Neither of you smelled amazing after this quest, but it went uncared for. A trouble shared is a trouble deeply understood.

“You have to convince them,” he said to the remaining four of you. “They can’t do it!”

“Do what?” You blinked.

“Heroes,” Artemis called. The goddess slid down from her throne and turned to human size, a young auburn-haired girl, perfectly at ease in the midst of the giant Olympians. She walked toward your little group, her silver robes shimmering. There was no emotion in her face. She seemed to walk in a column of moonlight.

“The Council has been informed of your deeds,” Artemis spoke loudly, addressing everyone in a steady, clear tone. “They know that Mount Othrys is rising in the West. They know of Atlas’s attempt for freedom, and the gathering armies of Kronos. We have voted to act.”

There was some mumbling and shuffling among the olympians, as if they weren’t all happy with this plan, but nobody protested.

“At my Lord Zeus’s command,” Artemis said, “my brother Apollo and I shall hunt the most powerful monsters, seeking to strike them down before they can join the Titans’ cause. Lady Athena shall personally check on the other Titans to make sure they do not escape their various prisons. Lord Poseidon has been given permission to unleash his full fury on the cruise ship Princess Andromeda and send it to the bottom of the sea. And as for you, my heroes…”

She turned to face the other immortals.

And that, was the moment you saw your mother for the first time.

Dressed in a beautiful white dress, draped over one shoulder, her eyes, as gray as your own, as gray as Annabeth’s appeared lost in thought. You took the chance to just look at the woman you never thought you would meet.

“I gotta say—” Apollo cleared his throat. “These heroes did okay.” He began to recite. “Heroes win laurels—”

“Um, yes, first class,” Hermes interrupted with a side-eye in his brother’s direction. You were unable to help the smirk. “All in favor of not disintegrating them?”

A few tentative hands went up: Aphrodite, Demeter, Apollo—waving his iPod.

“Hang on a minute,” Ares growled, sitting up on his throne. He pointed at Thalia and Percy, on the other side of Annabeth. “These two are dangerous. It’d be much safer, while we’ve got them here—”

Don’t say anything, you begged yourself. Even Annabeth elbowed you.

“Ares,” Poseidon interrupted. “They are worthy heroes. We will not blast my son to bits.”

“Nor my daughter,” grumbled Zeus. “She has done well.”

You leaned forward around your sister, who visibly shook, pale, in need of a lie down from the looks of things. Thalia blushed—you grinned wickedly. All the things you could do with this moment in the future.

Athena cleared her throat. Annabeth sighed. The goddess leaned forward. “I am proud of my daughters, as well. But I agree—there is a security issue with the other two.”

Annabeth elbowed you a little too late, this time.

“Mother!” You exclaimed.

Your heart dropped and splattered on the ground. Never had you addressed her as such. And never had she looked you in the face the way she did now.

Too late to back out, now.

“How can you just—”

Athena cut you off with a girl, but calm look. “It is unfortunate that my father, Zeus, and my uncle, Poseidon, chose to break their oath not to have more children. Only Hades kept his word, a fact that I find ironic. As we know from the Great Prophecy, children of the three elder gods…such as Thalia and Percy…are dangerous. As thickheaded as he is, Ares has a point.”

“Right!” Ares said. “Hey, wait a minute. Who you callin’—”

He started to get up, but a grape vine grew around his waist like a seat belt and pulled him back down.

“Oh, please, Ares,” Dionysus sighed. “Save the fighting for later.”

Ares cursed and ripped away the vine. “You’re one to talk, you old drunk. You seriously want to protect these brats?”

Dionysus gazed wearily. “I have no love for them. Athena, do you really think it wise to destroy them?”

“I do not pass judgement,” she said. “I only point out the risk. What we do, the Council must decide.”

“I will not have them punished,” Artemis cut in hotly. “I will have them rewarded. If we punish heroes who do us such a great favour, then we are no better than the titans, are we not? If this is Olympian justice, I will have none of it.”

“Calm down, sis,” Apollo scoffed. “Chill. Jeez, you need to lighten up.”

“Don’t call me sis! I will reward them!”

“Well, perhaps. But the monster must be destroyed. We have agreement on that?”

“Bessie?” Percy burst out. “You want to destroy Bessie?”

Your heart swelled. Gosh, he cared. It was lovely.

And then you wanted to slap yourself.

What was up with the emotions lately?

Poseidon frowned. “You have named the Ophiotaurus Bessie?”

“Dad,” Percy said. “He’s just a sea creature. A really nice sea creature. You can’t destroy him.”

Poseidon shifted uncomfortably, a trait Percy shared with him, you noted. “Percy, it’s power is considerable. If the titans were to steal it, or—”

“You can’t,” Percy insisted.

Zeus opened his mouth, looking as though he was getting antsier by the second. But you had experience with this sort of thing that needed a good negotiation, so you cut in.

“Controlling the prophecies never works. Isn’t that true?” You tried, stepping forward. All eyes landed on you, and you swallowed. “Have we not just experienced it? Are we not experiencing it now? The Ophiotaurus is innocent. Killing something like that is wrong. It’s as wrong as Kronos eating his children just because of something they might do.”

Zeus looked to be considering it. You breathed heavily, in a mild panic after consulting the king of the gods head on. If he wanted to, you could be zapped out of existence in less than a second.

“And what of the risk? Kronos knows full well, if one of you were to sacrifice the beast’s entrails you would have the power to destroy all of us. Do you think we can let this possibility remain? You, my daughter, will turn sixteen on the morrow, just as the prophecy says.”

“You have to trust them,” you tried, pleading with your eyes. “Please, you have to trust them.”

Zeus scowled. “Trust a hero?”

“She is right,” Artemis nodded slowly. “Which is why I must first make a reward. My faithful companion, Zoe Nightshade, has passed into the stars. I must have a new lieutenant. And I intend to choose one, but first, father Zeus, I must speak with you privately.”

Zeus beckoned Artemis forward, leaning to listen as she whispered to him.

“Annabeth,” Percy whispered from behind you. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Look, I need to tell you something. I couldn’t stand it if—I don’t want you to—”

Artemis turned. “I will have a new lieutenant, if she will accept it. Thalia, daughter of Zeus, will you join the Hunt?”

Your jaw almost dropped. Stunned silence filled the room.

“I will,” Thalia said firmly. She moved to your side, and then a little bit further ahead. Confident.

Zeus rose, his eyes full of concern. “My daughter, consider well—”

Don’t let him change your mind, you prayed. Hold your ground.

“Father, I will not turn sixteen tomorrow,” she shook her head. “I will never turn sixteen. I won’t let this prophecy be mine. I stand with my sister Artemis. Kronos will not tempt me again.”

She knelt down before Artemis, and repeated the same words Bianca had uttered what felt like years ago at the cliff side in the snow and weary sunlight.

When she had finished, she hugged each of you and said a few words. You felt awkward, putting your hands into your coat pockets, when Thalia stood in front of you. For once, there was no spiteful comments from either one of you. She smiled small, looking rejuvenated the same way Bianca had, as if the quest had never happened.

“You’re a good friend,” she nodded. “You’re brave. You’ve got what it takes to help them with this prophecy.” And then she leaned in, and hugged you just as she had with Annabeth and Grover and Percy. “Trust yourself.”

Thalia went and stood with Artemis, and the atmosphere changed instantly.

“Now, for the Ophiotaurus.”

“The boy is still dangerous,” Mr. D. opposed. The beast is a temptation to great power. Even if we spare the boy—”

“No.” Percy said firmly. “Please. Keep the Ophiotaurus safe. My dad can hide him under the sea somewhere, or keep him in an aquarium here. But you have to protect him.”

“And why should we trust you?”

“I’m only fourteen. If this prophecy is about me, that’s only two more years.”

“Two years for Kronos to deceive you,” Athena uttered. “Much can change in two years, young hero. It is only the truth. It is bad strategy to keep the boy alive. And the animal.”

Poseidon stood. “I will not have the creature destroyed if I can help it. And I can, help it.”

He held out his hand, and a spear shimmering with blue light appeared. “I will vouch for the boy and the safety of the Ophiotaurus.”

“You won’t take it under the sea!” Zeus stood suddenly. “I won’t have that kind of bargaining chip in your possession.”

“Brother, please,” Poseidon sighed.

Zeus’s lightening bolt appeared in his hand, and the whole room filled with the smell of ozone.

“Fine,” Poseidon nodded. “I will build an aquarium for the sea creature here, with the help of Hephaestus. The creature will be safe. The boy will not betray us. I vouch for this on my honor.”

Zeus thought about it. “All in favor?”

A dozen hands went up, besides Mr. D, your mother’s, and Ares just sat looking bored.

“We have a majority. And so, since we are not destroying these heroes, I imagine we should reward them.”

—

There are parties, and then there are Olympian parties. And Olympian parties are filled with gold and beautiful colours, exotic flowers and the Muses music, braziers of fire, and delicious food and drinks. It became busy very quickly, and before you knew it, you found yourself stumbling into a corner to get yourself together. All you wished to do was go to your cabin and cry. To let it all out.

“This doesn’t look like you’re partying.”

“What the hell are you? A spy? Just leave me alone.” You shoved yourself further into the corner just away from all the partying, a quiet corridor devoid of anything but cold marble and tall, golden ceilings.

Ares hummed lowly. You didn’t have to see him, shoved into the corner like a child, but you knew he was just on the other side of it.

“I’ll let you off just this once, demigod.”

You rolled your eyes. The marble edges dug into your back uncomfortably from how hard you were trying to disappear for a few minutes. “What do you want? Spit it out.”

“If you weren’t her’s, I would say you’re one of mine. You’ve got the fire, I’ll give you that. And my wife has taken a special interest in you and that boy. Her business is my business, you’ll understand. Since you’re her business, now, you’re my business, too.”

You wanted to scream at him to leave, to go away so you could breathe for five minutes. But…you really wanted to know what he had to say. Curiosity always got the better of you.

“I don’t want to be anybody’s business,” you settled on, weakly. “I’m my own person.”

“Whatever, kid. I’m just here to pass along a message.”

“Which is?”

“She says, you’re doing exactly what you should be doing.”

“Oh, really?”

You shoved away from the corner, and paused.

He’d already gone.

—

Making your way back into the crowd was the last thing you wanted to do, but it would be best to show your face for a little while. Eventually you made your way back to Percy. He smiled as you popped up next to him, and then slowly frowned. His green eyes glistened under all the lights.

“You’ve been crying,” he reached up, and then lowered his hand, unsure of what to do.

You laughed pitifully. “Yeah.”

Because, really, what more could you say? It was rather obvious. And you sounded as if you’d just developed the world’s worst cold and stuffy nose.

Percy still stared at you, concerned. It was touching, really.

“I’m just tired.” You nodded. “I promise. When we get back to camp you might not see me for a couple weeks. I’m about to fall off the face of the earth in sleep mode.”

He smiled, tight-lipped, those eyes dancing across your face. For the first time ever under Percy’s eyes, you felt self-conscious.

“I’ll clean up later. My dad always says I look like I’ve just done thirty rounds of coke after crying. It’s funny because it’s true,” you tried lightly.

Percy’s dark curls shook. “No,” he denied. “I think you look…I think you look pretty—uh—I mean—”

Your heart jumped into your throat, and suddenly it was difficult to breathe. Because AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

“Uhm—” you frantically tried for something to do; hair behind your ears, leaning back and forth on your heels. “Thank you. Thanks.” Heat flooded your cheeks. Percy was already scarlet in the face, nodding frantically, avoiding your eyes.

When you looked up, Athena watched from a distance, and then looked away, as if she hadn’t been interested at all. But you weren’t about to let her ruin what just happened—Percy called you pretty.

“I was thinking,” he shoved out. You turned your head, blinking expectantly. “I owe you a dance, don’t I? We got interrupted at Westover Hall, right?”

This time, you allowed yourself to smile, your heart and lungs expanding.

“Right.” You took his hand, shaking.

The music played on, a gentle tune of the future, the past, and the present.

—

Chiron greeted you all at the Big House with hot chocolate and toasted cheese sandwiches. Grover went off to his satyr friends, telling them all about his brief experience with Pan.

Annabeth, Percy and yourself sat with Chiron by the fire. A couple of others joined you, too—Clarisse, back from a quest of her own it seemed. Her hair was cut short, like somebody had hacked it with scissors without a care, and there was a jagged scar on her chin. For once, she kept quiet.

“I got news,” she said glumly. “Bad news.”

“I’ll fill you in later,” Chiron said with forced cheerfulness. “The important thing is you’ve prevailed. And you’ve saved Annabeth!”

The Stoll brothers were there, too. You hadn’t even looked Travis in the eye. The high of the short dance with Percy had worn off, that tiny spark of normality had gone, and left you with the sadness you’d been feeling before it. You struggled with getting Bianca and Zoe’s deaths from the front of your mind, and Thalia’s moving on. Everybody was leaving, it felt like. And everybody was too happy for what had happened along the way.

Percy, sitting next to you in front of the fire, felt the same. You could tell by the sheer look of something bordering on a deep sadness he had.

You didn’t speak.

Annabeth talked about Atlas, and where she had been kept. She yawned the whole way through, still shaking with weakness even after some ambrosia.

Chiron’s positivity spread a little bit to you tired campers, but in the end, the unwavering need to go somewhere and cry won. You set down your mug of hot chocolate, and walked away. Another chair scratched the floor behind you, as you walked away toward the fields.

“Let her be,” you heard Chiron utter. “She needs time.”

You heard happy babbling just as you wandered away, boyish, childish talking. You looked to the left, and there was Nico di Angelo, two figurines in hands, talking to himself the way children tend to do. Every organ in your body twisted painfully, and you got away before he could see you. You couldn’t be the one to tell him Bianca was long gone. You still didn’t want to believe it yourself.

The air was bitter cold, your fingertips numb already. Snow fell lightly as you wandered into where you probably shouldn’t have been. You didn’t get far until his voice caught you up.

“Scout?”

You stopped, the snow crunching quietly. Behind you, Travis grew closer until he was right in front of you. You hadn’t even realized how tall he’d gotten until you saw him again, like seeing him in a different light.

Bundled in a red sweater and jeans, a coat and scarf atop of that, he still shivered.

“I just need to go for a walk. I’ll be alright later.” You shrugged.

Silence captured the air. Until he said, “Chiron…mentioned what happened to Nico’s sister. And the Hunter girl. Zoe. I’m—I’m so sorry.”

The first tear fell without any effort. And then you grew too cold too quickly. And crumbled.

He enveloped you instantly, as if without thought—like the action would be unknown, to hesitate in your arms. Against his warm, soft chest, Travis’s heart beat gently against your ear, his hands coming up carefully to your back, to your shoulder.

Safety.

And at the end of it—Travis.

You allowed yourself the tears. Your hands scrunched at his shirt. He smelled of the outside weather, of wind

of life.

—

PAIN. So, we’ve reached the end of Titans Curse! How are we feeling so far about relationships and eve thing? Feedback is always appreciated!

taglist: @bl6o6dy @embersparklz @lilyevanswhore @rottenstyx @rory-cakes @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @marshmallow12435 @lantsovheiress @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @twsssmlmaa @gayandfairycore @padsfirewhisky @emu281 @charlesswife @jessiegerl @crackerphobic20 @mata0-0mata @jccc1000 @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @nothankyou138 @i-love-books-and-the-bible @obxstiles

if they’re not highlighted, it wouldn’t let me tag you!

this chapter’s quite short. I didn’t want to drag it out too much.

aaaaand I’ve added a few more songs to the playlist (on my profile if you don’t have it saved!) if you want to give them a listen. thanks for reading!

#capsize #percy jackson #pjo #asks #leo valdez #annabeth chase #jason grace #nico di angelo #percy jackson x reader #pjo x reader #Percy Jackson x yn #Percy Jackson series #Travis stoll #connor stoll x reader #Travis x reader #Travis stoll x reader #ares

[s-aint-elmo]

digging out the eah content i created in a frenzy during last year’s summer of obsession part 1: my personal sapphic multishipping guide (created to explain to my friends which of these dolls i think should hold hands)

(more in-depth discussion of the ships below the cut)

the polycule that will take over ever after

kitty/lizzie; kitty/maddie; maddie/lizzie

self-explanatory. frequently purchased together do not separate. bonus shoutout to maddie canonically giving kitty a little kissie on the cheek and getting off scot-free in the books though. a wonderlandiful world was a banquet to me

cedar protection squad

once again a wonderlandiful world and once upon a time i owe you my life. kitty ESP being so adamant abt not giving a shit then turning around and fucking up those boys who were mean to cedar...... i love friendship

kitty/cerise

also self-explanatory. she was a catgirl she was a wolfgirl can i make it anymore obvious. also doribuki’s phenomenal fake dating fanfic....... transformative foundational transcendental

cerise/raven

YOU MUST UNDERSTAND. i entered eah a rapple shipper and exited the book series ready to burn at the stake for cerise/raven. book two was SO MUCH. it had everything. raven befriending cerise despite her attempts to isolate herself. texting in class. winking at each other. raven meeting the parents and hearing embarrassing baby cerise stories. cerise putting it all on the line to save raven. i’m ambivalent about shadow high but cerise gets literally one (1) mention and it’s in raven’s internal monologue wherein she equates cerise’s hood w feelings of warmth and safety. like how was that in any way necessary. i rest my case 

raven & maddie

self-explanatory as well. dabesties. the ride or dies. it means so much to me that raven always has a friend in maddie no matter how many clowns and jokers (derogatory) treat her like the antichrist. maddie the character ever

raven/apple

WHAT IT SAYS ON THE TIN. the gelphie dynamic is a classic and i am EXTREMELY vulnerable to it. they are THE ship and i will pay my respects to the end of time. i am a big fan of how they trade their roles throughout the franchise and how rich the drama and history are between them. it’s pure fucking poetry.

raven/darling

TBH. a serve. the only thing juicier than evil queen/damsel in distress is evil queen/princess charming. big big fan of darling giving raven the five star princess treatment after a lifetime of being feared and shunned and vilified. equally big fan of raven’s momentous act of rebellion giving darling the courage to be true to herself. ALSO. the absolute archetype-subversion slay of the Pure-Hearted Hero(TM) confronting the Mistress of Evil(TM) and dropping their sword. looking through the smoke and mirrors and the will of Fate itself to see the girl who has wanted nothing but to be kind beneath. swearing their heart and soul and sword to the one true good they have found. picture it. i can almost see the 100-word drabble

raven/apple/darling

now THIS is just THE fairytale couple. the evil queen, the damsel in distress and the princess charming ALL holding hands and riding off into the sunset together. dappling on its own doesn’t do it for me but raven in the mix just makes everything gel perfectly. she’s the tomato in the ratatouille the cornstarch in the spring roll water, etc etc

darling/holly

this is one of those ships where i read a really convincing fic and the more i thought of it the more it just made sense. like they'd read swashbucklers and tales of courtly love together. holly would 100% write a darling placeholder in her self-insert romance fanfic pre-relationship as a way to express her feelings. darling would 100% find out and gently pull her out of the pit of sheer mortification she drilled into the ground to escape. also the height difference is a thing of beauty

safe from the polycule

duchess/poppy

they have one singular episode to their name and it was enough. it was Everything. the dynamic you can extrapolate from that one single interaction is so incredibly appealing to me. duchess’s bitchiness belied by her palpable air of vulnerability coming up against poppy’s spine of steel tempered by her skill in gaining perspective. poppy can challenge duchess into being a better person and duchess can be poppy’s character flaw like idk she just has shit taste in women that was the price she had to pay to be moisturized and unbothered by destiny. i just think they have the potential to be the unexpected, inexplicable power couple of eah

briar/faybelle

do i even need to say anything they had a whole movie to make their case. they’re rapple if rapple got their shit together before armageddon, with the bonus of a potential curse-breaking true love’s kiss for the fanfic authors to thrash between their teeth. truly unlimited. also unlike rapple where raven is 100% against being a villain and therefore it’s apple who has to do the mental gymnastics to open herself to the possibility of a relationship w raven, faybelle is just chomping at the bit to make her momma proud and presents a compelling perspective for the whole “falling in love w your fated nemesis” thing

blondie/cupid

they are icons, they are legends, and they ARE the moment. these two are so chaotic individually, what with blondie’s criminal skillset and habit of menacing innocent woodland creatures and cupid’s matchmaking powers combined w her shitty aim, that putting them together can only mean good things. there’s this whole element of their shared passion as public figures who at their best seek the truth and guide others through matters of the heart respectively that’s always interesting as a point of irony/obstacle when they start catching feelings and have to decide what to do with them. their joint youtuber/podcaster slay can level nations

#ever after high #mine #am i strong enough to tag them all #kitty cheshire #lizzie hearts #maddie hatter #cerise hood #raven queen #apple white #darling charming #holly o'hair #duchess swan #poppy o'hair #briar beauty #faybelle thorn #blondie lockes #c.a. cupid #that supernatural vlogger/actual god clondie au that was never finished still lives rent free in my head btw. i nurse my grief over it #like a baby: regularly while sighing over the future that could be #cupid and raven should also hold hands but not in this polycule universe

[genericpuff]

How to write (and draw) small female character without infantilization? I have small female oc that I like to draw in cute way (not in sexual and weird way) to relax my mind from my hectic life, but I'm afraid that people will accuse me for infantilization. What should I do?

I'm sorry for asking a weird question

Not a weird question at all ! Literally just draw them their own age lol Look up references for short women, do some life drawings, learn how the proportions differ from an average-height person and how people who are short still have distinguishable features that separate them from childlike proportions.

Infantilization isn't exclusively "cute small female" or even "sexy small female", it isn't even exclusive to height or body type - infantilization is a very specific pattern of taking characters and reducing them to babies with no character traits besides being helpless and needing another person to take care of them. This is why even Down to Earth has this issue even when its main FL isn't short and small, because the only trait its FL has is being a babyish archetype who solely relies on the guy who she gets stuck living with. And in LO's case, Rachel keeps morphing Persephone's size and body type to make her look like a literal child next to Hades and it's just... ew lol

Give them some agency and actual character traits that aren't reliant on whoever they're shipped with and you'll be fine. If you want to read a comic with short women (often hooking up with bigger people) go check out Alfie (*this is an 18+ comic) it nails it without ever reducing the short women to being babies or exaggerating the size differences to make them seem even smaller compared to their partners. They have agency and depth.

Hope that helps !!

#ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything #writing advice #drawing advice

[clairenatural]

i honestly think deancas transcends the queercoding vs baiting argument. there are too many layers. too many writers going in and out of the writer’s room, all with their own agendas. 4 different showrunners (5 if you count singer) with different goals for both their relationship and the story at large. massive real life social and political shifts. the market research. the show ultimately being dragged on and extended multiple times, thwarting the ability of whoever was in charge at the time to wrap up the story the way they were planning to. the rise of tumblr shipping and queerbait discourse fundamentally changing the show’s relationships with its fans. the rise of modern tumblr fandom culture colliding with destiel’s height of popularity, and supernatural rising to the highest ranks of fandom with superwholock. misha collins crossing all sorts of actor/fan lines and redefining how to interact with your shipping fanbase. a generation of fans growing up and going on to actually working on the show itself. the intense heller vs. bronly divide that only got more polarized as time went on. the real, behind the scenes drama about not being able to get rid of cas. the first pairing to reach 100,000 fics on ao3 even after the show had ended. yo a ti cas. the obvious disagreement at an executive level on the post-confession messaging. an incredibly powerful fanbase nobody expected or knew what to do with. 12 years of this. ultimately i think the full story of why they didn’t go there sooner, why we didn’t get dean’s answer, what the intentions were from the beginning and how they evolved would be different based on who you ask and destiel was (and continues to be) a phenomenon that cannot be explained with normal media analysis.

#does any of this make sense #bc idk. knee jerk reaction is yeah it was bait but also no????? #i think half the writers were baiting us half the time and half of them were intentionally coding #and misha was. well he continues to be misha #(/pos i love him) #and it just has spiralled out of everyone's control #mae.txt

[eatommo]

Dune Sea [d.d.]

Summary: You ride a speeder bike for the first time, and the desert gets boring very quickly.

A/n: I almost lost this being lazy so I hope its worth the mini heart attack.

Cw: touch starved din, pet names, mando’a, fluffy, but also kinda suggestive, the helmet stays on, size difference kink(reader is considered small but only in height), reader is picked up, stripping, sappy din. I probably missed something its 1am.

Your first time on a speeder bike comes pretty early in your travels, and you’re very very excited to get to zip through the desert on something that’s much faster than by foot.

What you don’t expect is just how much even having your hands on his waist while you race through the dunes does to him.

It’s entirely platonic, reasonable even, but the second his body feels your arms settles on his sides barely circling his waist, it’s like he’s being seared by the twin suns. His hairs stand on edge as goosebumps flood his skin, and suddenly his skin feels flush and cold all at the same time.

He’s never been more thankful to hide behind the shield of his helmet, or surely you’d see the rose tinted pigment of his cheeks and the flutter of his eyes when your back tires and you lay your cheek to his back.

The wind rushes over your skin, and disguises the shutter the rushes through his muscles. You’re so small, so helpless, and dependent on him to keep you safe, and no matter how grumpy or silent he is you blabber away with whatever knowledge or story you’re sharing but he can’t seem to ask you to stop. Or kick you off his ship. Or even dare to leave you and the child alone for longer than a few days.

It hurts him. He’s attached. He wondered if keeping the kid around would change his outlook, and his decision making, and of course it did. The safety of a child is something that would change the actions of a renowned bounty hunter, but he didn’t expect it to change how he felt about you.

Each time you climb a dune your hands tighten on his flight suit, and when you descend your thighs squeeze together securing yourself tighter to him so you don’t face plant into the blunt metal on his back.

For the first hour he does his best to stave off his urges, but as he gets more comfortable with having you so close, more comfortable with the route and feel of this particular speeders control, he grows more brave.

First, he lets one hand fall from the throttle, letting his other steer confidently, and it settles on his hip, brushing against your knee. If you notice or react, he isn’t able to tell, but the connection is enough to cause his cock to twitch against his leg. He’d be lying if he wasn’t turned on by being this close to you from the get go.

Then, after a while of that, everytime your legs tighten around him he reaches down and runs his gloved hand down the back of your calf, caressing it in a soothing and gentle gesture. Your muscles flex into the surprise but welcome embrace, and you smother a smile into his cape.

For a moment he thinks he can feel your heart pounding against the armor, strong and steady if not a bit faster than he’d expect, but he’s embarrassed to realize it’s his own. Maker, he’s so pathetic.

Finally, he just leave his hand there, occasionally switching to your other leg when he needs to steer but never leaving you unconnected for long.

As the twin suns set over the sandy hills of Mos Pelgo, you pull into town. Wordlessly the bike is parked and turned off, you both sit for a moment, what is only a single breath feels like a lifetime as his other hand reaches to touch you at the same time.

Privately and both without knowing it, you share the same sad smile, wondering what’s to come of this, and weighing the chance of it never happening again against the risks of rejection.

“Cyare.” You feel the rumble of his chest against your cheek, the deep guttural tone of his voice in his native tongue, you’ve only heard him speak it a few times but the feeling in your chest is only warmer this time.

You both start your sentence at the same time, but rather colliding in the air, they compliment each other, harmonizing in the opposite ways that your cadences go when breaking ice, yours high his low.

Your blush deepens, “You first.” Keeping still you try and calm the rapid beating of your heart and the electricity passing through his touch.

“I’m going to find Marshall Cobb, he should be able to find board.” His thumb is still mindlessly sliding over your smooth skin, “Will you stay with the bike?”

You look through the one main strip of land between a dozen or so buildings, “I don’t think there’s many places to look.” You laugh, half surprised no one has welcomed you with a blaster aimed at you yet.

“What we’re you going to say?” He muses, clearly registering the playfulness in your voice as a good thing. He peers over his shoulder and as you look up towards his face you see a hint of his skin tone where the helmet rests on his face, and you blush and smother your face further into the sandy warmth of his cape.

“That we…” You hesitate for an audible moment, your brain shuffling through a multitude of lies and half truths, “ought to take speeder bikes more often.” There. The answer is the truth, and it’s casual but you think it’s clear enough to provoke an honest response from him.

His hands still, and you hold your breath, to your relief he squeezes the flesh tenderly. “We will.” His voice is hotter than the setting sunset.

Your back straightens with recognition, “I’ll stay with the bike.”

He doesn’t have to see your face to hear your smile, and he hoped you could hear his teasing smirk, “I’ll be quick.” Mando dismounts the bike and stands tall over you, as you turn your knees to face him a gloved hand pinches your chin gently but firmly, locking your eyes together. “Don't go too far.”

You smile sweetly, already daydreaming and clenching your thighs together, “I couldn't bear it.” . You straighten your leg from underneath your robe in a dramatic stretch, exposing it to the dimming desert air tauntingly. Massaging your fingers into the tops of your thighs, exposing the thin white strap of your underwear curving over your hipbone.

His mouth is dry, like he’d crawled through the desert towing a hefty bounty. The unmistakable tug in the pit of his stomach of need stirred his tired muscles into a fever, his travel-worn mind only thinking about how to he's going to break you over his cock in perhaps just a few hours. But as his eyes drift to the dark knowing smirk calling to him, begging him to come play.

“Mando! I was beginning to worry about you.” A handsome older fellow in a bright red sweater emerges from a few buildings down.

Minutes he thought. He would have you somewhere, anywhere where he could hold you, run his hands over your legs, and your chest, into your mouth in the next few minutes or he might collapse.

“We need a room. She's exhausted, heat sickness.” he shouts, barely bother to call over his shoulder or address the strangers concern.

“My home. Four doors down on the left, spare room is to the right of the entrance.” He calls back, this must be a friend of his. “I'll bring you food and leave it on the table when I come home.”

You nudge Mando’s boot with your foot, “Manners.” Half playing but the eagerness is pouring off him in waves, stroking your own need until you might pounce on him using the bike seat as a vault.

“Thank you.” He calls over his shoulder, genuinely, and he utters something you barely make out between the two of you, “Let's hope he’s out late.”

You shiver at the implication, inhibitions diminished. “Heat sickness?”

He shrugs, before bending down to lift you up around his waist. “It's a good reason to do this.”

This close you nuzzle into the gap between his helmet and his shoulder, lips moving against his throat as you kiss over the thin fabric, so thin in fact you can feel his heart drumming steadily.

You're so enamored with everything about him, his scent, his prowess, and his energy mixing with your emotions and this own.

With ease, you're brought through a small modest living room, but you're unable to see much other than the wall rolling by as you're swept through a doorway and set on a thin bedroll. The lights are promptly shut off and you hear a soft sound, and its not until his bare hands are resting on your cheeks that your eyes adjust, placing together a familiar armored chest.

He runs his hands over your body, lightly urging the robes off your shoulders, the fabric spreading open to reveal your modest undershirt. Thin with wear even in the dark you can see the tight bundles of your nipples through your breast band.

“Maker.” He swears, not even disquising the beeline he makes for them, circling and brushing over them with precision you used to fear. “You’re so beautiful. Mesh’la.”

You recognize this word, and as the word endearment clicks in the forefront of your brain you realize just how after each other you always were. Pet names, play fights, lingering fingers on helpful hands, plain as day.

He moves to the hem of your undershirt demanding it off, but you protest, reaching for the front of his armor to unlatch his chest plate.

He stills, keeping his hands out of your way and watching you dismantle is armor around him like you've done it your entire life. The heavy pieces are set aside, accumulating in a disorganized pile in front of the door as he takes them from your hands.

Undressing him, the intimacy of the moment almost overwhelms him, not only the physical demands of the extensive clasps and hidden magnets, but the mental shield that the armor protects him with. Hiding his emotions, his skin, his weaknesses, it was his crutch, his symbol and status, but none of that mattered anymore. Each exploring hand running over the uncovered area drove him wild, feather light but thorough.

You said a silent thank you to whatever sorry soul’s house this was and prey for a sandstorm.

#restore draft #din djarin smut #din djarin fanfic #din x reader #din djarin fanfiction #star wars #the mandolorian spoilers #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #pedrostories

[animentality]

I once saw a bsg fan bemoan the lack of a bsg fandom on Tumblr but I can tell you why that fandom is dead in the water.

it's because Battlestar Galactica utterly failed at creating a world you'd want to return to.

look at deep space nine, a 25 year old TV show that still has a wildly active fandom here and even on Twitter.

and why is that?

because ds9 was edgy too, but underneath that, there was a world that you could miss. there were characters who grew and changed like real people. they felt like your family, they were each other's family, and who doesn't visit their found family/friends at least occasionally?

re watching ds9 is like seeing old friends you haven't spoken to in a while, but when you hang out, it's like no time has passed. it's like returning to the house you grew up in, and smiling as you see the old photographs and the lines where your parents scratched your height into the wall.

but bsg? christ.

it's like returning to an abandoned meth lab.

it spent literally its entire run trying to SHOCK you.

instead of world building or creating any form of culture aboard the fleet, it upped the ante every week, and never gave you time to breathe.

worse than that, it would zoom through some of its more interesting ideas in favor of trying to get your blood pumping with some new shit immediately.

it never let you dwell on characters, or let them have genuine growth, because the next week, they'd want to do something even CRAZIER, and then that character would have to act a certain way, to make sure the melodrama keeps people engaged.

shows like that never last, because when you re watch them, there's like... nothing.

the world was destroyed- ok, then why don't we see the culture of the surviving humans?

everyone lives on different ships!! you could've shown us those ships developing their own cultures???

but no, we're stuck on the warship, full of officers, except we don't even get episodes dedicated to just, daily life on Battlestar.

it's just, oh baltar gets away with yet another war crime. how interesting.

it's also not remembered that well because...

mass murder and gang rape and endless torture of all the characters- oh it's so exciting... that you don't really want to go back to the stress.

you get tired of it, man. you can't throw high octane plots at people every day for five years... and then expect them to even remember half of that shit when they return to it, years later.

why would you even want to?

it's not like any of it was planned either.

it's not like, a show where it's exciting all the time, yes, but it's worth re watching to pick up on all the hints of the later story.

those kinds of shows last. you know. where the creators knew the ending and the hints were always there and you love the melodrama because you know where it's going, and it's still interesting to consider, years later. to really chew on deep and insightful characters, and think about their entire stories.

but bsg?

nothing was fucking planned.

you re watch bsg and you see just how much of it NEVER PAYS OFF.

they ram so many plots down your throat, and 90% of them get retconned out or totally re written.

And that's also why people don't remember bsg that well.

So much shit happens that they just don't know what the hell happened.

the pacing is awful, the world building is non existent, it's a melodrama so dedicated to melodrama that it totally ignores what it was doing with the characters the week before...

and that's why it's dead in the water.

the characters were the best part about it and they get so butchered by the end, they hardly matter.

#battlestar galactica #star trek #sci fi

[justsescape]

"Heeeey, nonnie~! I'm wearing your favorite outfit today! How's it look~?"

The irony was palpable. Uzaki-chan looked exactly the same as always: completely hidden behind a pair of breasts so wide, so tall, that they could easily plug the door of a double-car garage. Not even gravity itself could stop her boobs from staying satisfyingly round in spite of their cartoonishly gigantic proportions. Pristine skin was interrupted by pinkish areolae the size of manhole covers, and each of them were topped by nipples so firm and thick that they could be used as balance beams. Perhaps if you stood on one of them, you could actually see the rest of her. You'd just have to be careful not to slip and fall into her crushing cleavage.

"Come on, nonnie! Can't you tell?" Uzaki-chan must have been leaping; the way her gigantic tits wobbled like gelatin was evidence of that. But at the apex of every jump, you could just barely, barely catch a glimpse at the tips of bunny ears rising above her chest.

"Hop! Hop! I'm a bunny! I'm in my bunny suit, nonnie~!"

It was more like she had her birthday suit in the front and her bunny suit in the back. Uzaki-chan had once so proudly declared that she had finally surpassed five feet in height -- but that's only if you measured from the ground to the tops of her overdeveloped bust. The rest of her barely surpassed forty-eight inches. Such a big difference doomed this bunny girl to spending most of her waking hours in a staring contest with her own towering boobwall. Its only feature was the long, dark line of cleavage that rose far, far above her head. Surely, it must have been like staring into an endless chasm, into the unknowable deep -- not that such a thing could faze her boundless energy, of course.

"Let's celebrate with an Easter egg hunt!" Uzaki-chan's outstretched hand waved above her humongous chest. Such enthusiastic gesturing was met by similarly enthusiastic motions from her lengthened nipples. You got the sense that if you pulled on one of them, it would vibrate back and forth like a spring-loaded doorstop. "Can you find where I hid them all, nonnie? I hid them reeeeeal well~!"

All that wild movement, however, would be her undoing. Uzaki-chan's colossal breasts had slid ever-so-slightly apart from one another, revealing that her cleavage was cradling dozens -- if not hundreds -- of multicolored Easter eggs. They piled atop one another like breakfast cereal overflowing in a bowl. Naturally, it didn't take long for them to start to spill from her cleavage like water from an overturned glass. They toppled, they tumbled, they rolled across the ground like scattering marbles.

"Oh... oh no! Th-they're falling out?! But... but that ruins it, nonnie! I can't believe this is happening!"

Uzaki-chan's sorrowful tone inspired you to finally circumnavigate her ridiculous rack. There she stood, on the tips of her toes, legs shaking, her face painted with worry as she held her hands up to her cleavage like she was trying to block a leak on a sinking ship. Her shortened stature didn't preclude her from being delightfully curvy. Fishnets clung so tightly to her shapely thighs that flesh bulged in the gaps; surely once she took them off, her skin would be impressed with red patterned lines from where the strings once resided. Easter eggs repeatedly struck the top of her head as if they were being delivered by conveyor belt.

"I wanted to do an Easter egg hunt with you, ow!, but... well, I can't really, ow!, move that far," she admitted bashfully. "So I had to, ow!, just hide them all in the only place I could reach... ow!"

Yet another Easter egg plopped across her head before arcing toward the ground -- but this one didn't crack. Instead, it splashed. Unbeknownst to Uzaki-chan, her two heaving boobs had begun to leak. Milk funneled from the tips of her nipples like they were faucets, producing puddles that were growing with every passing moment. They pooled under her chest; they slicked the floor underneath your shoes. Broken eggshells were lifted from the ground by her own product and floated in various random directions.

"H-hey, nonnie! Don't get distracted by the ones that are breaking! Forget about those!" Uzaki-chan clenched her fists tightly at her sides. She stomped her feet in the milk as if it were a puddle of rainwater. "We can still have fun with the ones that are left! Go dive in and find them~!"

#muse: uzaki-chan #breast expansion #the drabble zone #lactation

[aspitefulwriter]

OUT OF TOUCH [Ch. 5]

(Poe Dameron x AFAB!reader)

warnings: mentions of someone getting verbally assaulted and beat (not reader); also a man in his sassy era

author’s note: I post on ao3 first!! :)

MINORS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DON’T INTERACT

word count: ~2.7k

Series Masterlist

It had been a day or so past the incident where you had assaulted Poe, and it was just within the past few hours that you could actually look him in the eyes while either of you talked. The entire aftermath had been horrifying for you thus far, and if you think about it for too long, you cringe. To occupy yourself, you asked if it was possible to get your hands on a decommissioned ship and tinker around with it. When the request was approved, you felt joy you hadn’t felt since escaping from the Order. You didn’t want to complain, but it was hard to be happy when the same nightmare woke you up every night.

Which is why you’re now crouching on the floor of the hanger, situated under a wing, and trying your hardest to do something to it. It’s been a few hours since you first got it, and it was getting to the point where the thought of quitting replaced any other thought in your mind given nothing was budging. Maybe they did this intentionally.

As your wrench slips off of the bolt again, you let out a groan. Your mood is only exacerbated when you hear footsteps fall behind you, and you close your eyes in waiting to hear whatever he is going to say.

Poe snickers, “You know, it would probably be easier to take the entire thing apart compared to whatever you’re trying to do.”

You shoot a glare behind your shoulder to your newly appointed guard and find a grin beginning to lift the corners of his mouth. With a small shake of your head, you go back to your attempt at getting this bolt out. To at least have one success today.

“I guess I’ve been thinking wrong about your role with the Resistance. All this time, I thought you were just a glorified lap dog, but apparently, you’re a droid as well.” The wrench slips off of the bolt again and you let your arm weakly fall to your side as you rub your temple with your free one.

There’s a silence filled with the sounds of the hanger before Poe responds, “I know you probably think that’s an insult, but droids are super useful.”

A small laugh escapes you and you take the rejuvenation as a chance to continue trying to take out a bolt, but the wrench still won’t catch its curves. Throughout your entire time sitting next to this machine, you’ve done nothing but move to different sections with each failed attempt at even taking it apart. You take the hint with a sigh, deciding to call it quits. With a grumble, you toss the wrench down and slide a hand down your face in exasperation.

“And you know, that’s what I’ve been trying to do, but all of these stupid bolts are practically stripped.” You turn your head to where he’s standing behind you, cooly sipping the caf he just came back with. After a moment of just watching you, he takes another sip while walking, then crouches next to you to get a better look. He hums after appraising it and stands back up.

“Yeah, they’re definitely stripped all right. I would help, but I don’t have the upgrades yet to take those kinds of bolts out.” He lifts his hands and makes a turning motion starting with his wrists, mimicking a droid. You roll your eyes. 

“I could go get a buddy of mine for a price.” A smile begins to lift the corners of his lips, with you fighting the one on your own that wants to match his. It physically pained you that you were on the cusp of giving him the satisfaction of laughing at his behavior again, but you cave, your face getting warm with the effort of holding it in.

You let out an airy chuckle, “I’m afraid the only thing I have to offer here is a cup of caf. Other than that, you’re out of luck.”

“Then I’m in luck because I was just starting to run out.” He shakes his cup so you can hear its nearly empty sloshing. 

You stand up from your crouch to be closer to his height than you were and motion to the cup, “Didn’t you just come back with that?”

He shrugs, “...So, do you want me to get BB?”

You shake your head, “No, this thing is out of commission anyway. I was just using this to give me something to do.” Poe’s eyebrows begin to pull together and he opens his mouth as if he wants to talk, but nothing comes out.

“Actually…this is one of our backup fighters.” Your mouth falls open slightly in disbelief. There’s no way this hunk of junk has any chance of going up against a First Order fighter. 

“You’re lying–” You cross your arms across your chest, “I specifically asked for a decommissioned ship. Why would you guys give me a backup fighter?” 

“Maybe people are starting to trust you,” he shrugs again and takes another sip from his cup.

You point back at B-wing that has rust flaking off of it with every breath of a breeze that comes into the hangar. “That thing is hardly near the condition to be put into battle. It’s basically a death trap.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a death trap, necessarily.” He hands you his now-empty cup, which you take without questioning, and lifts himself to get into the cockpit. “Look.” He says, but now you start to question his decisions.

“Wha–Poe…” You step closer to him, your head now at where his feet are dangling as he shimmies in.  

You gawk at him, “That is definitely not safe. Get down.”

He shoots you an amused look when he’s seated, “You said I sounded like a droid and now here you are sounding like a mother.” You purse your lips in aggravation. The nerve of this guy. B-wings aren’t something to play with.

“Someone clearly needs the influence if they’re attempting to fly a machine of certain death.” 

He laughs and playfully rolls his eyes, “You know, you’re pretty funny. Maybe not as funny as me, but you’re up there.” Your eyebrows pull together, and you try to get a response, but he’s lifted into the air before you’re able to.

At the sound of the engine struggling to start, you take a few paces back on the off-chance the engine explodes and you wince at the noises it lets out once it comes alive. 

Out of nowhere, someone steps in front of the fighter to direct him out and you mumble expletives under your breath. He’s going to get himself killed. With a sigh, you run over to the person, shouting, “Hey! What are you doing? This thing isn’t cleared for take-off!”

“It is if I’m standing in front of it. I’m only here because it was cleared.” She continues to direct Poe with the sticks in her hands, backing up slowly. You step away too and throw the cockpit a look of utter confusion as Poe just waves at you. In return, you twirl your index finger by your forehead mouthing ‘You’re crazy.’

He laughs, pumping his fist excitedly. You stand there until he’s out of the hangar completely, making enough space for when he decides to take off, which he quickly does–a plume of white smoke following him. You stare up at the sky as he recklessly does tricks and flips, the rest of the people outside also stopping what they’re doing to watch him. You look around at all of the people you know are stroking his ego and you shake your head. With a sharp turn, you walk back into the hangar and throw the cup you’ve been holding into the trash before walking back to your room.

-----

Little time passes before you hear the door to your room open, and you look from your point on the bed to the strutting man who walks in with shameless confidence. With an unamused grunt, you turn your attention back to the holopad and the manual pulled up for the B-wing starfighter.

“Did you have fun?” You don’t spare a glance at him as he sits down next to your legs.

“Proving you wrong? Absolutely.” You give him a quick unimpressed look before going back to your reading material. 

He leans in a little, not being able to help himself from being nosey. “What are you reading?” 

“I’m just further cementing the idea that what you did was reckless and dangerous and the people here need to stop enabling you.”

He laughs, “If everyone were to do that, they’d lose the best pilot in the galaxy.”

Your eyebrows pull together and put your attention on him, “Is that what you call yourself?”

He leans away from you and it looks as if he puffs out his chest before he responds, “It’s what I’m known for.”

You give an amused huff, drawing your eyes back to the pad, “Clearly must be the reason why I had never heard of you and your tricks before I switched sides.”

“Ouch.” He fake winces and grips the middle of his chest, the fabric of his shirt wrinkling in his hand. Seeing he didn’t get your attention, he releases his chest and leans down to where his elbows rest on his knees. A comfortable silence stills between you, the only other sound heard being the two of your breathing and the slide of your finger up the holopad as you scroll.

Just as you’re beginning to melt into your bed since Poe’s arrival, he ruins the silence with his agitating, grating voice. “I wasn’t done with that caf, by the way.”

You drop the holopad to your chest, the clap of it hitting your chest echoing the walls. “It was empty.”

He hums, “I could’ve kept using it.”

You tsk and roll to your side, facing the wall and pulling up the manual again. Unbeknownst to you, Poe’s eyes trail to the exposed skin from where your shirt is pulled against your mattress, a deep need filling his body to just touch it and slide his hands up and down your back. He wanted to know what it felt like as he held you, to rest his head in the place where your neck meets your shoulder…know what sound you would give him if he licked there. The twitch of his cock interrupts his thoughts and he stands up with a harsh cough. You look over your shoulder with concern, “Are you okay?”

“My throat’s a little dry with the reminder you threw my cup away. I’m gonna go grab something.” He goes to leave in a hurry to hide his quickly wakening problem. 

“General Leia made a poor choice to have you as my guard. You don't do it very well,” you say, a hint of disapproval in your voice.

“I didn’t ask for this position,” he snaps, so you can either join me or shut up.” At his words, he can hear the rustle of your sheets as you turn, and he can only imagine the look you’re giving him right now. If he wasn’t overstimulated at the prospect of you finding his dick hard, he’d probably laugh.

“Okay, fine…Maker.” He takes a quick glance at you as you slide up into a sitting position to grab your shoes at the end of the bed and put one on. “I guess it’ll be my job to save yours,” you grumble.

As you put on the other one, he looks away from you and subtly tucks his issue under his waistband, hoping you’re still fooling with your shoes. Gliding a hand down his middle and past his waistline, he tries to check to see if anything is visible. He releases a low sigh of relief at his check, and the huge weight of anxiety leaves his body when he looks back at you and sees you’re just now standing up, mumbling under your breath as you glare at the floor.

As expected, you shoot him the same glare you just killed the floor with and he receives it with a smile. Your eyes flit across his face, perplexed at his sudden mood change. 

“You give me whiplash,” you say with a tone of irritation, walking past him and out of the door. He quickly follows, the sound of the set of your feet hitting the floor echoes in the hall of the base as he smiles to himself. There are only a few paces done before he responds.

“The feeling’s mutual, sweetheart,” he rubs at the places where your hands connected to his chest a few days ago, “I can still feel the whiplash you gave me right here.” With the last sentence, he decides that instead of rubbing at the spots, he should point at them with his index fingers and make a sort of puppy frown face as he does so. You take a look at him from the corner of your eye and shake your head.

“Don’t remind me,” you briefly close your eyes to will the memory of the interaction away. You couldn’t believe he gave you the option to stay in your room and still decided to go with him anyway. As if to dig into the ever-growing wound, he doesn’t let up.

He gives a dry laugh and claps both of his hands on your shoulders, lightly shaking you as the two of you walk, “Trust me, I’m never letting you live that down.”

You reciprocate his laugh in a more mocking manner and slide his hands off of your shoulders, “I never expected you to. That would require you to be a little more mature.”

He’s silent for a moment. 

“To be fair, you’re not the first one to have shoved me based on a rumor, so maybe I should just add you to my story list and call a truce.” You nod while he pauses, “But that wouldn’t be fun. It brightens my day to see Miss Former Commander embarrassed.” He grins as he waits for your response while staring at your face.

You only look at him blankly before you go back to looking straight ahead.

He sighs dramatically, “Okay, okay, I get the point. I’ll leave it for another day.” Silence hangs between the two of you momentarily before he breaks it, “Sorry for snapping at you, there’s…not really an excuse for it...” He trails off and rubs the nape of his neck while looking at the floor.

The two of you get to the doors of the cafeteria and you face him, “Water under the bridge. It’s pretty mild compared to the things I’m used to.” You offer a light smile to show him that you’re okay, especially his apology bandage helping heal the horror. He reciprocates your smile and gives a single nod. The two of you stare at each other, the break in the conversation making you slightly awkward before you hear a crowd shouting in the caf. Your smiles turn into concern just as you trigger the doors.

When they open, your attention is immediately drawn to a crowd that is situated in the middle of the room, three people being surrounded by it as several encourage whatever is happening. You tsk and relax, your thoughts of something more serious going on puffing out of existence. 

There’s either an arm wrestle or some kind of food-related bet going on, you think. As you both walk towards the commotion, it becomes more evident that a fight is happening rather than a tame bet, the sounds of flesh meeting flesh and a lone groan coming from the middle of the crowd.

You and Poe exchange a concerned look again and the two of you push through the crowd. The people you shove past hurl nasty insults to whoever is being attacked; some along the lines of ‘You don’t belong here,’ ‘You’re going to get everyone here killed,’ ‘You’re a waste of resources.’ As you hear each one, you bristle more and more as you know exactly who such kinds of insults would be used against. When you break past the last line of people surrounding the three, your fears are confirmed.

Denel is being attacked.

#enemies to friends to lovers #enemies to lovers #poe dameron #poe dameron smut #poe dameron x female reader #poe dameron x reader smut #poe dameron angst #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron/reader

[feeder86]

Bro Code

Oscar sighed, coming out of another entertainment interview and feeling completely drained after pretending to be upbeat about the show’s season finale and its renewal for season four. His jaws ached from the smiling and he ran over in his mind the questions he had stumbled on, again and again. Every interviewer, no matter who was conducting it, seemed to want him to address the rumours about the on-set tension. They’d brought it on themselves in a way. His chemistry with Dean on the screen was something all the early reviewers had applauded; the media were always going to be out for blood at the merest hint of tension behind the scenes.

The show had always been an unlikely hit: a romantic, crime-drama series, featuring a gay superhero and his male love interest. Oscar had been thrilled to get the part three years ago, although the production company had been clear that he hadn’t been their first choice. After the pilot, there had been an outcry that the original actor for Oscar’s part was straight. LGBTQI groups had petitioned and made their voices heard loud and clear that that sort of casting was not something they were willing to take lightly. So, only days before full production was set to begin, Oscar had been shipped out to Los Angeles to take over the role and, as far as he was concerned, it had all been downhill from there.

The set had been toxic from day one: a battleground of nepotism and inflated egos. Oscar had got the sense that he was just a necessary evil to the producers. He did his job, helped to pull in the viewers and allowed the show to continue rolling on; but they didn’t have to like him or show any recognition that he was a vital part of their success. The heart of the problem was, and always had been the lead actor himself, Dean Greg. With his family owning a major share in the production company, Dean had strolled straight into the lead role of The Silence; a lesser-known comic book superhero of the late 2000s, and one of the first to be openly gay. Oscar had grown up watching Dean on another show, a teen comedy the guy had gone into straight after finishing high school; Dean’s family had owned that production too. It was partly why Oscar had taken the role on this show so eagerly, despite his blossoming career in the UK; the opportunity to be the love interest for Dean Greg on a prime time show. He could practically hear his sixteen year old self screaming in excitement at the idea. But the Dean he imagined in his head was very different to the reality.

There was a certain skill to Hollywood arrogance and entitlement, but Dean had seemed to master it well. Perhaps it would have been more forgivable if Dean had brought something outstanding to the show, but the reality was, he was nothing special. The man was a comedy actor, and the dark, brooding tone of the show seemed to clash rather remarkably with his style. Oscar had lost count of the number of late finishes he had had, with Dean needing take after take to get things right. If it had been Oscar causing that sort of pressure on the production, he could just imagine what would have been said to him; but not the golden boy.

Back in the days when Oscar watched Dean on his old TV show, ‘Bro Code’, the idea that the guy would one day play a muscle-bound superhero wasn’t immediately obvious. Sure, Dean’s impressive height and build were already there, but he was also pretty overweight and not at all toned. His character, Codey, had been a loveable idiot, lazy and comically laid back about everything in life. Oscar’s crush on him had been deep and he sometimes felt that when he dated guys, he was constantly, and ridiculously, comparing them to the entirely fictional character he had fallen in love with back in his teens.

“Are you worried about type-casting?” asked the next interviewer with a sickly smile; as if she wasn’t asking a question that poked at one of Oscar's biggest worries.

“Not really,” Oscar lied. “I don’t plan on staying in Los Angeles once the show wraps up.” Inwardly, he kicked himself. The producers always told him to never talk about the show ending. Like the superhero it portrayed, they wanted it to be perceived as invincible. “What I mean is,” he clarified, “I’d want to return to the UK and take on some projects there instead. But that’s way, way off in the future. The show still has many more left in it.” he added, hoping that that might prevent him from getting a telling off later.

“Now to the question that everyone is asking,” the interviewer went on. “You and Dean make such a lovely pairing on screen. But, rumour has it that you two don’t actually get along in real life. What can you tell us about that?”

Stifling the urge to sigh in defeat, Oscar simply smiled politely back and prepared to lie for the hundredth time that day. The superlatives that he used to describe his co-star rolled off his tongue with ease, as he denied, quite emphatically, that there was anything but perfect harmony on set. He knew, as well as everyone else did, that that illusion had to be maintained at all times.

The summer break slipped away all too soon and Oscar’s dread about returning was amplified when he read that the first episode was to be shot by a director he particularly despised. He’d clashed with the guy since the first season, and despite making several complaints about the sexist, bullying and outright homophobic ramblings of the man, here he was again, invited back to direct another six episodes this year. The superhero genre wasn’t especially Oscar’s thing. He looked over the scripts, wondering where the fan interest even came from. Episode two read almost word for word like a story they had done back in season two. Then again, he thought with a thrill of excitement, if the viewing figures declined, maybe they wouldn’t get picked up next year!

Dean’s new girlfriend was hovering about on the set, making a nuisance of herself and, inexplicably, getting away with it. Oscar rolled his eyes at the double standards. Unlike the actor who had previously had his part in the pilot, Dean had declared himself bisexual in order to keep his role when all the critics started petitioning the casting. It was all a joke. Oscar had never once seen the guy with anyone other than blonde, petit, plastic-looking things with oversized breasts that made them look overbalanced and ready to topple over.

Oscar climbed into his trailer and collapsed onto his couch, burying his head under the cushions. “Arsehole!” he growled, having just been belittled by his most hated director. “Get me out of this fucking shithole!” he complained into the fabric of the sofa. 

Just then, Oscar heard the flush of his toilet and he jumped in surprise. Someone was in his trailer! He sat bolt upright and watched the door swing open. Then, shockingly, Dean looked at him, seemingly irritated that Oscar was even there.

“What are you doing in my trailer?” Oscar asked, disgusted by the invasion into his private space.

“Hiding,” Dean simply replied. “They’ve got some sort of fan experience thing… someone who won a competition to enable them to spend a day on set with me. I don’t know - something along those lines. It’s all bullshit. I’m not due on set for another hour and no one will ever find me in here.” With that, he parked himself down heavily on the chair and grabbed his cell phone, already plugged in and charging from the wall.

“You could have asked first,” Oscar mumbled. “This is the only place I have for myself.”

Dean swiped through his phone and seemed entirely disinterested. “Yeah, I heard your little rant. Who’s pissed you off now?” he asked in a tired and disinterested voice. 

“It’s nothing,” Oscar spat through gritted teeth. He didn’t have the sort of relationship with Dean where he could discuss anything. Plus, he was always likely to go reporting back to his family and stir up a whole new load of issues, accusing Oscar of being a trouble-maker. With no friends here, Oscar usually knew his only option was to suffer in silence. He looked at Dean, making himself at home in his trailer and felt the pit of dread in his stomach at the thought of going back out on set. That was when his rage boiled over. “I just can’t fucking wait for this show to be over already.” he almost shouted. “There’s no way in hell I’m coming back next year!”

Dean smirked, still looking at his cell phone. “I don’t like your chances. My dad will sue your ass in the blink of an eye if you try to back out of your contract.”

Oscar huffed in annoyance, but that flat, brutal reminder was enough to silence his complaints, and he simply sat there, grinding his teeth, wishing that Dean would just get the fuck out of his trailer.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t want to be here any more than you do,” Dean stated breezily back. “I never even wanted to do this show in the first place.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, not believing a word of it. “You fucking love it,” he countered. “Or is it stressful being everybody’s golden boy?”

“I’m only here because I have it in my contract that my dad will sign over the rights to my old TV show to me,” Dean stated frankly, looking up from his cell phone at last. “You really think I want to spend the whole of my summer off doing insane workouts and nutrition plans just to play a dumb superhero role?”

Oscar thought for a second. “You want to reboot Bro Code?” he asked in disbelief.

“That show was the best job I ever had,” Dean laughed, with a smile of fond memories on his face. “It wasn’t even acting. I just turned up and said my lines. There was none of this fantasy bullshit to try and make convincing. If I’m honest, I can’t even follow half the scripts for this show.”

The fanboy in Oscar quivered inside. “I’d be over the moon if you ever did manage to bring Bro Code back!” he smiled. “I know pretty much every single line of all six seasons!”

“Really?” Dean asked, sounding mildly interested. “I didn’t know you’d ever seen it.”

Oscar resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He’d only talked about his great love of Dean’s old show in every single one of his interviews to promote their series. In one fan-favourite interview, he’d been asked to do a ‘Bro Code’ quiz against some supernerds, coming out victorious. He’d always known that Dean didn’t have an ounce of interest in him, so it was hardly surprising that he didn’t watch any of his interviews on TV.

“So, if I did manage to get the show rebooted, where do you think my character, Codey, would be now? Eight years later?” Dean asked, turning a little, like he was genuinely interested in what Oscar might have to say.

Oscar inhaled excitedly. It was exactly the sort of conversation he had been dying to have with Dean for years; back before he knew what a self-absorbed jerk he was. “Codey would be living the life of his dreams,” he chuckled. “That guy always landed on his feet!”

Dean nodded in agreement. 

“He’d have married some super-hot chick; probably a chef or something. Everyone would be really jealous of that. He loves his food, so he’s probably eaten so much of her cooking that he’s absolutely enormous by now. But… you know what Codey is like. He’d love it. It would make him feel more masculine. He’d call the other characters puny…”

Oscar was about to reel off a great many more ideas about where he saw the character now, but Dean’s face made him stop. The man’s jaw had dropped and he stared at Oscar with an almost indescribable expression. “That’s EXACTLY where I see him now as well!” Dean exclaimed. “Right down to the super-hot chef as his wife! I’ve asked so many people that question and no-one has ever come close to having the same vision as me!”

“Really?” Oscar asked, genuinely perplexed. “But it’s so obvious!”

Despite the fact that Oscar was pulled back onto set not long afterwards, things between him and Dean seemed to change quite a lot after that day. At first, he was perplexed to see Dean coming to see him in his trailer (never once knocking first), but pretty soon, it became something of a norm. Dean was deadly serious about wanting to bring back his old show, and he gradually began to share his notebooks, storyboards and jokes that he’d been storing up since he’d successfully negotiated the rights to the show from his family; only coming into effect once the current show ended. Laughter began to emerge from the trailer as the pair of them bounced gags off each other and came up with more and more potential plotlines. Within a few short weeks, there was enough material for a full 22-episode season, and possibly more. It was amazing how many stories Codey’s size would create as well; stuff that had never ever been done on television before.

“Won’t you be fed up of wearing a fat suit though?” Oscar asked, as Dean began describing one of the physical comedy sequences he could play out.

“No, I plan to gain the weight for real,” Dean stated with certainly. “Fat suits are for losers. They never look right either.”

“But… your abs…” Oscar mumbled, thinking back to the shirtless scene he’d done with Dean only that morning.

“They’re going!” Dean chuckled, rubbing his flat stomach. “As soon as this shit show ends, I’m going to be downing pints of whipping cream, stuffing doughnuts down my throat and having as many ten thousand calorie days as I can.” He seems more excited by that idea than Oscar had ever seen him. “And I can’t fucking wait!” he smiled.

Late September hit and the fourth season that they had been working on for over two months finally began to air. Reviews for the season opener had been mixed, but as episode two, three and four went out, there was a slow crisis building on set. The writers’ complacency had turned around to bite them. All of Oscar’s concerns about the scripts were being noticed by the fans: the circular storylines, the similarity of the episodes to previous seasons’. Overnight ratings were way down on last year. But, despite the grim looks of the producers, the atmosphere in Oscar’s trailer was one of absolute joy.

“Here’s to finishing in fourth place for our time slot!” Dean grinned, raising a cheeky beer that had been sat at the back of Oscar’s refrigerator for weeks. 

Oscar sat with him, pouring over the reviews and fan comments online. They laughed and began to speculate on how episode five would go down the following week.

“One beer and I’m feeling light headed!” Dean chuckled. “My personal trainers and nutritionist haven’t let me had one of these bad boys in ages!”

“Well, if things keep nose diving like this, you’ll be able to have as many beers as you like soon enough!” Oscar grinned. The possibility of the show getting cancelled had been all he had ever dreamed about for years. However, now he was celebrating that small hope with the one thing he had been lacking on set all that time: a friend.

In response to the damning reviews and lacklustre ratings, the writers had embarked on a mad flurry of rewrites. Each day, new pages were being delivered. Oscar laughed at the flaws in their panicked ideas; plot points that were being abandoned and others that directly contradicted things that had happened in previous seasons. Dean nodded along, pleased to know that it was all likely to go in their favour; although he openly admitted that he didn’t follow, or even understand much about the show and its storylines. “Apparently, this website says it’s 50/50 whether we get renewed next year,” Oscar reported, staring down at his cell phone during their break.

Dean stood up and helped himself to the beer he now kept in Oscar’s trailer, away from those who would scorn him for drinking it. “That’s still a fifty percent chance we’re going to be dragged back here next year,” he grumbled. “There’s got to be a way we can bring those odds more in our favour.

Oscar watched as Dean sat himself down sluggishly on the sofa, grabbing a cookie from the pack he had smuggled in that morning. His old image of Dean as the vain, egocentric jerk was slowly fading away. He’d come to see, just as Dean had always said, how similar the guy was to his character, Codey, on Bro Code. What would Codey do in a situation like this?

“Well, I do have one idea…” Oscar began, his heart racing surprisingly fast as the thought came into his mind. “You could always start… gaining a few pounds.”

Dean stared at him in surprise.

Oscar felt the need to justify himself. “I mean, you were planning on gaining weight anyway. But if the execs were on the fence about renewing us… a few extra pounds on the titular character’s body wouldn’t hurt.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose and he clearly pictured it in his mind. “Yeah,” he nodded; his smile getting wider and wider. “I think that could work.” He seemed to rub his stomach mindlessly. “It wouldn’t take much. My personal trainer has me so lean, just ten pounds would send everyone into a tailspin. It’d be obvious.” He sat up, like his mind was whirring into life: how he could do it, how fast it could be achieved. “This is an awesome idea!” he nodded. “Oscar, I think you’ve found the answer to all our problems!”

As far as Dean was concerned, the timing was absolutely perfect. Thanksgiving was coming up, and if that didn’t do it, the holidays certainly would. Mysterious boxes began arriving for Oscar’s trailer and he chuckled when he saw what was inside: fresh deliveries for a hungry guy, determined to lose his job. 

“...and a full can of condensed milk,” Dean boasted, listing off the ingredients for a calorie shake he had made himself the night before.

“And you actually drank all that?” Oscar asked, chuckling in amazement. 

“It was actually delicious!” Dean grinned. “There are loads of similar recipes online for guys trying to gain a few pounds. There’s so much information as well. If you really want it, you can blow up in no time.”

“And what does Jessica think of you downing these calorie shakes when you get home?”  Oscar asked, thinking about Dean’s girlfriend; now six months into their relationship.

“I haven’t told her about our plan,” Dean stated, sounding as if he believed it was none of her business. “She’ll see the results soon enough,” he chuckled, slapping his middle with excitement. “Then she can decide whether it’s something she’s willing to put up with or not. I’m not all that bothered, either way.” He reached across to the box of doughnuts sitting on the small table and took his fifth one that day, biting into it greedily; the largest bite Oscar had ever seen anyone take. He raised it up, like making a toast and mumbled with an almost full mouth, “I’ve got to hand it to you, Oscar,” he nodded. “This is the best fucking idea you’ve ever had!”

Production on the show took a break midway through December, just as it had done every year. Oscar was straight on the plane, heading back to the UK. Although he had managed to keep his unhappiness working on the show away from the public eye, his family all knew and sympathised with him; knowing of the struggles he had had. Now there really did feel like a reason to celebrate. With only four months of filming remaining, Oscar could really be about  to be home for good soon.

Dean’s smirk was written all over his face as he arrived at work that January. He’d been late and had rushed through make-up, so Oscar only saw him as he arrived on set, ready for their steamy sex scene that would open an episode, set to air at the end of February. Dean looked entirely refreshed from the break, dressed in his bath robes and strutting on to the bedroom set looking surprisingly pleased with himself.

“Did you have a nice break?” Oscar asked casually. Somehow, Dean’s smile seemed infectious and he felt his spirit lift, just being around the man. 

“Very good!” Dean nodded, almost knowingly. “I had the most fun I’ve ever had in my life,” he replied; before the director came over to the two of them to talk them through the scene. 

Dean seemed impatient to get going; only just resisting the urge to talk over the director as he impatiently bounced about, waiting to start shooting. Then the moment came. He pulled off his robe, revealing his built shoulders, letting the thick material fall to the ground. All of a sudden, the man was stood there, naked but for his boxer shorts; and the most terrible intake of breath was heard all over the set. All eyes were on Dean’s body. Over the break, a rounded little paunch had started to pop out under his muscular chest. It was meaty and his core remained undoubtedly strong, but it was packed tight and bloated-looking, spreading around to the side so that even from behind his gain was more than evident.

“What’s the matter?” Dean asked, knowing full well why nobody had moved an inch. His grin was one of complete pleasure at his own cleverness and he clapped his hands together, relishing every minute. “Let’s get this party started!”

Unsurprisingly, they were late to begin filming that day. Oscar wasn’t privy to the flurry of phone calls that were going on in the offices. Some pretty high up executives had just been given a very nasty headache on the first day back. Not that Oscar saw any of that. He’d been swept away to film his scenes for later on in the day, while Dean was clearly getting a grilling from someone. Not wanting to get behind on filming, it had been a rush to alter the schedule for the day, and Oscar already knew that he wouldn’t be getting home until very late that night. What on earth had Dean done? Oscar had suggested that he gained a few pounds to hide his six pack a little, but nothing like this! Dean had gone full-on beast-mode, growing a little pot belly in a matter of weeks! The image of it stuck in Oscar’s mind; a sight he would never forget; so bizarrely rounded and full on a man so athletic.

It wasn’t until the next day that Oscar saw Dean again. He’d heard rumours on set that their bloated superhero was to commence filming again that afternoon, but there had been no sign of him. However, there he was, sat on Oscar’s couch as he went back to his trailer for a twenty minute lunch break. His grin lit up the room as Oscar entered and he raised a cool beer up in the air, as if they were celebrating.

“Where the hell have you been?” Oscar blasted as soon as the door was closed.

“Crisis talks!” Dean laughed. “I’ve had so many people breathing down my neck for the last twenty-four hours, you wouldn’t believe it!” He lifted up his shirt to reveal his rounded stomach. “They pretty much painted on a six pack! Like that’s going to fool anyone! They made some clever changes to the costumes and have pretty much decided to hide my belly as much as possible. Apparently, they brought in some lady who’s a specialist at helping conceal pregnancies on screen. Can you believe that?!”

Oscar stared at the completely unconvincing six pack on Dean’s body. He felt a burning curiosity inside himself; like he wanted to ask Dean to remove his shirt entirely and let him explore all the changes properly. “I can’t believe you did this…” was all he could manage to string together.

“It’s insane, isn’t it?” Dean laughed, grabbing an actual wedge of fat on his middle and jiggling it. He reached out, grabbing Oscar’s arm and then slapping the hand down on his rounded middle.

“It’s actually soft!” Oscar shot straight away, trying to ignore the strange arousal he felt.

“It’s fat! That’s why!” Dean chuckled, releasing Oscar’s wrist. “Gain thirty pounds and this…” he pointed directly at his stomach “...is exactly what happens to you!”

“Thirty?” Oscar asked, unsure about whether he was surprised by that number or not. “I thought we said you’d gain ten pounds?”

“Once you start, it’s hard to stop!” Dean laughed at himself, slapping his little belly once more with pride. “This has been the best thing I have ever done. I finally feel like I’m starting to remember who I used to be. I was never into the whole super-ripped body thing. I just got sucked down this strange, narcissistic path because they all told me I’d never work again unless I became what they wanted.”

“What does Jessica think?” Oscar asked next.

“She flew back to Australia to be with her folks over the holidays. She gets back tomorrow. But, who cares?” Dean sighed, still looking pleased with himself. “It’s you I’ve been looking forward to showing. I’ve not told anyone, you know. Fattening me up is still our secret.”

Oscar didn’t know whether Dean meant it or not, but the whole situation suddenly felt a lot more intimate. When he saw Dean rubbing his stomach, it seemed like he was doing so only for him. They shared a look of mutual appreciation.

“We have to be careful from now on,” Oscar stated warningly. “If they get wind that we’re deliberately trying to sabotage the show, we’re in deep shit. You may be related to them, but I’d bet anything that they’d sue and try to take back the rights to ‘Bro Code’ from you. This little belly will have to be it for now. You can’t gain any more.”

Dean pulled a face. “I know you’re right, but I don’t want to stop.” He rubbed his stomach more now; like it comforted him to know his abs had been smothered with a protective layer of fat. “Now that I’ve started, I just want to keep going.”

“Please!” Oscar begged, his heart racing with panic. “We’ve got to slow this thing down. At least until we get official confirmation that the show is cancelled. Then I’ll happily stuff you full of doughnuts myself!” he joked, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Dean’s eyebrows rose and a boyish smirk came to his face. “You promise?” he asked in an almost flirtatious manner.

A second attempt on the opening scene was being made that afternoon. A couple of changes were being made, whereby Oscar would be the one to walk in half-naked, instead of Dean, who would now be lying in bed, under the sheets. They’d talked it through at a rapid pace, trying to get back on track with the schedule. The sheets were to be draped over them, but the hands would roam and the focus would most likely be on the kissing. That was something new for the show and Oscar felt strangely nervous as he climbed into the bed as they began filming. 

In contrast, Dean seemed more relaxed than Oscar had ever seen him during these types of scenes. They’d shared many kisses over the four seasons, but to Oscar, this felt almost like the first time; the first time he was doing it when he actually felt something for the man he had mostly despised up until now. Dean’s large hand held the back of Oscar’s head, pulling him in. Their lips parted and embraced, exhaling passionately a moment later. Oscar could smell the sugary doughnuts on the guy’s breath and couldn’t help feeling excited that Dean had quietly indulged himself somewhere, even after the stark warnings he had tried his best to emphasise to him. He dove in, trying to use that passion for the character, and Dean came back to more than match it. Simultaneously, their lips parted and they both went deeper. They hadn’t discussed using tongues before shooting, but now that they were in the moment, it seemed entirely natural. Now Oscar could taste the sugar on Dean’s tongue and it was sending him into an abyss of lust. He should have stopped the scene as soon as he felt himself getting hard, but, against every one of his professional values, he’d let the scene continue. He felt Dean roll into him more and he winced when he felt their pelvises rub into each other. Then he felt it, and everything was suddenly okay. Dean was hard as well. Their eyes met, knowingly, and the scene rumbled on.

“Cut!” called the director after capturing the final shot. “Guys, that was absolutely amazing!”

“I thought you’d agreed to cool the weight gain for now?” Oscar asked a few weeks later, as Dean pulled out a beer from Oscar's trailer refrigerator.

Dean unpopped the lid and smirked. “I’ve still got to make sure I don’t lose any,” he replied cheekily. “The personal trainer they got for me has been absolutely brutal,” he complained, despite raising his arm and flexing the extraordinary size of his bicep. He finished with a satisfied round of patting on his little stomach, then sat himself down heavily, enjoying the taste of his beer. “Apparently they’re all on edge upstairs. They’re getting the phone call from the network on Friday, letting us know if we’re wrapping up for good this year.”

“That’s happening on Friday?” Oscar asked nervously. In previous years, they had known before the holidays about their renewal. However, back then it had been an easy call to make. This year, with falling viewing figures and declining quality, they’d left them stewing until there were only seven more weeks of filming remaining. He immediately picked up his cell phone and began texting. “My agent in the UK is almost as desperate as me to find out whether we’re cancelled or not.”

“Your agent in the UK?” Dean asked, as if this had been the last thing he had expected to hear. “You’re planning to do some work in the UK after we wrap?”

“I plan to move back completely after this job ends,” Oscar stated simply. “I don’t think I’m quite cut out for the US.”

“What ‘s wrong with the US?” Dean asked a little defensively.

“It’s been the worst time of my life working on this show,” Oscar explained. “Is it any surprise that I just want to get the hell out of here? Los Angeles is such a bizarre place, full of egos, expectations and narcissism. Then there’s the politics and the gun culture…” he sighed. “No, it’s definitely not for me.”

Dean looked red, like he had just been slapped across the face. He upturned his beer and drained it down his throat, stepping back up and announcing that he needed to get back on set.

Oscar had never assumed that Dean would be someone who was so patriotic. With their characters currently split up during some weird alien planet saga that had overtaken everything else during this season, they hadn’t been working together for a couple of days. However, Dean also hadn’t been over to see Oscar in his trailer as he usually did.

The news came that Friday morning, just as Oscar had been hoping. Everyone had been called onto set with glum faces, expecting the worst. Oscar’s look of disappointment was one of the best acting performances of his career. The show was cancelled, ending, kaput, dead! Freedom was coming! He no longer cared that Dean was sulking with him, strolling straight over to Dean’s trailer that afternoon. He knocked on the door, giving Dean the courtesy that he had never received, and waited until Dean came into view. Not a word was said as their eyes met. Dean simply acknowledged him and then nodded his head for Oscar to enter.

Oscar looked around the trailer to make sure no one else was there before he burst out in excitement. “I can’t believe it! Can you? We’re finally free of this shit show!”

Dean didn’t share any signs of excitement, but simply trotted over to the kitchenette to lean against the countertop and survey Oscar more carefully.

“Aren’t you excited?” Oscar asked. Surely whatever had upset him the other day paled into insignificance now?

“It’s the best news ever,” Dean replied, without a trace of enthusiasm in his voice.

“Well… you could tell your face…” Oscar mumbled, feeling Dean’s low mood starting to bring him down too. 

Silence followed. The pair stared at each other in a way that wouldn’t have been possible had they not grown so close over the last few months.

“I don’t want you to go back to the UK,” Dean finally stated. “I just kinda assumed that… with all the work we’ve been doing, plotting out the new show, you’d want to stick around and see it through with me.”

Oscar felt touched. The idea that Dean had been upset because of his departure had never occurred to him and he told him so.

“I’m going to be going through a lot of changes soon,” Dean went on, mindlessly rubbing his middle. “Big changes. And I kinda want someone there who I can trust. Someone I can work with to get back into character.”

“What are you suggesting?” Oscar asked. “Are you looking for someone to produce it with you? Because… I’m not so sure I’ve got the skills for that sort of thing.”

“Are you kidding?” Dean chuckled. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. Our best ideas for the rebooted show have come straight out of that strange and marvellous head of yours!” He seemed to be thinking on his feet, giving the impression that there was a rush of words trying to gush their way out of his mouth. “All you have to do is glance at one of the scripts for this show and you know exactly what’s wrong with them. Everything that went downhill this season, you called it straight away: every plot flaw, every continuity error, every lame attempt at melodrama, you saw it first. You’re just… incredible! Of course I want you to produce the show alongside me.”

Oscar could feel himself blushing. He’d never particularly enjoyed receiving compliments and he squirmed under Dean’s praise.

“I watched one of the interviews you did a couple of years ago. In fact, I watched almost all of them that I could still find online. You said that you found it easy to pretend that you’re in love with me for the show because you pictured Codey from Bro Code when you perform. You said that you compare every other man you meet to Codey and they always come up short. Is that true?” Dean asked.

It was the second time that Oscar had been stunned that day. The thought of Dean spending his time studying past interviews he had done seemed almost surreal. He tried to shrug off the embarrassment and retreated, promising Dean that he would consider the incredible offer he had just made.

Things lightened between Dean and Oscar after that. With only four episodes left to shoot, an incredible barrage of rewrites were being thrust upon them to bring the show to a climactic finale. The fanbase had been outraged at the cancellation and the inevitable petitions to save the show were already underway.

“Hey, go easy!” Oscar chuckled, pulling a box of doughnuts away from Dean as he slobbed out in his trailer. “We’re not finished with the show just yet. You’re going to give the costume department even more of a headache if you carry on like this!”

Dean laughed and pulled the box back towards him. “Fuck it!” he cheered. “I’ve already told them I’m not doing any more shirtless scenes.” He pulled up the bottom of his t-shirt and flapped it over so that his belly button was on show. His stomach looked bloated; either from the six doughnuts he had just eaten, or from the longer term impact of his new, more relaxed diet. Nevertheless, Dean stared down at his small tummy as if it was the thing he was most proud of in the entire world. “I’m only taking on fat boy parts from now on.”

Oscar chuckled, revelling in Dean’s hedonistic attitude; so much different to the Dean he had known before. Dean smiled too, rubbing his little stomach and moaning as he took another huge, greedy bite of a fresh doughnut; all in aid of making Oscar laugh even more. “You’re so bad!” Oscar teased him. “If only your fans could see you now…”

“Yeah!” Dean agreed, raising his eyebrows mischievously and pushing in the largest piece of doughnut yet; struggling to chew it all and making them both laugh like a pair of giggling teenage girls.

“Does this mean that you’re going to start up those calorie shakes again?” Oscar asked, strangely enthralled by the idea. Dean simply looked down guiltily and smirked. “You mean, you already have started doing the calorie shakes again?” Oscar gasped, laughing even more. Dean’s self-satisfied grin was enough to make Oscar’s heart flutter to the extreme. How he loved this side of his co-star!

“I just want to get fat, man!” Dean stated, rubbing his stomach with the gentlest and most delicate of touches. “Do you think that’s weird?”

“No,” Oscar replied immediately. “It’s been your goal for years to bring back Codey. You’re looking ahead. Of course you want to change your body for the character.”

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged. “It’s not just about that.” Despite slouching on the couch, there seemed to be an energy behind his eyes; a devilish twinkle and mischief that was so easy to fall in love with. “I just want to grow a big, fat belly on me.” He modelled with his hands the shape of an enormous ball sitting almost into his lap. “I tried telling my girlfriend once and she was horrified. She said it would be such a shame if I did that to myself. In the end , I backtracked and told her I was joking. But I wasn’t.” He looked Oscar square in the face. “I want to get fat,” he finally announced.

Oscar knew that he was supposed to say something at that point, but no words came to him. The least attractive quality of Dean had always been that vain ego of his. And now, even that was being stripped away from him. He was funny and playful, laidback and yet headstrong. He knew himself better than anyone else Oscar had ever met.

“Do you think it’s a shame too?” Dean asked. “The fact that I want to just eat and pack blubber onto my body?” His tone was strange. As if, just saying this aloud was somehow erotic for him.

Oscar simply shook his head and stared longingly into Dean’s eyes. He realised now that he had known for some time that there had been more to Dean’s fascination with his weight gain than was immediately apparent. And, even stranger, he found that he was falling even more in love with Dean because of it.

“I think you understand me better than anyone else in the entire world,” Dean muttered, seeming to sense that connection himself. “You’re going to produce the show with me, aren’t you?” he asked, as if he knew that the pair of them should never part.

Slowly, Oscar nodded.

It was a beautiful moment, but not one that could be cherished for long. Only a few seconds after the words had been said, there was a vigorous thumping on the trailer door, calling Dean back onto set. He grumbled, lifting his body up and wiping around his mouth and checking his handsome face in the mirror. He smiled back at Oscar with genuine affection, opened the door and was gone.

As Dean and Oscar poured over more story ideas and mapped out their pitches to the networks, they laughed harder and longer than ever before. No network could ever turn them down. Things could be less secretive now as well. Dean could start getting in touch with other members of the cast to see if they were interested in reprising their roles. It wasn’t just something to talk about anymore. All going well, they could be gearing up for production as early as fall. But there was also another, silent, unspoken aspect to these meetings. As Oscar went over on the weekend to Dean’s house, he noted that there was always food cooking or being consumed by Dean. He tried not to stare as Dean got up again and again to get more food, chewing, nodding and grunting in agreement as Oscar carried on sharing his ideas. In fact, the more Dean ate, the more ideas he seemed to generate about his character’s love of food: episodes centred around eating contests, recipes and his chef wife, who they both decided would have something of a feeder streak within her. It was old-school, recording a sitcom in front of a live audience, but that was part of where the buzz and energy of Bro Code had always come from.

“You could eat ten double hamburgers on stage, right?” Oscar asked, as the plot for one of the stories started entering his head.

Dean laughed and rubbed his stomach. “Even if I can’t, I’ll definitely have a lot of fun trying!” he smiled.

Oscar smiled back, gazing at that handsome face; even more beautiful with a little extra size in Dean’s cheeks. “All the shakes and food seem to be working,” he offered kindly, happy to go off-task for just a few moments. “You’re definitely looking a little huskier.”

The smile that spread over Dean’s face was instantaneous. He sat back in his chair and slouched until the arch of a little paunch was on show. Then, pumped from the compliment, Dean lifted off his shirt entirely so that he could show it off better. “It’s coming,” he agreed enthusiastically. “The girlfriend hates it of course,” he chuckled conspiratorially. “She thinks I’m just depressed because the show is ending!”

Oscar laughed too and shook his head, thinking how little Dean’s girlfriend actually knew him.

“I just can’t wait for it to be a real gut. You know, when it pops out properly,” Dean went on. “I’m loving the sensation of my clothes getting a little tighter though. Just that feeling alone makes me want to come down to the kitchen and drink whole pints of whipping cream!”

“And do you?” Oscar asked, intrigued.

Dean simply smirked and grabbed a little wedge of fat that was starting to form a love handle on his muscular frame. “What do you think?” he replied cheekily.

Dean didn’t put his shirt back on afterwards as the two of them continued to work. It should have been easy for Oscar to concentrate; after all, Dean had been practically naked for most of the first season. However, now his body seemed almost hypnotic, luring him in with the bloated stomach from all that he had eaten that day, as well as the extra pounds that had gathered through weeks of hedonistic indulgence.

Oscar had stayed a lot longer than he had anticipated and it was only when Dean’s cell phone alarm went off that he even thought to check the time. “Oh,” Dean mumbled, clearly shocked by how fast the hours had gone by. “That’s my calorie shake alarm.”

“You have an alarm to tell you when to have a calorie shake?” Oscar chuckled, feeling intrigued enough to follow Dean into the kitchen.

“Of course I do,” Dean nodded, starting to get items out of the refrigerator and setting up the blender on the counter. “Otherwise I get too engrossed in stuff and lose track of time. I used to do the same thing with protein shakes but… these are definitely not protein shakes!” he laughed.

“What things are you putting in this shake?” Oscar asked, picking up a tub of whipping cream and staring hard at the nutritional information on the back. No wonder Dean was starting to look so large!

That wicked twinkle came to Dean’s eyes again and he was quiet for a moment, simply considering something. “I think you should make it for me tonight,” he finally stated. “Come on, it’s easy! I’ve already got everything out. Just pick some things and throw them in!”

Oscar liked the playfulness of Dean and he was more than happy to go along. It felt teasing and arousing; almost romantic. “All right…” he began, pulling the lid off the whipping cream and starting to pour. He watched Dean’s eyes closely for any sign of when he should stop, but the longer he let the thick cream drop in, the wider and more devilish Dean’s grin became. Next he picked up some oil and slopped that in, not wanting the jug to overflow before he had put in a bit of everything Dean had got out. It almost felt like he was making a potion, pouring in one bizarre ingredient after another, in the hopes of pleasing Dean.

“You’re very good at this…” Dean whispered into his ear as the concoction got closer to the brim. He thought he’d finished when he felt Dean’s large hand grab his own from behind, guiding him to pour in just a little more chocolate powder. “That’s better,” Dean continued whispering, almost seductively. “Maybe add a little more of that ice cream too; really make my gut pop!” His large body was so close behind him, Oscar could smell his scent and feel the heat of Dean’s presence pumping out of him.

Oscar, more aroused by Dean than ever before, added the extra scoop and then put the lid on, blending the mixture up. It was thicker than he had anticipated, turning a thick, oozing brown thanks to all of the chocolate powder and sauce. He waited until the blending appeared to be completed, then pulled the lid back off, turned and presented the jug to Dean, who stood staggeringly close, waiting. He took the jug, biting his bottom lip with excitement and then lifted it to his lips. The man began chugging with a ferocity Oscar hardly thought possible. He stood in awe, watching as Dean’s already bloated tummy swelled further and further, inching its way closer and closer to him. But Dean didn’t even stop for breath. He didn’t pause or slow down; only swallowed, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Oscar had expected Dean to split the jug of calorie shake over a couple of days, given how much liquid had been in there. Yet, there the man was, throwing his head back entirely and swallowing the thickest and most sickly dregs that remained. Then, with a manly gasp of personal satisfaction, Dean lowered the empty jug into Oscar’s hands again, partially covering his mouth as he turned his head slightly and burped, long and rumbling through his thick neck. He turned back, looking at Oscar with great satisfaction, waiting for him to comment on what he had just witnessed.

“That was…” Oscar tried, simply lost for words. “I’ve never seen anyone…” Dean’s stare was so penetrating and exposing, Oscar looked down to the guy’s beefy middle instead. “You actually look like you have a real belly right now…”

Dean picked up the empty jug from Oscar’s hands and placed it on the counter behind him, removing the final barrier in their way. “Well, that belly is going to be here a lot sooner after that shake,” Dean whispered in that still seductive and erotic tone.

“I’m pleased that I could help…” Oscar whispered back, daring to look up into Dean’s eyes once more. 

What came next seemed completely natural. Despite how often they had kissed on screen, when their lips met this time, it truly was for the first time. Dean kissed so delicately, and yet with more passion than Oscar could ever have anticipated. For those brief few moments, he was lost to the world completely. Nothing else mattered, or ever would matter again. But then Dean jumped back, startled by something; a sound that had hardly even registered in Oscar’s brain, and he scrambled around for his shirt, quickly swiping the remaining cartons from the shake-making into the sink with a single swish of Dean’s long, powerful arm. 

“Hey, honey!” Dean shot, scratching the back of his head innocently and not knowing quite what to do with himself as his girlfriend strolled in. “We were just…” he began, in the way all guilty men tried to explain themselves. “We were preparing our pitch to the network,” he finished, looking mightily glad that she had made a noise loud enough to alert him before she walked in and saw the kiss. 

Oscar made his excuses and left; now feeling more confused than ever before.

“Good morning!” Dean chirped as Oscar stumbled into make-up that Monday morning, ready to film the penultimate episode. “Did you have a nice weekend?”

“Um…” Oscar began, still not quite awake; having been up half the night going over and over Sunday’s events in his head; second guessing things and almost convincing himself that he had initiated an unwanted kiss, and that Dean would never want to speak to him again. ”I guess so,” he mumbled, very aware of the others in the room, fussing over Dean and starting to get to work on him too. “How about you?” he asked, so as not to appear rude to his co-star in front of the make-up team.

“I broke up with Jessica,” Dean stated frankly, creating a collective intake of breath from the others in the room, who all gushed over Dean like he was a three year old boy who had just fallen over onto rough concrete. “Nah, I’m fine. I’m fine,” Dean countered, brushing the concern away. “I just decided enough was enough. We weren’t right for each other.”

Dean stared at Oscar through the reflection in the mirror, letting him know that he had broken up with Jessica purely for him. He gave Oscar a cheeky grin, making the skin on Oscar’s palms start to sweat. Were they really about to do this? Was he really about to embark on a romance with Dean of all people?

Oscar felt a large hand sliding onto his hip as he stood just to the back of one of the set pieces, reading through the scene one more time. “Why, hello there…” whispered the deep, flirtatious voice of Dean. His sweet, warm breath fell onto Oscar’s neck and he kissed him sweetly there, sweeping his hands onto Oscar’s torso and embracing him from behind. “I haven’t stopped thinking about last night…”

Oscar closed his eyes for a second and allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of Dean holding him so tightly in his large arms. He turned and looked up into the man’s eyes, quite taken aback with how much they sparkled with adoration for him. “I was worried that you might have been regretting it,” he confessed. 

“Not a chance!” Dean gushed, using his large hands to brush Oscar’s hair out of his face. “I wanted to call you last night but things were pretty… intense, with Jessica.” All the while he gazed into Oscar’s eyes, then sighed in satisfaction. “I want to kiss you again…” he insisted.

A shy smile filled Oscar’s face and he looked around their dark corner. “Someone will spot us!” he cautioned, laughing.

“So what?” Dean chuckled. “I want them to know. I want to shout it from the rooftops!” However, he could see the caution in Oscar’s eyes and he politely backed off. “Meet me in my trailer later then,” he whispered, skipping away like a lovesick puppy.

Later that day, Dean was sat in his trailer, smiling broadly as Oscar entered. A huge tray of doughnuts was now half gone, laid out on the table in front of him, with another one half eaten in his hand. He grunted in approval as Oscar entered, pushing the remaining half doughnut into his mouth and using his now free hands to reach out for Oscar, pulling him to stand above his lap as he outstretched his big strong thighs. 

Oscar chuckled seeing that, despite his eagerness, Dean needed a few more seconds to finish chewing and swallowing before he could even think about kissing. A little of the icing sat to the corners of Dean’s mouth and Oscar swiped them up with his index finger, offering it up to Dean who gladly sucked on it. “Did I catch you at a bad time?” he teased.

“There’s no such thing as a bad time when you’re around!” Dean gushed, puckering his lips and lifting himself up enough to kiss Oscar with incredible passion. 

The movement almost caught the perching Oscar off balance and his hand fell onto Dean’s stomach to steady himself. Dean moaned in appreciation, grabbing Oscar’s hand and taking it on a tour of his bloated middle as they continued to kiss. It felt so pleasingly erotic, enjoying Dean in a way that he knew no one else ever had before. Their own, private secret between them both.

“I gained two pounds this weekend,” Dean muttered not long after their lips parted. “I think the little shake you made me really did the trick,” he teased.

“I guess I must have the magic touch,” Oscar smiled, playing along and continuing to rub Dean’s bloated stomach.

Dean’s eyes were wild with lust. “You’ll have to make me some more shakes sometime… Really speed up this gut!”

Oscar grinned, feeling somehow empowered by how mutually aroused this was making them both. “Oh, don’t you worry. I will be,” he teased. The very air around them felt like it was sparking with electricity. “In fact…” he began, reaching back to the table to pick up a doughnut and hearing Dean’s breathing getting instantly heavier with lust, “...maybe we could test out this magic touch of mine right now…”

“Oh, please, yes!” Dean moaned, with greedy eyes on the doughnut and his enormous chest raising up and down. “Feed it to me, please!” he begged.

His hands down, submissively on his lap, Dean allowed the doughnut to enter his mouth, moaning with appreciation at how deep it was pushed. He bit into it like it was the most erotic moment of his life. One doughnut followed another, only stopping when the inevitable calls began for them to get back to work.

“Look at this!” Dean grinned, turning his cell phone screen to face Oscar a few days later. “Apparently we’re an item!”

Oscar’s eyes flashed with surprise as he saw the online article featuring a picture of the pair of them from a red carpet event two years before. It seemed to describe, surprisingly well, how the pair of them had been spending more time together as well as the quiet affection they showed each other on set. “There are bloody spies everywhere!” he quietly complained. “I guess we weren’t as subtle as we thought,” he whispered, looking around the set and the prying eyes watching them both. He hated articles like these where there was a glimmer of truth to them. He and Dean had not even been properly intimate with each other and yet, already the world was being told about them. The schedule had been gruelling and the days physically exhausting. The only light at the end of the tunnel was the knowledge that it would soon be over. Not long now and the pair of them would be free to explore their new relationship freely. 

It had been hard though; seriously hard! Despite Dean’s epic height and build, the fat he had been gaining was becoming increasingly obvious. He’d lost his ‘golden boy’ status with most of the production crew, as it just became clear that he had completely signed out of this job. His main costume had been altered several times now and the creative cover ups for his budding belly were becoming increasingly hard to achieve. Oscar knew why; Dean was so focused on ‘Bro Code’ and building his body up, he didn’t care that he was making extra work for everyone else. It probably didn’t even occur to him. In his eyes, he’d sacrificed too much time for this show, and he wasn’t about to waste another second. It was part of what he found so irresistibly sexy about him; his drive to now do whatever he wanted, no matter the consequences, or what people thought of him.

After the article, the two guys decided to try and keep things quieter. The last thing they needed was a flood of interest in the show and a last-minute rescue from cancellation. They’d denied the romance to their publicists and quit being seen together so much on set. It was even a little fun, ordering doughnuts and cakes to be sent to Dean’s trailer, then waiting for the inevitable horny messages from the man to come in as he gorged on them during his break.

There were tears on set during the final day, but not from Dean or Oscar; at least, not genuine ones. They made their speeches, filmed the last scenes and participated in the wrap party. But, as Oscar made it home that night, he wasn’t thinking about the fact that he was now unemployed. Setting his alarm for 6am, he knew tomorrow was going to be the biggest day of his life so far.

It would have been hard to describe to anyone else just how intimate food was in Oscar and Dean’s relationship. Oscar knew that in order to make his first time with Dean special, there would need to be lots of it. It would all need to be enticing, indulgent and highly fattening. There wouldn’t be time for any actual work or script writing today. The experience of waiting had left Dean and Oscar feeling like a pair of tightly wound springs, ready to be released. By the time Dean pulled up at nine, everything was prepared. The kitchen counter was loaded with snacks, and the house had a delicious aroma from the fresh baking. Oscar could feel the butterflies in his stomach as Dean strutted out of his car, carrying a fresh coffee in his hand; his t-shirt clinging surprisingly snugly against his now sizeable paunch which had been grabbing the attention of the hungry press for the last couple of months. He’d parked, as instructed, in a spot where his car would not be seen from the road; then a cheesy grin flashed across his face as he noticed Oscar in the window. 

Once the door was closed, the boys’ intimate kiss progressed very quickly from being sweet and delicate, to something a lot more lust-filled and hungry. Oscar took Dean’s hand and led him to the kitchen to show off just how much he had prepared for their day together, feeling his pulse pounding all the way down in his crotch.

“I can’t believe you set all this up!” Dean marvelled, seeing all the food out. He nodded towards the counter, seeing the exact same ingredients he used for his calorie shake, already set out, with one shake prepared and still in the blender. “YOU are just the most amazing person I have ever met!” Dean gushed, pulling Oscar back in for another kiss.

Oscar felt himself being pushed up against the refrigerator by the wildly aroused man, their kisses getting deeper and deeper. Dean only paused for a moment, lifting his shirt off and patting his stomach before diving back in again.

As difficult as it was to stop, Oscar eventually managed to tear himself away, catching his breath and trying to resist the urge to just run upstairs to bed with the sexiest man he had ever encountered. But, he’d worked hard to prepare for the day and he knew that just a little more patience would be needed in order to make the most of it. “So… what shall I feed you first?” he asked. “Your superhero days are done. There’s no point in even trying to hold that belly back now.”

Dean’s eyes were insane with lust. He picked up the blender jug and began pouring that fattening mixture down his throat. Oscar could feel his hardness weeping as he watched Dean’s head rise up as the jug slowly emptied, and he admired that strong, thick neck as he gulped and chugged with nothing but the urge to show off for him. When done, he grinned, burped and rubbed his already bloated stomach. “Where do you want me?” he asked, finally ready to be sat down and fed.

Oscar was amazed at his own restraint. He glanced at his cell phone, seeing it was now almost four in the afternoon. Dean had been grazing all day and eaten an absolutely enormous lunch. His gut looked so distended, the difference from when he first arrived was completely remarkable. They’d come close to giving in to their urges many times. During Dean’s fourth calorie shake, Dean had almost lost it entirely as Oscar began to suck him off at the same time. Somehow, they both seemed to know that the longer they waited and the more calories Dean could get down, the better the final climax would be.

“I’m never going home. You know that, right?” Dean joked as he was spoon fed ice cream after dinner. He had a hand resting on his rounded middle and hadn’t been able to stop rubbing it all day long, amazed at the shape it was taking on. “I’m just going to stay here and keep getting fatter and fatter every single day!”

“You’re just so incredibly greedy!” Oscar sighed with lust, watching as Dean bit into yet another double stacked slice of now cold pizza; a monstrously large and masculine bite. It was hard to believe that any man could still be able to consume anything after all that Dean had been fed that day.

Dean seemed to revel in the word, smiling with delight, his eyes dancing with mischief and joy as he ripped off more pizza, chewed and finally pushed the crusts into his mouth before slurping a large quantity of chocolate milk, as if trying to lubricate his throat. “I’m going to get greedier as well. I’ve been looking into it; how to train myself how to eat more. In six months time, all this will be nothing to me,” he boasted, motioning towards the many empty plates and packaging that littered the table in front of them.

“I’m looking forward to it…” Oscar nodded enthisiastically, knowing that he could no longer hold back. Seeing Dean’s dick flex and bulge with such hardness as he talked about training his appetite was the final straw. Rubbing in a little lubricant, he climbed onto Dean’s lap as the man slouched a little more, ready for what was coming and holding three stacked pizza slices in his hand as the final show of gluttony. Oscar only winced slightly as he slowly lowered himself onto Dean’s oversized hardness. He could tell by the way that the man’s eyes glazed over and his chin dropped, emphasising the slight spead of fat under there, that Dean had no restraint left in him either. He gasped, grasping Oscar’s dick in his large hand, before pushing that pizza in with only mindless greed.

Oscar’s eyes bulged. Dean’s sweaty palm was going to make him come too as he slid his butt up and down the big man’s shaft. They both started to maon as they felt it building, gazing into each other’s eyes as if baring their very souls to each other. Then it happened: the longest, most intense and explosive orgasms of their lives. It had been a long journey to get where they were now, yet both of them now knew that there would never be anyone else by their side from now on. Every step into the future would be taken together.

It was not easy being away from Dean, but the play in London had been the least that Oscar felt that he could do for his London-based agent, who had worked so hard to get him work back in the UK. Breaking the news that he wasn’t quite finished with the US just yet had not gone down terribly well, which was partly why he had been guilted into the six week stint in the West End. But, it had been so long since he’d done a real play, Oscar had almost forgotten the thrill of performing to a live audience: the laughs, the gasps, the applause. He could understand why Dean had argued so much to continue filming Bro Code in front of a live studio audience. There was no buzz that was quite like it. Yet, as he slipped back into his dressing room after finishing the second week, he sighed in longing for Dean and looked at the clock on the wall. It was still half an hour until their planned video catch-up call; just enough time for him to take off the make-up, slip out of the back entrance of the theatre and take the taxi to the soulless, one-bedroom apartment he was renting in Battersea. 

Just then, there was a knock at the dressing room door. Oscar felt inclined to ignore it as he hurried to get ready to leave. However, the second knock was louder, more forceful and impatient, making Oscar roll his eyes and finally open up. 

“Well, hello there!” Dean grinned smugly, taking in the joy that instantly spread across Oscar’s face. “Did you miss me?”

Oscar fell into Dean’s enormous chest and the pair began kissing passionately as they fell back into the room; sweeping the door closed behind them. “What are you doing here?” Oscar asked, still overcome with shock.

“I came to see you, of course,” Dean smirked, already taking his shirt off. “The play was awesome. You were amazing! Just incredible. You so deserve all of those rave reviews!” he gushed.

Oscar barely heard a word of what was said, so captivated was he by the changes since he left almost a month ago. Dean’s belly had been swelling so much. It now seemed so round and firm, overindulged and packed as it was so frequently now. But the fat was also building now in his pecs and his love handles bulged incredibly, giving a new wider mass to Dean’s middle that overwhelmed even the broadness of his chest. It was a belly; a true, fat belly!

Sensing that Oscar was overcome by the sight of him, Dean grabbed Oscar’s hand and placed it on the top of his gut, where it was starting to bulge and become shelf-like. “Oh, yeah. And I may have gained a few pounds since you left…”

“You look…” Oscar began in awe.

“Go on!” Dean smiled, clearly getting more aroused. “Tell me how fucking fat I’m getting!” he demanded excitedly, slapping his gut and grabbing a wedge to jiggle; demonstrating that it wasn’t anywhere near as firm as it looked.

“You look like a complete… lardarse,” Oscar smiled knowingly.

“Oh, fuck!” Dean moaned; his dick instantly smashing against the fabric of his pants. There clearly couldn't have been a better word that Oscar could have chosen to get the man so overtaken by lust. They fell into each other; Oscar’s hands roaming and exploring the changes as they kissed; grabbing and holding the fresh fat that had been packed on. It was a transformation like nothing he had ever witnessed before. That old hunk was gone forever. Oscar was, at long last, dating a real fat guy.

“I hope you packed your appetite?” Oscar smiled as they finally made it out of the theatre. “You haven’t been truly fed until you’ve experienced a proper London stuffing…”

It was incredible the difference a couple of years could make. Gone were the days of Oscar having to promote himself on any old talk show. Now he could pick and choose, knowing that his appearance was a boon to whichever show he had signed up for. His ongoing television and movie work, alongside his association with ‘Bro Code’ and its lead actor, had opened doors for him that he didn’t know even existed. Nostalgia was a powerful thing. Rebooting a show that had once been so successful, bringing it back even stronger than before; churning out outstanding content week after week; it had all led to multiple season orders and awards aplenty. Right now, he and Dean were working on two new pilot projects and had multiple ideas for spin-offs related to the original show. 

“So, Season three starts next week and we are all just so pumped!” the chat show presenter lamented, igniting a cheer from his audience. “Is there anything you can tell us about what’s coming up?”

“I’m afraid you’re just going to have to tune in and find out,” Oscar smiled back.

“Well, there is one thing we do know…” the presenter nodded to his audience, trying to make it sound like this entire conversation hadn’t all been roughly scripted beforehand. “It was announced a couple of weeks ago that you’re actually going to have your own character on the show.” At that, a promotional shot of Oscar in character arrived on the big screen behind them both and the audience cheered and clapped excitedly.

Oscar nodded, waiting for the overworked crowd to quieten a little before he spoke. “Dean and I came up with this character sometime around the middle of the first season and we just laughed our heads off everytime he came up in conversation. I could just picture him in my head so clearly, his voice, how he would walk. Dean spent about a year trying to convince me to play the character myself, until I finally relented. I think you’re all going to love him!”

“Speaking of Dean…” the presenter moved on coyly. “I know that fans of The Silence were freaking out when it was announced that you two were actually together in real life, but now it seems that the pair of you are fast becoming the new power couple of Holywood. Which, forgive me for saying this,” he smiled as a picture of Dean came up on the screen behind him, “somehow seems incredibly unlikely!”

His meaning was clear by the choice of picture up on show. There was Dean, in character, shirtless and gorging on a large bowl of ice cream that his sexy and hilarious on-screen feeder wife had just served to him. Oscar sighed in satisfaction. It was an image from the beginning of season two, and Dean was now a lot fatter than even that. “Awh! Isn’t he adorable!” Oscar smiled, making the audience laugh.

“His dedication to the role is outstanding!” the presenter went on. “There’s no way I would gain two hundred pounds for a role like he has.”

Just as expected, a shot of a shirtless and pumped Dean from ‘The Silence’ popped up side by side with another image of him, standing with his new, large and rounded belly at over four hundred pounds. But it wasn’t just the large stomach that was the biggest difference; the fat around his face had made him appear like someone almost completely different, and Dean had been surprisingly joyous as his incredible pecs melted into giant, jiggly moobs. The definition in his arms was gone, but its legacy was apparent in how well he piled fat in those area; making him look even more monstrous than before. His thighs too, once so muscular, had now been coated with a thick layer of fat, giving him an even wider stance as he stood and posed for the shot. Oscar could only gaze at the screen for a brief second before he felt the blood pumping into his groin.

“Don’t you miss the hot guy on the left?” the presenter asked, pointing to the before picture of Dean.

“Not at all!” Oscar laughed. “That guy on the left was an arsehole! I’ve spoken about this before, but the first three years of working on The Silence were awful. I hated him!” he smiled, making the audience laugh at the irony. “He was just trying to be someone he’s not,” Oscar pointed at the screen. “Now he’s much more comfortable in himself as a big guy.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem to have harmed his career at all. If Holywood needs a… larger gentleman,” he tried senstitively, emitting titters from the crowds, “Dean seems to be on everyone’s speed dial. I’ve lost count of how many movies I’ve seen him in in the last couple years!”

“He’s a very busy boy!” Oscar nodded proudly, seeing that the production crew were signalling to wrap things up for a commercial break. Just in time as well; there was only so long that Oscar could discuss Dean’s incredible growth without flushing a bright red with arousal.

Back at home that evening, Oscar only had a short wait for his lover to return; just enough time to prepare his calorie shake and leave the ice cream out to soften.

“I’m home!” the big man called as he strolled in, immediately removing his shirt and unbuckling his pants, letting his large, open belt swing at the crotch as he pounded into the kitchen.

“Mmm! There’s my beautiful fat boy!” Oscar grinned, heading over to Dean to greet him. “I can see you’ve eaten well today,” he smiled, rubbing his hand across the man’s large stomach and feeling that it was tight. In contrast to what many might have thought, movie sets were a surprisingly awesome place to fatten up, considering the constant on-site catering that was available.

“I gorged like a little piggy all day long, just for you…” he teased, kissing his lover once more. “Is my shake ready?” Dean asked; his excited boner already pushing up against the fat that had invaded his crotch.

“What do you think?” Oscar smiled back, proud that Dean was still so keen to pump himself up with fat and calories. He watched on as the fat man strolled ahead to the counter; the fat rippling and jiggling in his love handles and the altogether new way he was walking with such a wide rear on him now. Then the four hundred and forty pound guy lifted that shake to his lips and began the chug; his free hand unable to resist the temptation of rubbing the soft fat of his underbelly, grabbing and jiggling it for his own pleasure. Then he put the empty jug down, burped loudly, before taking the second one to his lips and annihilating that too. “What’s for dinner?” he asked, grabbing the spoon and open carton of ice cream to begin that next.

“Grilled chicken salad,” Oscar lied jokingly, making Dean laugh. They’d plotted a storyline for the end of season three where Dean would have to be visibly fatter in order for it to work, igniting their shared passion for overindulging Dean more than ever. Whole new realms of obesity and gluttony. Five hundred pounds had seemed like a fantasy for so long. Now it felt like it was just around the corner. “No, don’t worry, Fatso…” he smiled, walking over to side-hug the big man and appreciate just how wide and thick he was still getting, “...you won’t be disappointed!”

[baek-at-it-again95]

Walk The Plank (KHJ x fem reader)

Chapter 16: If Without You

You had grown up hearing tales about the infamous pirate crew ATEEZ—the fearless, power-hungry men that roamed the seas in search of the most valuable treasure they could lay their hands on. You almost didn’t believe the stories your mother had told you as a child...not until you wound up on their ship  

Warnings for this chapter: tall heights, soft mingi lol, angsty!

A/N: HI ATINY BABIES! It’s been a while! I wrote half of this before seeing TXT and then my brain was fried for the weeks following... I hope you are all enjoying your summer so far <3

Previous: Chapter 15, Masterlist

Chapter 16: If Without You

"I have something I want to show you."

You follow Hongjoong as he leads you outside, a comfortable silence falling between you. It's a nice break from the previous chaos. 

You pass by a flower field that is beautiful in the moonlight, and you realize that the building you just left is surrounded by a farm. It's on the outskirts of a city, which looks like the Sector One you had jumped from moments ago. You space in and out as you follow Hongjoong, sometimes glancing at his hat from behind, wondering if he knows you're looking at him.

"You were not lying when you said your Sector One was similar," you mumble. He looks back at you, waiting for you to catch up to his side before answering.

"Did you not believe me?"

"No, I just...did not imagine there could be so much of the same thing in all these different worlds."

"Humans are very repetitive beings," he replies, wide eyes glistening in the moonlight. "Their history seems to repeat in similar patterns, whether from one world or another. Things that are present in one are present in the next."

You look at him curiously. "Do you think that is a good thing?"

"I believe it can be a good and bad thing. For example, bad, because you, me, and our alternates seem to be wanted in different timelines." You play with your fingers nervously at his statement. "But also good, since we are together in those worlds, as well."

"So perhaps it is beyond just a simple repetitive history. Like... fate," you suggest.

"That is true. Though, I would rather it not be."

"Why?"

"Fate is such a set concept. Like there can only be one option and one outcome, you know?"

"I see. You do not like your fate, if this is what your fate is. Correct?" You look at him with a frown.

"Yes. I would rather this life not be destined for every alternate version of me."

"Well, like there are different versions of you, I believe there can be different versions of fate," you reply. "I am sure that somewhere, an alternate of you and your lover are together. And they are happy." You keep your eyes on the ground as you exit the fields of the farm. The ground transitions from dirt to the same kind of odd, smooth ground from the previous city.

"I can believe that," Hongjoong says. "Actually, I know that we are together, happy somewhere. I have seen them."

"Oh, that is nice to hear." You give him a sad smile. Had he seen his alternate with his lover somewhere in the world you had just jumped from? Or maybe he's jumped worlds before even meeting you. You wonder what other kinds of artifacts aside from the Cromer possess such a power. What do the Guardians use to jump? Does each world have its own version of the Cromer, like they do people? 

He nods. "I hope they stay together." Hongjoong pushes open the door to a tall building you hadn't even realized you arrived in front of. "Come on," he whispers, holding it open for you.

Hesitating for just a moment, you enter the new structure. He gently takes your arm, leading you down a narrow walkway into another door. In this one, there are steps going around and around, spiraling up to a ceiling you can barely see. You begin to ascend them quickly but slow down soon after. It feels as if there is no end to them as you continue up, so after some time, you abruptly stop in the middle of a platform.

"Need a break?" Hongjoong asks, smile on his face as he watches you catch your breath. 

"No, no. Are we almost there, though?" 

"Yes. Here." You reluctantly follow him up one more set of stairs and he opens a door, taking you outside. You cautiously step out and look around.

"Wow." From here, you can see all of this Sector One. Little lights in the windows of the many structures sparkle like stars, making the ground look like a mirror of the sky. The lights expand across your entire line of sight, and the moon looks huge as it looms over the city, casting its low light over the buildings. "This...is beautiful." You can't tear your eyes away from the view. Unlike the last time you were high above the ground, you are not scared. You feel free. 

"Isn't it? I used to come up here a lot when I couldn't sleep."

"We are all so similar." It reminds you of the time your captain found you out on the deck, watching the reflection of the moon in the waves. He told you the story about his journey to Twilight Cove and you had fallen asleep right there, on the steps to the quarter deck. You smile to yourself.

"What do you plan to do once you get home?" Hongjoong asks. 

"Oh, I have not given it much thought. I was not even sure we could get home before this."

"I see. There is one thing you must do when you go back, though."

"What would that be?"

"You have to break the Cromer."

"What?" Your breath catches in your throat. "But we searched so long and hard for it. My father's entire life of research is in our hands, and you want me to break it? As if it is nothing?"

"Y/N, I understand why this would be upsetting. But your life will continue to be in danger as long as you have it in your possession. Once you rid yourself of the artifact and its effects, the guardians will likely not be able to find you."

"But Hongjoong—"

"I know, darling. It is your decision, and I will not be there. Just...think about it, please. I do not want you to live a life like me where you just run and run." He runs his fingers through his dark hair and you sigh, nodding. 

Hongjoong then points to the sky, taking you away from the subject of the Cromer.

"Do you see that star right there?" He comes next to you.

"The brightest one?"

"Yes, that one. It reminds me of her. Sometimes I feel like giving up, but I know she wouldn't give up. So, I can't."

"Hongjoong...I did not know her, but I feel like she would want you to live freely. Without worrying about her. Just as you do not wish for any harm to come to her, she is probably hoping the same of you." He lowers his gaze to the ground. 

"I know, but I am selfish. I have thought about giving up, but after these past few days, I remember why I want so badly to be with her again. And if I can't, I will die trying." Your eyes widen at his confession.

"I see." You notice in the distance how an orange hue has begun to appear in the dark sky. 

"Y/N, I need to tell you something." 

"What is it?" you ask, still watching the skyline. You begin to see pink along with the orange.

"It has been nice to see you again."

"Again?" You turn to look at him.

He hesitates. "Y/N, you are my lover. In every universe."

The world seems to spin at his words.

"Hongjoong—"

"I know I am not your Hongjoong. And you are not my Y/N. But being with you has given me some peace. To know you are just as lovely as I remember, beyond time and space. It has not filled the hole in my heart, but helped patch it." You just stare at him, your jaw opening to say something but closing again. "Forgive me for keeping this from you...I just did not know if it would cause any issues earlier on."

"I suppose for me to be in love with the Hongjoong in my world and you to be in love with the Y/N in your world makes sense. It is just quite overwhelming to think about."

"I understand. How do you think I felt when you suddenly appeared and helped me escape that Guardian?" He laughs. 

"Terrified!"

"Yes. Thank you, Y/N. For everything."

"No need to thank me." You brush him off. "I did not do anything." 

"Yes, you did. Y/N, you're amazing. You saved our lives and you have been so strong through it all. And again, you reminded me of what's important to me. So, thank you."

"Thank you." You pull him into your arms and hold him tight. "For everything. Good luck finding...um...me." Hongjoong laughs at you, pulling back.

"Here." He pulls the Cromer from the inside of his coat, handing the shiny object to you. You accept it carefully.

"Hongjoong, how can I be sure I can go home now? You said it works best when I am in danger..." He holds onto both of your arms as he speaks to you.

"Trust me, Y/N."

"I do, but—" He places a chaste kiss on your cheek.

"And don't be mad at me, please. Understand this is for you to get home."

"But why would I be—" Hongjoong scoops you up, bringing you to the edge of the rooftop. Your eyes widen and your heart feels like it stops as he holds you over the wall. "No, Hongjoong," you plead. "There has to be some other way. I do not like this method."

"Trust me. Until we meet again."

"Kim Hongjoong I swear—AH!" You scream as he lets go of you and you close your eyes, hugging the Cromer tightly to your chest. You hear nothing but the wind in your ears as you descend. Home. You have to go home. You think about your crewmates and the captain you miss so dearly, along with the ship you had gotten so used to traveling on. 

Are you still falling?

You can't feel anything particular around you, and you're scared to open your eyes. But you know you have to eventually. With one deep breath, you open them slowly. You make eye contact with Hongjoong. Your Hongjoong. You take in his eyepatch, his hook, and his scruffy mullet that you missed. His telescope clatters to the main deck and it brings you out of your daze. He runs over and cups your cheek with his hand.

"Y/N?"

"Joong!" You practically knock him over as you bury yourself in his arms. He pulls you away, inspecting your face and your body for visible injuries. Tears prick at your eyes, and you sniffle.

"I am okay." You watch as a tear falls from his eye, too, and he pulls you back into his chest.

"Y/N, I was so worried about you." He places a kiss on top of your head.

"I was worried about you, too. I missed you so much." His embrace is enough to calm you completely, his familiar scent comforting.

"What is going on out her-" You hear Mingi's voice from behind you and you turn to peek at him with your blurry, tear-filled eyes. "Shit." He disappears back into the captain's quarters and comes back out with six other men who you missed equally as much.

"Y/N!" Wooyoung shouts, running over to hug both of you. "I knew you'd be back with no problem." You roll your eyes, smiling. 

"Where is..." Yeosang starts.

"He is home. I have a lot to tell you all."

"We do too," San says. "Mingi cried a lot while you were gone." You watch as Mingi jabs his laughing crew mate in the side, and you have to hold in your own laughter.

"I am flattered." Your eyes then catch a glimpse of the Cromer on the deck. You must have dropped it when you saw Hongjoong.

How are you going to tell them that you need to destroy it...

Taglist: @foxinnie8 <3

#kim hongjoong #kim hongjoong x reader #ateez x reader #ateez reader insert #ateez au #ateez pirate au #hongjoong x reader #ateez #ateez fanfic #halateez #ateez fic

[help-i-need-a-cool-username]

RotTMNT Headcanons

Biology Headcanons

They still have their original turtle eyes! We just cant see them because the art style lol

They're (canonically?) warm blooded

Reptiles take a lot longer to heal than mammals, which is a trait that carried over after the mutation. When they were little they would get a lot of infections (its hard wrangling 4 children under ten, Splinter had a hard time keeping every single cut clean). They own a lot of bandages (specifically fun cartoon band aids) because they have to wear them for much longer periods.

They! Make! Turtle! Sounds! And they picked up some rat sounds from Splinter! Splinter knows what all the turtle sounds mean, but never makes any himself. The first time April heard the turtle sounds she demanded they teach her. She cant make them exactly so she'll make a similar enough sound and they'll joke that she's just got a thick accent

Like most reptiles they will continue to grow throughout their lives! Thats why future!Leo was so big

They've eaten plenty of questionable things growing up. And still will if bribed with enough money. One of the reasons they love Run of the Mill so much is they serve Yokai food aka food with some gross stuff (ex. that pizza with eyes the twins ate when they took April)

Splinter has no idea how old they actually are. Neither does Draxum he didnt exactly care what day his subjects were hatched he just needed them to be juveniles. They were mutated 13 years ago so in reality they are all (mentally?) 13. Splinter needed to put someone in charge while he was gone and the reasoning was because "he's the oldest" because how do you argue with that? And then eventually the kids asked who the second oldest was and Splinter panicked and just went in height order. He randomly picked birthdays and accidentally made Leo 20 days older than Donnie

Splinter's DNA is the reason they're such good ninjas. Somehow. I dont see how thats genetic but yep thats the reason. They pick up moves really fast, so growing up on Lou Jitsu movies and having easy access to youtube allowed them to learn moves visually. Splinter also gave them all a crash course on fighting before he ever let them start going off on their own

Growing up

Splinter named them after colors! Growing up he had to color code everything to avoid "but its mine" disputes. It took him a while to figure that out so they actually didnt have names for that time.

April was the one who started the twin debate. At the time (she was idk 10?) she didnt understand how two siblings born in the same year could not be twins.

Raph and his duty of older brother is essential for the family, but the most substantial role is held by Donnie. Splinter is the father but Donnie is the true provider. Before Donnie got old enough to play around with fixing things the family lived a very different life. Donnie is the reason they have a tv, working kitchen appliances, clean water despite living in a sewer, electric lighting and heating. He's the only one who regularly brings money in and organizes things like online shipping or grocery delivery (thank you internet!). Donnie looks at something and sees something entirely out of the box, and then makes it a reality. Leo found the area that became the lair, but Donnie is the one who made those concrete tubes a functional home. And he did it all just to see if he could. Splinter didnt think he could do it, but it kept the boys entertained all day so he let them have at it. Splinter feels guilty so much has fallen on Donnie's shoulders over the years, but he is so grateful that Donnie turned out to be so smart

General

All the brothers are really smart, just in different capacities. Donnie prefers engineering and computer science but also picks up other science subjects fast. Leo's is harder to see, it manifests more in quick thinking, puzzles, and people skills. He's also really good at math. Mikey is good at seeing patterns, in both objects and relationships. Raph is in emotional intelligence, particularly internally.

When Cassandra said "my friends call me 'Casey'" she meant that only to Splinter, and the rest still had to earn the right to call her "Casey"

Raph and Casey (Sr) somehow become best friends. No one expected it.

Donnie has scars on his shell, but most of them are from minor everyday things and not true fights. Raph has the most scars due to his tendency to use himself as a shield to protect his brothers

Leo, Donnie, and Mikey all feel like they didnt earn their spot on the team. Leo because he feels he doesnt offer much (canon), Donnie because if he cant make tech he thinks hes useless (canon), and Mikey because he's the youngest and his brothers are therefore forced to include him (headcanon)

At one point Mikey tricked Splinter and Big Mama into going on a date

Draxum and Donnie got stuck in a situation that forced them to bond. They both pretend nothing has changed but it has

Not only does Leo come to Sr Hueso to complain about his life like Hueso's a bartender (canon), but so do all the brothers. Sr Hueso keeps reminding them he's not a therapist

Their s2 finale outfits (gif up top) become everyone's mission outfits

Medic Leo Medic Leo Medic Leo

All the boys love the joey pouch (its basically a incubator and theyre reptiles). April finds it disgusting (its a very hot and tight space made of flaps of skin and you cant move without lots of effort)

At one point the boys all try to get jobs. Raph tries the Hidden City but gets run out by the police again. Mikey somehow talks Sr Hueso into giving him a job. Donnie attempts to work for Big Mama but in disguise. Leo somehow ends up helping Draxum out in the high school kitchen. None of them last the week. Raph doesnt make a day, Mikey gets into a argument with a chef on day four and quits "on principle", Donnie got discovered on day 2 but out of nostalgia's sake (being her exbf's son) Big Mama let him stay on but it got uncomfortable fast so he bailed also on day 4, Leo finds out he's outlasted all his brothers and goes in on day 5 solely to steal some ice cream bars and then told Draxum he quits when he was already on his way out

Theres a running joke that Piebald is always there but the boys keep forgetting about her. They dont know if her and dad are messing with them again or she actually was there and they just dont notice ("i mean... she can turn invisible. She could have been there")

Post-Movie

Casey Jr lives with them! April and Casey Sr are at college and living in dorms. Plus, he's not quite ready for full emersion into a society thats never had the apocalypse

Growing up Leo had become a father figure to Casey Jr, a person who could do no wrong. After the movie that illusion is clearly shattered, but he still looks up to Leo and the others. Leo has now taken a role closer to Big Brother (someone who can be flawed) than Parental Figure. Leo on the other hand has fully embraced being a role model for Casey Jr and has basically become Raph whenever Casey Jr is around

Casey Sr takes her job as Casey Jr's mom very seriously. She's not the same as future!Casey Sr, obviously, but Casey Jr enjoys spending time with her anyways. If anyone asks they say they're cousins and as a inside joke Casey Jr calls her "mom"

Casey Sr drilled proper etiquette into her son. The boys are working hard to break that ("Master Michelangelo-" "woah buddy, you can just call me 'Mikey'. 'Master Michelangelo' is way too long and too many syllables")

Raph's got scars from being krangified (from when it ripped into his body and from when he ripped it out of his body). He's got some vision problems in his right eye now

Donnie's also got scars from being forcefully ripped out of the control console

Casey Jr is a avid pupil of Nap When You Can and falls asleep everywhere. Showing him a movie? Asleep. Dinner's gonna take another 15 minutes? He's already drooling on the couch. Leo's taking to long to get his gear on? Catnap on the kitchen table. As the new baby of the family everyone carries him to bed instead of waking him up

Mikey begins spending more time over at Draxum's now, learning about mystic powers

Leo being forced to leave Raph behind really left its mark on him. Watching Leo sacrifice himself really left its mark on everyone else. Its not surprising to wake up in middle of the night because someone came in to check on you after a nightmare

#hinacu tmnt #rottmnt #rise leonardo #rise donatello #rise raphael #rise michelangelo #rise april #cassandra jones #rise splinter #baron draxum #casey jones jr

[raayllum]

how are you a teacher and shipping a literal child with an 18 year old💀

i'm a tutor with an honours specialization in how fiction influences and/or is influenced by reality. i also work with students across all grade levels, even into university ages/adulthood. you're bringing up talking points from plato's republic that aristotle knew was stupid 3000+ years ago. i've written papers & studied this exact same line of discourse across the western canon of like, 800 years? but have fun playing into far right bullshit and book banning that just repeats over and over again, the literal conservative puritans were having these moral panics too &lt;;3 totally not protestant conservatism with a gay hat

& that's cause i'm not shipping a literal child with an 18 year old (which btw 18 yr olds are not magically emotionally mature fully grown adults either even if they legally are adults, i say as someone who was a teenager just four years ago). i'm shipping two characters with an age gap when they're both fully grown adults in their 20s. if you think characters are for some reason Frozen at a certain age and can never be aged up when they're from an IP property you don't own, and that authors can only explore characters at different life stages when they're characters the author owns, you inherently don't understand the transformative part of fandom / transformative fiction

like hi, was a literal minor like 4 years ago who was harassed throughout my teen years by people just like you because i shipped two (2) things with a 4 year age gap, but no i'm sure calling a 16 yr old a pedophile in the name of "protecting children" (when no one online is entitled to anyone's personal private information, nvm their history with csa) was totally worth it

if you've ever enjoyed or read literally anything adjacent to greek myth or the fucking bible, you've enjoyed texts with a whole lot of fucked up shit in it, of which age gaps are the least of their 'problems'. come back to me when you've read "wuthering heights" or some actual fucked up shit

and update bc anon came back and Really thought they were doing something: wuthering heights doesn't have an age gap at all. the two leads are the same age and are fucked up for so many other reasons. plato's republic is a philosophical musing manual on where art fits into society and how it should manifest / what its purpose is. but thank you for failing critical thinking so hard you couldn't even google something for 2 seconds to make sure your argument was sound At All

#fandom nonsense #tw abuse mention #that said wuthering heights? so good so fucked up #guess this is how the new followers find out i'm not an anti (in the bio in the about me at ALL TIMES) #dragons gets salty #anti purity culture

[blankisanaddict]

Opinion on Burned Bridges (Cold/Smitten)?

[Sorry for getting to this so late, this has been stewing in my drafts] I'll admit I'm not the biggest fan of this ship but I can see it!!

First of all, another height difference- this one is ESPECIALLY funny because. Cold is the tallest and Smitten is the smallest-

I think they're the "I can fix him" and "I can make him worse" dynamic to a T

Smitten takes it as a challenge to make Cold feel emotions because of the wondrous moments they bring for her!! Smitten would get mad at Cold a lot but would be quick to forgive once the situation is resolved,,,

Cold follows along for the entertainment, it finds Smitten so silly!!! silly lil creechur,,, Smitten never fails to cure his boredom :]€

At some point I think Smitten would accept the fact that Cold doesn't experience emotions like others and gladly goes along with entertaining void for the fuck of it. Smitten knows that Cold isn't unfeeling, she sees Cold caring about everyone in its own way yknow?

Cold is not the best at comforting Smitten but I think he would learn what works and what doesn't, and eventually becomes a consistent anchor for Smitten, because as much as he'd hate to admit it – Smitten's emotions defo get the best of him sometimes.

I think they'd have absolutely heated discussions about the silliest of things every other day and I'm here for it-

#slay the princess #stp voices #addict art #voice of the cold #voice of the smitten #stp voice shipping #stp fanart

[jaggedwolf]

Kate x Lucy

when I started shipping it if I did: pilot episode kiss, ngl, where it establishes that they must already be on-and-off hooking up in between sniping at each other about classified information. Lucy just shows up at her apartment!

my thoughts: when I watched this show I was genuinely bewildered by how this CBS procedural NCIS spin-off....just has a whole-ass lesbian romcom happening in its first season? The S1 finale literally ends on them getting together via a grand gesture with the rest of the team cheering.

anyway, they're so fun! they hit a lot of dynamics I like - Lucy loves loudly and openly while Whistler is brittle and contained, they have tension with a history, the height difference is cute, and man, maybe for a different ship all the drama in 1B would've been too much, but for these two I loved it, and not just because Whistler made the best kicked puppy faces while pining hopelessly

my random headcanons on when they each realize they're gay is that Lucy realizes in middle school and Whistler realizes in college, not too long before Noah's death. Don't think anything in canon contradicts that

What makes me happy about them: they're so ridiculously fond of each other. The consistent hearteyes they aim at each other while engaging in tropey shenanigans and still being individually competent agents makes me very happy. When it comes to the relationship angst, I like that for them it's never closeted/sexuality angst but their very different personalities, the usual fwb-to-lovers difficulties, Whistler's big mistake, and working together. They've been no less delightful as an established relationship in S2 and S3 - I love how much the show loves them, they literally got a ficcy-as-hell undercover-as-couple subplot last episode with all the usual gimmicks

Oh, I also did not anticipate how much physical fighting this procedural would have, and as someone who always wants my faves to get wrecked, I have been very well-served. Lucy almost dying while undercover right after Kate crushes her heart! Whistler getting injured while they're broken up and Lucy yelling at her for it! Such good food. (Show, you can keep beating up Whistler every season, I will never complain.)

What makes me sad about them: Their families, and the resulting loneliness. Lucy talks about her sister and brothers like a youngest kid who used to be close to them but isn't any more, last ep she commented that she knew from a very young age that her parents would never throw her a big wedding like her brothers', the way she gets set off by "financially responsible" as a rationale + her family's money has implications there. Kate's confession of how she shut herself off from the world after Noah's death.

But I like that they know about these things for each other (the way Whistler goes "Right. Right." at Lucy's comment tells us they've talked about this before), and the way they're navigating around and disarming each other's landmines here

things done in fanfic that annoys me: I understand that this is the danger of stepping back into another blonde/brunette live-action f/f ship but I cannot deal with those epithets. Or "taller woman"/"shorter woman" either, all of it always makes the PoV character sound like she has a complex about hair or height. It is okay to use the characters' names, I promise.

things I look for in fanfic: .....I've become such a hipster about characterizations for these two. Lucy is the one who broods and contemplates her feelings, Kate is the one who acts without thinking and gets surprised by her own reactions. Whistler is the one with better work-life balance and hobbies, who moved from DC to Hawai'i and stayed there despite the former being way better for a fed career, who goes surfing every Saturday morning without bothering to be contactable by work, and Lucy is the one who describes her life as consisting solely of "work, gym, and [Whistler]" and sometimes does paperwork on the weekends.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: Gosh, I really have no other Lucy ships. For Whistler, I could 100% ship Whistler/Tennant if it was like, after the kids are grown. Why do they stand so close to each other in that 1x14 coffee conversation and say each other's full titles, or have Whistler demonstrate career-threatening levels of loyalty to Tennant, if not to make me contemplate this ship? I hope Sam Hanna's presence doesn't mean we don't get any Tennant-Whistler stuff this season.

My happily ever after for them: Just keep on being badass agents together and stay in Hawaii long-term. Don't really see them having kids, but I can totally see Lucy convincing Whistler of having a cat. ...Maybe get a shorter bed, does Lucy really have to climb that high every night XD.

who is the big spoon/little spoon: lmao I was going to make a comment about Lucy jetpacking because of course she does, but the bed comment reminded me that that they have 10 billion pillows on their bed. One weekend morning Lucy is going to sleepily think she's spooning Kate and find out she's actually hugging those pillows, having been abandoned for the Dreaded Ocean.

what is their favorite non-sexual activity: does sparring really count as non-sexual for them it might really be meals at home? They both cook, they enjoy a quiet night in after their truly hectic cases, and they can put on GBBO or one of Whistler's preferred history documentaries afterwards.

#asks #anonymous #ncis hawaii #meme funtimes #lucy tara #kate whistler #lucy and whistler

[yanderecrazysie]

[if this request goes against the rules please lmk and just ignore the parts that are againt the rules]

request:

sadistic kenma, who still plays volleyball and is dominate with reader being on the more submissive side and is tall who likes anime and a few games (not many but has a common knowledge on them)

Not against the rules at all, lovely Anon! I love that I’m writing for a tall reader btw, I think it’s my first time!

Title: Façade

Pairings: Kenma x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, sadistic tendencies, slight dacryphilia, bullying, mild description of injuries, tall reader, Kenma’s a bit OOC

Summary: Who would believe you if you were to say that quiet, barely-noticeable Kenma terrified you?

façade

/noun/

an outward appearance that is maintained to conceal a less pleasant or creditable reality.·    

     

Kenma was barely known throughout the school, even in his own class. Even though he was the setter of a volleyball team that’d made it to nationals multiple times, he was somehow invisible.

To the people who did notice him, he wasn’t anything special. Just a quiet, video game-addicted boy that didn’t bother anyone.

Anyone but you.

You were the only one who had seen a different side of Kenma. You doubted even his best friend, Kuroo, knew what kind of monster reared its ugly head when the two of you were alone.

It started after art class. Or maybe you just hadn’t noticed it until then.

The two of you were tasked to clean the classroom, so everyone left you together in awkward silence. You knew nothing about your classmate, so a part of you had been hoping to talk to him, but you could tell he wasn’t the talkative type.

It was as you were moving some of the sharper scissors that one slipped and sliced your hand open. You hissed and dropped the offending art tool, clutching your bleeding hand while inspecting the damage.

It wasn’t a deep cut, but it hurt and bled like one. You’d be fine, you’d just have to pick up a bandage from the nurse’s office. Everything was fine.

Until you turned around.

Kenma’s eyes were locked on your bleeding hand, a deep insatiable hunger swirling in them. He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away, but definitely not out of horror. A chilling grin split his lips and his tongue flicked out to wet them once.

You were frozen in terror, horrified by this awful change in your classmate. Frightened beyond words by the way he seemed to enjoy seeing you injured. You barely remember muttering “nurse’s office…” before hurrying away from him and his sadistically hungry expression.

You couldn’t avoid him in class, but you stayed far away from him every other chance you got. Kenma, however… something must’ve awoken in him because, suddenly, the shy boy was inching closer to you whenever he could. He still gave you the chills.

When he walked into the anime club one Monday evening after school, you thought your heart stopped beating. He claimed volleyball practice was canceled, but that he wanted to stay at school until he normally left anyway. 

You wished he just went home and didn’t invade your club room. You felt dirty all of a sudden, like something you loved had been tainted. You couldn’t enjoy yourself that day, nor could you focus on anime and the anime-style video games that Kenma weaseled into the conversation.

The worst part came when he walked home with you. He apparently walked home with Kuroo usually, but he’d gone home after volleyball practice. Since your house was on the way, why not? Your clubmates encouraged you, probably trying to play cupid between you both.

You could tell your closest friend was shipping you with the boy, finding your height differences cute or something. Or maybe it was because she knew that you shared a love for a few of the games he had mentioned and, apparently, anime in general. Either way…

How could you explain that quiet, shy, harmless Kenma terrified you? 

You trudged alongside him as you went home, thanking everything that you lived close to the school and it would be a short walk.

You were so grateful, you didn’t even notice him sticking out his leg to trip you.

When you stood up, wincing from the pain, you found your knees and right elbow bleeding slightly. You seethed inside, wanting to lash out at him after you were sure he tripped you.

He played the part well, gasping and asking if you were alright. Fussing over you. Acting like he was innocent in all of this. But you knew better. His eyes were glued to your injuries and they gleamed with excitement and something darker.

It was as he dropped you off at your doorstep that you confirmed that you weren’t imagining it all. 

“You’re so pretty when you’re in pain.”

Would anyone believe you if you told them what he said?

No. No, they wouldn’t. You wouldn’t have, had you been an outsider to this situation.

But now you worried about him more than ever. You no longer felt safe in the anime club, worried he’d barge in and infect it with his creepiness whenever his club was cancelled. You were never safe in class, since he had switched seats to be by you each time.

It wasn’t until he started sitting behind you, though, that the trouble really started in class.

Yanking on your hair, kicking your heels, stabbing a pencil into the back of your neck… You had to sit there silently and endure it all, crying to yourself after class and hoping he didn’t see because, whenever he sought you out and found you that way, he looked more excited than ever to see your tears.

He’d even said once, when he’d followed you to your locker to find you crying there, “You’re so pretty when you cry.”

He was sadistic, that much was obvious, but no matter what you tried, he never backed down. You even tried to use your height to be intimidating, but he wasn’t phased. He’d never be phased as long as he had access to you. Or, more specifically, hurting you and making you cry.

You’d tried to hint to your friend that there was more to Kenma than meets the eye, but she was dismissive and playful, more concerned with an upcoming wedding than a funeral.

You tried to get evidence that he was hurting you, but it was difficult. If you had a camera out, Kenma wouldn’t try anything. If you tried to be sneakier and audio record him, he just remained silent. He always seemed to know what you were up to.

Kenma was intelligent and good at predicting others’ movements. You’d seen that in him the last time the school went to a volleyball tournament, but you never expected that to be used on you.

Would there ever be a way to show others that Kenma was nothing but cruel to you?

At this point, you were ready to give up.

The next time he cornered you, ready to hurt you once more, you begged to know why. You begged him to stop and leave you alone until your throat burned and tears pricked your eyes. It wasn’t long until you bowed so low that he became taller and the tears escaped your eyes, dripping to the floor, as you promised that you’d do anything for him if he’d just stop.

But as you raised your teary eyes to see his expression, you realized that it was all in vain. That Kenma would never stop torturing you.

His smile was wider than it had ever been before.

#yandere #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu!! #yandere one shot #one shot #yandere x reader #yandere kenma #kozume kenma