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ma1dita · 2 days

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pushover

luke castellan x dionysus!reader

a/n: usually you’re the one stitching Luke up but the one time he gets to do it for you, he knows you’re milking it. no trouble!verse tags, can be standalone -> she’s an ACTRESS okay? who tf wouldn’t want luke to kiss a booboo; this was a forgotten draft for my partners in crime series feel free to read

wc: 1.2k

“OWWWW!”

The sun shines again on Camp Half-Blood peeking through Luke’s dark curls as he towers over you, laughing from his position above. Your knee is scraped after cushioning your fall, or perhaps your attack, after Luke thought it’d be funny to push you again as he walked past.

Well, today’s been kind of boring, so might as well make the most of it right?

As a daughter of Dionysus, you do love to put on a good show.

There’s a glimmer of mischief in your eye as you do your best to convince him that he’s maimed you but as his eyes fall to the slightly aggravated skin, Luke sighs at the way you look like a kicked puppy, lower lip jutting out as you squint up at him.

“Stop being so overdramatic. It wasn’t that serious.”

“YOU SHOVED ME INTO A BUSH!”

The howl that leaves your throat catches the attention of other campers, who are familiar with your dramatics and your penchant for picking a fight with the son of Hermes. Luke sighs and runs his hands through his hair, groaning in embarrassment.

Gods forbid he look like the bad guy.

“Seriously, trouble— you're acting like I pushed you off a cliff,” he grumbles finally crouching down to reach for your leg to check how serious it is.

It’s not.

“You're a barbarian. Just because you think it's funny to push me around doesn't mean it actually is! Luke.... I can't walk! It feels like my bone is coming through. And I have so much work to do today, and now I'm gonna have to walk super slow…” you groan, still on the ground. Luke rolls his eyes and once he's checked the injury (the whole menacing palm-sized scrape) his expression softens the tiniest bit. He’s still kinda pissed off at you for being a drama queen though.

“Alright, it's not life-threatening so you're going to be fine. Look, I can carry you if I have to.”

Batting his hand away you roll your eyes, “Like I'd let you. You'd probably toss me into the lake again.”

Luke smirks, “Probably, but I swear to the gods that I wouldn't do anything to maim you. Not on purpose at least.” It’s almost criminal how easy it is to get on your nerves—he thinks you’ve finally shut your trap until he watches you fake crawl away to get a reaction out of him. Quite frankly, it’s embarrassing to everyone watching so he scoops you into his arms like you weigh nothing. Luke chuckles softly, wrapping his arms tightly around your squirming frame so you won't fall as he begins walking.

“So difficult. I swear…”

“Me? Never!” you groan, flopping in his arms like a dead body. Your dead weight makes his arms strain a little but his muscles are fun to look at from any angle, so…

You miss it when he starts speaking again, “You're too much, you know that?” A smirk grows upon your face, “And you can't get enough. The infirmary is the other way, Castellan....” Luke huffs as he turns 180 towards the infirmary, sighing softly at the way you are sprawled in his arms. But he keeps quiet because he knows how to pick and choose his battles. Something about the realization that he’d only do this for you makes him bite his lip in thought. But you think he’s trying to not laugh at you.

“What? You maim me and then you make fun of me? Haven't you done enough?” The words slip by as you peek at him through one open eye, his cheeks flushed and rosy. Hopefully, his brawn won’t expire on the short trek to the infirmary.

“You're lucky I don't drop you right now,” Luke jostles you with a lopsided grin he can’t hide anymore and it steadily gets bigger at the sound of your surprise.

“Don't you DARE, Luke Castellan!”

Grabbing onto his mop of curls, the boy winces as his nose brushes against your wrist, and the shockwaves it sends through your system are enough to send you reeling. Maybe it’s the way you almost sway with each step he takes, smooth and steady like a sailboat even when he’s carrying you like this.

He ends up having to carry you inside the infirmary and the Apollo kids on shift stop and stare at their two best counselors in the doorway. Luke tries to ignore them, setting you down on an empty cot and getting the medical supplies he needs to treat your wound. He looks at you propped on the bed like a little princess, cross-legged and fluttering eyelashes waiting for him to clean you up. It's not serious enough for ambrosia, he thinks, so he grabs an alcohol wipe instead.

Luke looks like he's trying his hardest not to smirk as he grabs your leg and begins carefully cleaning the scrape.

“Ow! Gentle! When I patch you up after you spar I don't do it maliciously!”

“I am being gentle, stop wriggling!” Luke grits his teeth as he continues to wipe the drying blood away. He's trying to be careful, but he's clearly irritated that you're not making this easy for him.

Tossing your knee over his lap and getting closer, suddenly you go quiet at the proximity. There’s something intimate about being tended to so delicately in a room filled with people. A quiet in the chaos reserved for only the two of you.

“So what, you think I'm too good for ambrosia? Sending me off to heal like a mortal— what type of nurse are you?”

“You drunk on ambrosia for a scrape would definitely make your dad thrilled and have the both of us cleaning the stables for the rest of the week,” Luke lets out a brief snicker as he meets your gaze, rolling your eyes as you lean against the wall. His hand unconsciously rubs circles into the skin above your knee, featherlight yet firm at the same time. You try to ignore the goosebumps that rise in its wake.

Luke doesn't say anything about it while he continues to look at you. He realizes that you look quite pretty even with windswept hair and dirt on your cheek, but he can't let you see that he's noticed. Something shifts in the air of the infirmary, more overpowering than the smell of antiseptic and it bubbles in both of your chests, overflowing and seeping into the small space between you.

Not bad for a boring day, you suppose. You make him piggyback you for the rest of the day in an attempt to guilt-trip him. But the huge smile on his face has all of your campers thinking otherwise.

—

The next day, he sees you walking perfectly fine. In fact, with the way you’re rushing to scold a Hephaestus kid for almost setting the armory on fire, he’s not sure he’s ever seen you move that fast in your life.

Warmth settles on your cheeks as your eyes dart between the kid you’re yelling at and Luke’s narrowing eyes from afar, and you can’t quite tell if the rush of emotions is from what you’re doing versus who you’re really looking at.

Maybe the next time he pushes you around he’ll find out.

#made by ma1dita ♥︎#trouble!verse #luke castellan x reader #pjo x reader #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #percy jackon and the olympians

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beenbaanbuun · 3 days

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Hey!! I just read your most recent Addams!MATZ fic and the angst is DELICIOUS. Your talent for writing is incredible and your creativity really shines through with each and every fic. The fluff, angst, and even the smut are so wonderfully well done, you're one of my favorite ATEEZ writers.

If you're up to it, and feel free to ignore this, but I'd love to see a part two to the angst Addams!MATZ where seonghwa talks to hongjoong and hongjoong comes to apologize. If that's not something you see yourself continuing, I completely understand!

Make sure to keep yourself healthy and hydrated and get plenty of rest.

thank you for the compliments!!! they mean the world to me. i’m glad that my passion for writing and my love for these boys shines through in my work. here is a continuation <333

————————————————————————��—

seonghwa doesn’t even bother to knock before barging into his husbands office. yes, he thinks anger is an ugly emotion, but that doesn’t mean he is immune to it. in fact, it’s the only thing running through him as he steps through the doorway and slams the heavy slab of oak behind him. hongjoong hasn’t shown you the courtesy of being polite; why should seonghwa show his husband the same.

upon hearing the bang of the door, the overworked businessman turns around, pen still in hand and glasses low on his nose. he was half expecting to see your feisty little self again, but instead he’s met with the sight of his husband. if it weren’t for the sneer that twisted up his husbands pretty face, he might’ve explained the same thing he’d tried explaining to you. something tells him that seonghwa wouldn’t have appreciated being told ‘i’m busy, i’ll come and talk to you when i’m finished designing these pieces.’

“what’s wr—” hongjoong doesn’t even get to finish before seonghwa cuts him off with a scoff and a petty roll of the eyes. it’s hardly like him to wear his emotions on his sleeve, and yet hongjoong can see each one of them clear as day. hurt, anger, disappointment; emotions that he never wants anyone he cares about to feel. his heart sinks just a touch as he realises who those emotions are aimed towards.

“you are a piece of work, hongjoong,” seonghwa spits, sounding beautiful even with venom laced through his voice. hongjoong knows that’s the last thing he should be thinking right now, but he can hardly help admiring his husband, even when he is seething. it takes the man a second or two to knock himself free of the love-induced haze and allow the words to sink in. “do you think you’re in the right for yelling at our darling? do you think that just because you’re overworking yourself it gives you the right to make her cry?”

hongjoong’s world comes to a standstill. the clock on the wall stops ticking, the heart in his chest stops beating, and most importantly, for the first time in weeks, the brain in his head stops thinking. finally, finally, it’s no longer filled with a myriad of complex ideas, each one overlapping yet individual in its own right. finally he just has one singular thought. it’s just a shame it isn’t a good one.

he made you cry…

hongjoong made you cry…

it repeats in his head, over and over like a mantra. it taunts him, the idea that he’d upset you so much feeling like nails on a chalkboard. his hairs stand on end and his breath catches in his throat. lord below, what has he done.

“where is she?” his voice is weak, pathetic, nothing like he usually sounds. seonghwa has to admit that his resolve takes a hit when he hears it leave his loves mouth. he reminds himself to remain strong; your pain is his priority right now. “seonghwa, please—”

“take a guess, hongjoong,” seonghwa replies, once again cutting his husband off. this time it wasn’t out of anger but of fear that he might cave if he has to listen to hongjoong’s heartbroken pleas for much longer. the pained look on his face is enough to send seonghwa’s heart into overdrive; he doesn’t need any more distractions from the real reason he’s here. “where might you usually find her when she isn’t with one of us?”

the rug in front of the fire—jongho.

hongjoong almost feels ashamed that he even had to ask; he should’ve realised the second you silently left his office that you’d gone to seek comfort in your favourite onikuma. realistically, though, he should’ve realised a lot of things. it hurts him to know that he was too focused on work to do so.

he stands, and he’s grateful when seonghwa shifts to the side to allow him past, even going as far as to re-open the heavy door for him. hongjoong isn’t quite sure he deserves the soft hand that’s placed against his back as he walks through the doorway, but he appreciates it nonetheless. now isn’t the time to be wondering how he ended up with such a beautiful individual as a soulmate, but he finds himself lingering on that thought as the two of them begin their journey to the living room. it’s hard not to when the warmth of seonghwa’s touch never once leaves him.

in fact, it’s only when the two of them step through the archway that seonghwa gives a small shove to the bottom of hongjoong’s spine before going to reclaim his spot on the couch. with a single nod in your direction, seonghwa redirects his husband’s attention and hongjoong lets his gaze flicker to the floor.

the first thing he’s met with is a glare from the mutt he’d been so reluctant to allow into his abode. normally, the beast would be scolded for being so bold as to openly disrespect his master, but he let it slide this time. he can hardly tell him not to give him the attitude he so clearly deserves. in fact, this is light compared to what he would’ve expected from the overprotective creature.

at least hongjoong knows he’ll make a wonderful guard dog…

“dove,” hongjoong coos softly as he dips down to your level. he can’t remember the last time he’d sat on the floor, but this feels necessary. the closeness is something that he finds himself craving, wanting nothing more than to have you next to him again. he won’t lie and claim that the sole purpose of this is to comfort you; he needs it too, to stave off the guilt that has begun to eat him alive. “can you look at me?”

there’s a certain element of pain in his voice that tells you he’s being sincere. that he truly does feel remorse for how he treated you. whether or not it’s seonghwa that forced it upon him, you don’t particularly care. all you want is to feel hongjoong’s warmth again, so you listen. you turn your head until your watery eyes meet his.

“there she is,” he gives you a humourless chuckle, a sad smile twisting the corners of his mouth up and the corners of his eyebrows down. the warmth of his hand as he places it on your cheek is comforting; more so than any words he could say. you just need him close. he seems to realise that as he turns to the werewolf, dangerously aware of the way his ears twitch angrily above his head. “may i take her, yeosang? i promise i’ll be gentle with her.”

“you weren’t gentle with her earlier,” yeosang growls, behaving more akin to what hongjoong expects from him. it almost has hongjoong flinching back in fear of yet another bite-shaped bruise on his hand.

“that’s true, but i would like i make it up to her,” hongjoong is soft as he speaks, less so for the sake of the angry mutt, and more for the sake of you. he doesn’t want you to see any more anger from him. “besides i really think it should be my little dove’s decision as to whether i get to hold her, don’t you?” yeosang snarls, huffing in dismay as he unravels his arms from you and lets hongjoong swoop you into his. manipulation never really has been the man’s style, but he has to admit that it works wonders with the mutt. use you as leverage, and yeosang will behave like a fully trained lapdog. he’s just like them in that respect; so desperate to make you happy that they’d risk everything, dignity included.

it’s not hard for you to let yourself be passed around like some kind of teddy bear as a pose to a real, living human. you’re tired from crying, not to mention desperate for the confirmation that you’re still hongjoong’s good girl. in fact, as hongjoong tugs you into his grasp like a rag doll, you find yourself leaning into his grasp. it’s so soft compared to his sharp words and cutting tone earlier, and his familiar scent of spices fills your nostrils. it dizzies you, but hongjoong is there to catch you…

“i’m sorry,” he whispers into your ear as he pulls you up to straddle his crossed legs, “my darling dove, will you forgive me?”

you don’t answer. you don’t find it necessary to. the way you see it there’s nothing to forgive; you annoyed him, he yelled at you. it’s give and take, and despite your emotions getting the better of you, you refuse to place the blame on hongjoong. not all of it, at least.

“only if you forgive me too,” is the answer you finally settle on, mumbling it into his neck. he squirms a little at the tickling sensation, and in your own mind, you find yourself thinking he’s cute.

“you have nothing to forgive, my dove,” he answers, “but if it will make you forgive me, then yes; i forgive you…”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #opposites attract universe #matz x reader #yeosang x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader

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xxxdreamscapexxx · 2 days

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Pairing: Mean Mommy!Wanda x Fem!Reader Word count: 700 Warning: NSFW, 18+, lesbian relationship, spanking, teasing, orgasm denial

Guys, I had this idea of sweet, kind, gentle, loving Mommy Wanda who always treats you so well and spoils you endlessly and adores to cuddle you and run her fingers through your hair. She’s the best. And you’ve only been her well-behaved girl so far, because you know she hates brats. Except you really wanna see that other side of her. You wanna know what she’ll do if you actually acted out… So you do. One day you have the audacity to mouth off to her, making her head snap in your direction and her eyes to turn cold. You see the way her jaw clenches as she walks towards you with big strides. “You wanna say that again?” She asks, just inches from your face, voice low. She’s so intimidating like this, so authoritive and demanding, but you’ve started this already so you stick to what you said, actually repeating it to her face. That’s when she snaps. She has her hand around your throat in seconds, backing you further into the room and spinning you around, so she can bend you over the armrest of the couch. She holds you down with one hand on your lower back, while the other lifts up the skirts of your dress and exposes your ass, greedy hands taking fistfuls of it and caressing you roughly. She takes a deep breath to try and calm herself, but she watches you wiggle under her, little gasps falling from your lips as you wait in anticipation and that’s when it clicks for her. You did it on purpose. She chuckles darkly at the thought, licking her lips while she takes you in like that. “You wanted Mommy to be mean?” She asks, her voice seductive and deep. “Well, here it is.” She says, as her free hand rises up and lands harshly on your ass. “While you enjoy your punishment, my darling, I want you to remember that you wanted this.” She warns, with that same dark and seductive voice. Then another slap lands. And another. She takes her time, savouring each one, caressing your cheeks that grow more sensitive and sore by the minute. Eventually she pulls your panties down, but the blows keep coming. She’s rough, just like you wanted and it makes you so unbearably aroused. You’re getting so wet from it and you’re pretty sure she can tell, but she never pays any attention to your pussy. Sometimes her fingers glide near it, so close, yet not close enough and it makes you squeeze your thighs in anticipation. She sees it. Sees the way you’re starting to get slick and needy, but she continues to ignore it entirely, eventually pulling your panties back up and smoothing down your dress. She chuckles when she sees your big, imploring eyes, your sore ass seated on the armrest she just spanked you over, looking up at her with so much hope. It almost makes her break her resolve. Almost. “Yes?” She asks expectantly, while she tucks your hair behind your ear. “Mommy… It…” You’re not sure how to tell her, but you know that she’s not going to help, unless you ask. “I really need you.” You finally say shyly. “Oh you need me…” She repeats, her voice sweet. Too sweet. “Do you want me to make it all better, baby? Is your pussy all needy now? Does it ache for Mommy?” She asks as she reached a hand between your legs, watching you part your thighs for her so eagerly. It’s adorable. “Yes, Mommy, please make it better.” You sigh, when she finally rubs you over your underwear, skilled fingers easily finding your clit and applying a little pressure to make you moan. “Please, it’s so achy.” Your head tilts backwards from the pleasure of her touch and you miss the sadistic smirk on her face. “Good.” She states suddenly, her hand pulling away. “Let it.” She adds cruelly. “Mommy’s not going to touch your pretty pussy today. And you’re not going to touch it either. You’re going to leave it all needy, just like this.” She instructs. “Bad girls don’t cum.”

#writing #lesbian #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #top!wanda #bottom!reader #wanda maximoff smut #scarlet witch

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deception-united · 2 days

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Here, have some writing tips.

Celebrating 1000 followers! Love you all ❤

Your first version doesn't have to be permanent.

A lot of writers—myself included—may feel a sort of connection or duty to their original story, draft, plot, or characters. But being afraid to change what you already have will only hinder you. My current WIP (which I'm working on with @leisureflame, check out her blog!) has been changed—and I mean completely flipped around—countless times. We started out in a medieval setting with kings and queens and burning witches, and now it's a dystopian novel set in the future in a country they're forbidden to leave. Our main character was originally dark haired, olive skinned, reserved, fierce, independent, and now she's a sunburn-prone ginger with a sanity deficiency. We've scrapped and replaced multiple characters and sacrificed plot elements we loved to attain what is best for this story. It's incredibly sad, but sometimes, it's necessary.

Don't delete your ideas.

Or excerpts. Or character ideas. An idea's occurred to you at three in the morning? In the shower? At work? Write. It. Down. Immediately. The top surface of my bookcase is littered with random notes in smudged pencil that I've jotted down. Referring back to the last point, if you change or scrap a part of your story, keep it somewhere. I like to keep a notes document that I perpetually add the most random things to: out-of-context lines of dialogue, phrases I like, new vocabulary, character descriptions—anything, really. Even if you know you're probably never going to have occasion to use it, take note of it anyway. You never know when a previous idea will be just the element you need in your story. And if not, well, they're fun to read over later.

Free write.

I know I covered this in a recent post, but I'd just like to stress on it again. Open a document or a page in your notebook and just start writing. Whatever comes to mind. Doesn't matter how nonsensical or embarrassing or muddled, as long as you're writing. This exercise can really help regain or maintain your creative flow. You'll end up with some passages that are horrible and that you will never deign to set your eyes upon in the rest of your years, and others you'll cherish. In any case, whether the result is good or atrocious, you'll have written something. It's a good way to combat writer's block, or boredom. I recommend it.

Hope this helps. Thanks for all your support!

#writeblr #writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #writing resources #creative writing #writer inspiration #writer stuff #writer things

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comfortless · 24 hours

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I have some thoughts about König I wanna run by you.

I really like the concept of him following rules to the letter, but not the intention.

like he would never steal from friends, but that only applies to items, job opportunities, romantic interests, and ideas don’t count.

he would never cheat on his lover, EVER! but…that doesn’t mean he can’t entertain thoughts of the nice recruit who for sure has a crush on him, he could lead her on just a lil bit, live off the attention when he’s deployed and claim ignorance if anything gets serious.

oh and he would never hit you, of course not! but if he got you riled up enough or angry enough to throw a punch his way he could hold you down and restrain you so you don’t hurt yourself, he’s not a monster for kind of liking how you struggle to break free from his grip, and he’s barely even exerting any energy, it’s a safe kind of powerplay to him.

ok i am listening and nodding my head yes!

König didn’t get the positive attention he so craved when he was younger, so any little bit of it he can grapple at is his for the taking. He’s a bit impulsive.

Mental health and repercussions are not at all relevant to him when he sees something that he wants and is within the realm of possibility for him to attain. He would have a sort of conniving way when it comes to going about these things, too. It isn’t intentional, but to him, his reasoning is absolute. Probably gets that from his father, but he prefers not to think of that.

He’s no master manipulator here, just a man that is very aware of his few talents. He’s not even good at telling a lie, far too blunt and always speaking the first thing that pops into his head.

There’s a promotion at work another operator is vying for? Well, he’s far more suited for it anyway— look at him. He’s big and good with his weapons, handles them nicely and can plow through an enemy with as much ease as he can a wooden door. His confirmed kills far exceed the number of things that his parents could find and scrape together and deem themselves proud of him for. König’s not entirely withdrawn, either, his people respect him. Some might even admire him a bit, wishing they had the things that he never even asked for: his height, the creepy look upon his face, his lack of hesitation when pulling a trigger or burying his hunting knife in another man’s guts.

They’re on good terms, still on good terms even after he presents his argument as to why he’s just that little bit more deserving. He doesn’t need to bring up his childhood or much of his past to anyone here, but he knows down to his very marrow that people tend to think there’s something off or wrong about him and in turn he’s met with pity or fear. He utilizes it, gets what he feels he deserves by coming off gruff and demanding, even whiny if the situation calls for it. Time and time again, he comes to realize it’s much easier and more rewarding for him to play people like toy soldiers in these situations.

He might not be able to get a girlfriend in any authentic way, but as Ghost said in her reblog here, I do think he would have at least tried a tryst with a friend’s girlfriend at some point. König could reason away any guilt. She came onto him, batting her lashes and wearing that low cut blouse while telling him about just how selfish her man/his friend was in bed. And when it ends terribly as these things do, he’ll learn his lesson well enough, gives some hashed apology over a pint of ale. It doesn’t mend a void, only forces another distance between himself and another person. König is more than used to that.

It is always the wrong thing said or done, always a ship with no harbor to dock. He would have friends, yes, but it’s up in the air as to whether or not any of them last very long. He’s self aware enough to realize that he creates these problems, that he could have just done x instead of y, but there’s this tentative, newfound pride wrought up within him that he doesn’t ever let go of. He doesn’t want to be seen as that weak little boy he once was. Apologies are like pulling teeth, even getting one from him is a big deal.

It isn’t his fault he didn’t get as much pussy as any other man and surely… any true friend of his would know enough about him to accept that he was not entirely the one at fault here. Richtig..?

He’ll be happy to take credit for a job well done. It wasn’t his idea to burst through that door and clear out a room of enemies, but he did the work. He deserves the praise, the increase in pay, whatever benefit he can gain from it. It didn’t matter that Fender barked out the order over the comms, warned his team of potential danger, what matters to König is that he got it taken care of with no casualties on his side.

New recruits come and go often, and more often than not, they’re horrified of this giant that outranks them. König still hasn’t mastered any way with women, but he’s been fortunate enough to land himself a sweet, cute girlfriend that waits for him at home. He’s not an idiot, either, knows a little romp at work isn’t worth a thing in comparison to her and would only add another fire to the desolate world he lives in in his head. His girlfriend’s the only garden he has, and he would rather damn himself entirely than ever see something he loves burn.

So, when one bold woman does approach him, placing her hand on his arm and complimenting his stature, he doesn’t feel a thing except some strange twist of pride.

He’s come a long way from the boy who was ridiculed and bullied relentlessly, worked himself tirelessly into becoming this broad mimicry of a god made flesh. But fuck. The attention is nice. He would compliment this recruit’s aim from time to time, pat her on the head like a good little dog when she takes out an enemy or stacks on extra work for herself. It never goes further than that, but she practically eats out of the palm of his hand, begging with her eyes rather than her voice to ask for a night with her colonel.

And when he’s on leave, and his girlfriend is asking why this woman is texting him so often, he shrugs and casually tosses her his phone. He’s got nothing to hide, hasn’t even entertained the thought of sleeping with this girl. If anything, she reminds him of himself before he ever got laid. That desperation is certainly there, and it does kind of unsettle him. Is this how he came off to women before…? A pitiful little thing that just wants to be loved and cared for?

He doesn’t even respond to the recruit’s messages, even when there are so many of them. He kisses his girlfriend everywhere, fucks her like it’s the first few times all over again, and falls asleep nestled up against her. There’s no room in his heart for anyone except the object of his affection, but a part of him does hope this lost little lady finds her own sliver of heaven too. He knows how she feels and hates the thought of making a woman cry outside of fucking her well. So he lets the recruit down easy next time they meet, tells her he doesn’t care for relationships at work, that he loves his girlfriend and he doesn’t want to hurt her. It’s spoken candidly, and doesn’t leave any room for discussion.

Shame about the lack of affection while deployed, but he’s managed on his own longer than most. He’s got an entire album of pretty photos of his girl in and out of the lingerie he bought for her to keep him company, anyway.

And admittedly, arguments with his beloved turn him on.

They both know that she can’t actually hurt him. When her hand is raised to give him a good slap for being a complete asshole over something as trivial as a cashier for accidentally ringing something up twice, he’s already hard. The grin on his face is nothing short of ugly, because he knows how this ends, the same way that it always does. He would take her wrist only after she’s hit him, let her stew in what she’s done, murmur her apologies through stilted breaths and lashes heavy with tears. She tells him she just doesn’t understand why he is the way that he is sometimes while trying to wrench her hand away from his grip.

He’s not rough enough to hurt her when the argument sparks up again, even guides her down onto the floor with a steady hand on her back while she pleads with him for answers that he just doesn’t have. He would go back to seeing a regular therapist for her, maybe. He would do anything for her and that’s just another thing that they both know.

“Heh… you like me crazy,” König would breathe into her hair when her thighs are locked around his middle. Poor thing can barely speak when she’s exerted her energy trying to best him in a battle she could never hope to win. She’s all whimper and no bite, nails raking over his shoulders with each slow, teasing thrust.

“Look at you.” He practically purrs when her face is taken into one callused palm, brought forward to lock eyes with him when the sounds spilling from her lips grow more needy. And then he gives her the fucking she deserves, rougher when she’s sighing his name and trembling from the residual waves of her own orgasm. It didn’t matter who was right or wrong anymore; argument long-forgotten, buried under a blanket of white heat. He chases his own end, lets her watch him unravel all for her as his seed fills her, spills out where they connect to make a mess of the carpet below.

He’s selfish in those ways.

#syl getting carried away again? imagine that!#Kö headcanons #<- i need to start tagging these! i keep losing ‘em!#as usual you lot are geniuses we are all sitting at the lab table constructing the most vile most perfect man

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teejaystumbles · 2 days

Text

Against all odds (part 7)

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6

This is all I've got so far but I figured I'd let you have it and hopefully I'll have more soon :3

Hob works at a news agency. As someone with hundreds of years of experiencing political and societal change he has a keen eye for news-worthy happenings. Often he can predict very well which events are important, which will have historical influence or be the talk of the nation for a long time. Hob edits his colleague’s articles and reports, chooses which ones are worthy of printing and which aren’t, tries to remove or at least mitigate the xenophobia and fearmongering in what he hopes are the last days of the Cold War. People don’t need fear to grow, they need hope. He thinks he’ll stop doing this soon, though. His name - Robert Goulding at the moment - pops up in too many places and he doesn’t like being recognizable for more than a few decades. He takes care to not become chief editor and stay out of the limelight but he thinks he’ll move on soon. Maybe he’ll take a break and live off his stock profits. Find a quiet place for him and his stranger, somewhere in the countryside, with a garden…

Hob shakes himself out of his fantasy and laughs at himself. Wishful thinking will hardly be of any use. He’s been wishing and hoping for more time with his stranger for so many centuries. Now it finally seems like he might get lucky enough to have regular contact, via journal entries, and maybe even visits. That is enough. He shouldn’t be greedy.

With a sigh and a silent curse that he stopped smoking he goes to finish his work so he can get home and write an answer to his friend.

In the evening Hob pours himself a whiskey and sits down at his desk, open journal before him. He looks over to his bed. His stranger had sat here last night, watching him. Hob swallows reflexively and takes another sip of his drink, trying to not let his thoughts go down a slippery, horny slope before he starts writing.

June 15th, 1989

Dear friend,

I am glad you felt you could come and visit me and that you feel safe in my presence. I consider it an honour and I want to assure you that I do not mind in the least if you stop by whenever you feel like it. I trust you. Feel free to come here anytime, no matter if I'm awake or not, or if I’m even here. If my place can be a retreat for you from your everyday worries or workplace (as I assume you are busy doing something somewhere), I would be very happy. Leave your shoes off the sofa, that’s all I ask. ;-)

But seriously, my home is your home. I mean it. I look forward to seeing you again as well.

Reading about your ordeal was horrible. I am so sorry this happened to you and that I didn’t hear anything about it. I would have moved everything between Heaven and Earth to free you, my friend, please believe me. You say the ones responsible have been punished but I cannot stop myself from imagining visiting vengeance upon them for your sake. To imprison you someone, anyone, for such a long period of time, in the conditions that you described, is barbaric and the rage I feel at the mere thought is nearly blinding.

I am deeply sorry for your loss and for all you had to endure. I would give you anything in my power to make you feel safe, dear stranger. If you ever need my help, please call me. I don’t know if you had any means to call for help, you probably didn’t, but please - should you ever be in any trouble or danger or in need of help, I urge you to call on me! I will come and help you the best I can, I will not allow you to be trapped ever again. After all, what are friends for, if not for helping one another?

Your problems with closed spaces and strangers are completely understandable and I would never hold it against you if you never want to meet inside a building again. I hope we’ll be able to find a suitable replacement for the old haunt, at least until you feel more at ease again. These things take time, at least for humans, and although I would not dare to insinuate that you are not more robust than the average human and probably not subject to the same physical and mental limits I’d wager a guess that you will need time to heal, my friend. I sincerely ask you to take that time. You strike me as the type to jump headfirst back into work and duty after getting free and that is not recommended, no matter what or how powerful you are. You were imprisoned for 80 years and subjected to torture, you cannot expect to be the same after that. No one should expect you to be the same, to not be changed by it or in need of healing and time to recuperate.

I am only human but in my long life I have met a few other immortal beings, not all of them human but all of them with very similar needs and wants. I know you’re probably bristling right now because I dare to suggest you might be unfit for whatever it is you do but I hope you believe me when I tell you this only because I care for you - you need a break. Please, stranger, promise me you’ll take care of yourself, if you cannot let others do that for you. I would be happy to help in any way I can. Visit me at your leisure, I promise I will never turn you away, or look down on you for showing weakness. You have seen me at my lowest and I have always trusted you to still respect me after that. Just like that, I would never think any less of you for any of this.

I’ll be happy to help you learn more about humanity, get to know humans again. I am honoured that you have elevated me in your mind to something else but I am as human as they come. So if you like me, you can like other humans as well, right?

I will think of a nice place to meet and let you know as soon as I’ve decided. Remember, in the meantime this place is always open to you. Even including watching me sleep. ;-P

Stay safe,

Your friend Hob

Hob puts down the pen and skims over his lines. Yes, that’s not too forward but inviting enough to let his stranger feel safe and welcome. It’s a bit daring, calling his stranger in need of a break, but it’s the right thing to say and offer.

He nods, downs his whiskey and gets ready for bed.

#stay tuned for another dream😘#dreamling #the sandman fanfiction #1989 au #teejay writes

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aurae-rori · 2 days

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AVENTURINE TRAILER ANALYSIS - THE GOLDEN TOUCH

SPOILERS FOR 2.1 CONTENT & AVENTURINE’S TRAILER!

TW FOR VERY VAGUE SUICIDE MENTIONS.

Hey girlies, hold still. On another note, hello again! I will be going through visual analysis, symbolism, and talking about how this trailer ties multiple aspects of Aventurine’s character together. Some of the things covered here I will be covering in my full analysis of Aventurine himself, so feel free to give that a shot.

My disclaimer! Although I have been researching psychology personally for about six years, I am NOT a professional. (Yet. When I do, Tumblr Will Know.) Any conclusions I come to are because of my own deductions, personal interpretations, analysis, and logic. You are free to disagree with what I say!

I also do NOT know card numbers and symbols – what they mean and symbolize and all that jazz. Sorry guys. :(

Now, let’s get into it.

First of all, let’s fucking go, let this man ENJOY himself (well. A little. This trailer is not as happy silly as it seems, just like the character himself.) He gets to have a silly boogie woogie! Look at you go!! (He is not boogie woogie-ing.)

Second of all, time for game theories.

The first scene is really pretty. It’s a coin falling down, toppling against a few stray objects before we flash to the next panel, the ground, as it rolls to the feet of a young boy. Gently, he reaches down, before picking it up, and then, in true Aventurine fashion, proceeds to flip the coin in his hand. However, this gesture actually holds more meaning than I originally thought it did. The coin that Aventurine has seems to transcend his definition of ‘time’ – his inherent ‘value’, or his ‘roots’, never changing. It also shows his connection to his younger self – how he’s still holding onto that child, still connecting to that child, and showing that this child is still a part of him, even if it’s only his past self.

I believe that the coin that he always has flipping around actually represents Aventurine himself – it represents his ‘value’ as a gambling chip. In Aventurine’s eyes, interpersonal relationships are just like that – they are gambles, where people take advantage of one another and backstab each other. However, it also represents how little he seems to care for his own life – he tosses the coin around, does tricks with it, and is overly flamboyant – just like how he presents himself to the outside world. This single gambling chip is actually the presentation of how Aventurine sees himself and presents himself to everyone else, as well as encompasses his worldview – bet himself, going ‘all in’ with his own worth, or doing nothing. That worth has been with him his entire life – the worth of being a child blessed by a God from his home, being blessed with good fortune.

Also, sick ass transition. Love that shit.

Pay attention to the next scene – there’s a brief moment where it shows him walking through a hallway… through the lens of a camera. This could definitely be alluding to the idea of always being watched – I mean, he’s the last of his own race, of course there’s going to be eyes on him. People are going to be asking questions - how is he still alive? Why is he with the IPC? Can he be trusted, considering his race was known for scheming and plotting?

And then, he tosses open the door in a grand display – a grand display of his fake persona. He opens the room to a whole bunch of robots, who are all gambling, and they stare at him in surprise. That’s Aventurine – flamboyant, showy, confident. He holds a captive audience and all of the others move to the side as he strides towards the slots machine – and as predicted, due to his good luck, he gets three in a row. However, what I think is important to note is that he slides his coin into the machine – and remember what I said about the coin representing his worth? This is what I mean by he bets himself. He is just another gambling chip that he will use to achieve victory no matter what. He is another pawn on the table who has made his way this far, and it’s all or nothing – his whole worth, or not worth the gamble at all.

Also, at 0:42, we see a briefcase open up to reveal a gem – definitely a callback to the 2.1 trailblaze quest with his moment with Ratio. Damn, gay people.

Then, after that, he slides many chips towards the table – and interestingly enough, they’re all copies of his one singular chip. This, your honour, is what we call a ‘bluff’. Pretending to be more than you are in order to appear more confident so that your enemies will fear you. Pretty good strategy, honestly.

Also, cool editing with the machines falling into the Void of Cards. Maybe symbolism for how people fall into his persona easily and fall for his schemes?

Epic ahh pose, 0:54. Love that for you, my silly homosexual lad.

Also, him in the elevator going to the top at around 1:02? That means more than you think it does. Probably most likely a representation of how he had to crawl his way from the bottom to the top, and yet, now, it’s showing that he is at the top now. He takes an elevator instead of having to climb – he’s gotten higher, he’s gotten more status. His ‘all or nothing’ mentality pays off.

And then, he’s set into an arena. Representation of life, honestly. His whole life is a stage, a play, something to be watched. He’s here to put on a good show. He’s being watched, which is a callback to my note about the camera at the start.

Then, the horrors are set loose. He does his gambling stuff with the cup in his hand while he dodges the monsters. That’s him, alright – taking gambles in dangerous situations, relying on his luck, smiling through what should be terrifying.

“The wager will be life and death,” but oh, that’s your usual wager, Aventurine. We all know how you have self-destructive tendencies.

1:42. Hand behind his back. Oh lord, we all died. We all know what the hand behind his back means. We all know how much emotional damage that caused.

1:46. The dice cracks. Just like his cornerstone, eh? Just like his façade, right…? :)

And then, everything is drowned in gold coins. Yay!

And then, he’s standing on a ledge. Possibly a callback to how he said that he had “tested death” in the dreamscape. What better way to test it than jumping?

And then his enemies are drowning in coins. Probably a metaphor for his win against them.

And then, here is where things get interesting at the two minute mark. He tosses his coin down, again, like at the beginning of the trailer. Kakvasha flipped the coin up, trying to get higher, and then, Aventurine tosses the coin down, keeping his connection with his younger self. It falls down to the ground, and Kakavasha picks it up with awe in his eyes. He’s still keeping in mind his younger self, still keeping him with him, even to this day. Holding onto his past like a lifeline.

Aventurine’s trailer… while it does seem on the surface that you’re having fun, you’re really not, when everything is a show and a gamble, right?

Alright, thanks for reading, everyone! :)

#aventurine #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr aventurine #honkai star rail aventurine #analysis #media analysis #character analysis #let me cook #aurae analyzes

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crheativity · 19 hours

Note

Congrats on 200!

If it's cool with you, can I request a 5pm spa day with Vil?

WARNINGS: I don’t know anything about skin care (which is probably not a good thing). Also, featuring workaholic Vil. This also might be a bit out of character, I’m sorry, I tried D:

COMMENTS: Thank you Ithseem!! I’m sorry this took so long!! Not knowing anything about skincare or spa days made this like 10x more intimidating haha. I hope you enjoy it!!! Also, Vil with banter >>>>>

(Also, I promise I haven’t forgotten your other req, it’s just taking a while ;n;)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the more “perfect” someone is, the busier they must be. If that was the case, you thought, then your boyfriend must be the most perfect person in the world.

It wasn’t that you were starved for attention - your boyfriend, the one and only Vil Schoenheit - gave you the attention you wanted any time he could (and quite often when he really should be working). But that never stopped you from feeling just a little bit lonely when he was away for a model shoot or busy with his acting. The past couple of days had been particularly painful. Vil had been away for about two weeks, shooting various cameos in various TV shows that you definitely remembered the name of.

Now he was finally back, and, as such, you’d gone to see if you could spend time with him, only to find him sitting cross-legged on his bed, deeply entrenched by a small mountain of paperwork.

“What’s all this?” You made your way over to his bed, attempting in vain to find a free spot to sit.

He glanced up at you and smiled, humour dancing in his eyes. “I believe it’s polite to knock before entering someone’s room.” He gently reminded you as he shuffled around some papers, making room for you next to him.

You sat down, wriggling into a comfortable position. “Usually, yeah, but you’re my boyfriend. You don’t count as a ‘someone’.”

He raised his eyebrows, his smile quirking into something a little more smug. “If I’m not a ‘someone’, does that mean I’m no one at all? Or do I not exist to you, hm?”

You took his arm and hugged it, humming in thought. “More like the fact that you do exist is unbelievable.”

Vil rolled his eyes but smiled. “And where did you learn that one?”

“From the best - you.”

He chuckled and patted your head with his spare hand.

You remained there in quiet for a while, the silence only occasionally broken by the scratching of Vil’s pencil on paper.

After a couple minutes that felt more like a couple hours, you felt restless. Having Vil back was amazing, but you wanted to do something, not just sit here and wait for him to finish whatever paperwork he was working through. That was out of the question, however. Vil always preferred to have his work done before doing anything else, so he didn’t have it hanging over him to do later.

To stop him in the middle of his work for something that could be done later, it’d have to be something pretty special.

After a couple minutes of brainstorming, you had a plan. It wasn’t guaranteed to work, but it was better than nothing.

Hesitantly, you tugged Vil’s arm. “Vil?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Do you wanna have a spa day?”

Vil glanced up at you, surprise and some suspicion evident in his expression. “Pardon?”

“I just wanted to ask if you wanted to do a spa day.”

“…Why do you ask?” He looked interested, but confused.

“Well… you were gone for ages and I missed you. And I know you worked really, really hard on those shoots. So I was trying to think of something that you like that we could do as a celebration or something, I guess? Like, a celebration that we’re together again and a reward for your hard work.” You glanced up at him and smiled hesitantly. “Is that okay?”

Vil looked surprised, a faint splash of pink dusting his cheeks. He hesitated, then smiled. “Oh, alright then. This can all wait.” He took the papers on his lap and placed them in a pile, then gathered up all his other papers and dumped them unceremoniously on his desk. “It’s all utterly boring anyhow. But, dearest,” he paused and turned to look at you, a curious light in his eyes, “what made you think of a spa day?”

You shrugged and smiled. “Because you like them, right? And besides, relaxing after a long trip is better than doing more work.” You wrinkled your nose at the paperwork as though it smelt like Grim after rolling around in the mud.

Vil quickly walked over to you and pulled you into a tight hug. “Thank you, dearest.” He pulled away, a tired smile on his face and a purely, genuinely happy look in his eyes. He turned and went to prep everything needed for the spa day, and for that you were glad;

Even when he was exhausted, he knew how to make your heart skip a beat.

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥

#Rhea’s TWST Fics~!#200 follower celebrheation event!#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #TWST fluff #Vil #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x reader #TWST fanfic #TWST #send help I cannot spell Vil’s last name when I’m tired lol

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wynonnahyde · 6 hours

Text

The saloon was lively, most if not everyone dancing, drinking, or socializing. Two younger people had recently been wed, so naturally, it was time to celebrate the new couple. Wynonna sat at the end of the bar, smiling as she watched everyone dance around, a smile on her lips. It had been a little, at least in her time, about 3 weeks since her horrid week. She wasn’t healed by any means, but she felt much better than she did, just had to be careful as any harsh hit to her chest or stomach would make her collapse.

She wasn’t drinking, which came as a surprise to most people, rather, slowly eating some chips that the saloons owner had made himself. She hummed along to the song on the piano, smiling at a few people as they passed by.

Later into the night, a younger man sped into the building, eyes darting around until they landed on Wynonna, speaking to an older woman. He quickly passed the crowd, excusing himself as he intervened.

“A—are you Wynonna Hyde—? Sand-spider?” He asked, his voice trembling.

Wynonna looked at him, a little off guard as she looked at the boy. “Yeah? Why?”

“There’s been a sighting out by the towns watering hole, where we all put our horses during off season, and sheriff has gone missing.”

“Missing-? How long?” She was shocked, no one went missing, especially the guy who uses his gun more than handcuffs.

“4 hours now, he said not to get you, but I heard a yell up by there and— well you catch the bad guys! I’m just a watcher at the jail!” He rambled, hands shaking as he looked into her eyes.

She hesitated, but sighed, nodding as she stood to her feet, nodding to the woman as a goodbye as she started to walk away, the boy following.

They exchanged more details, apparently a guy who was a little to snake like was out by the watering hole, seeming to be waiting. “And when the sheriff left, I heard a yell and couldn’t find him! So—so I came to get you..”

“…I—I’ll see what I can do, okay kid? If I ain’t back you get some people to come looking.”

The boy nodded, watching the woman start to walk off, her shadow disappearing into the darkness. It was a moonless night, visibility was low, very low, meaning you couldn’t really see who was around. Her steps were slow, and quiet, scanning the area as she slowly made it to the watering hole.

“…Sheriff? Jacob sent me out here, said you was missing?” It was silent, no reply. “…Timothy? You out here?”

Yet again, there was so reply, making the hair on her neck stand up. She was looking at the water, the towns watering hole, somehow, the water stayed, it was deep, about 6 feet, some people said it was an old burry sight that got abandoned, then filled. Everyone sent their horses down here during off season, when there was no work to be done.

“…fuckin’ hell man, c’mon don’t do this, Mary and Andrew just got married, we don’t need a death…” she sighed, going to step back to walk more down west, before a snap of a twig filled the air, her senses firing as she turned her head, seeing Timothy standing by the waters edge, staring her down. “Shit! Jesus, Timothy you scared me straight a moment…are you okay? You look like you’ve done seen a ghost.”

“I should’ve killed you when I had Johnny.” He simply said, his voice calm, cold.

“…what…?” She took a moment to reply, raising an eyebrow. “…Johnny died at the hanging tree, his guts were ripped open, what the fuck do you mean by that.”

“You stupid woman,” he spat, stepping closer, hands twitching. “My daddy spent his entire life tracking your family and his, just to die three day shy of your wedding?! and you all get off SCOTT FREE”

“Johnny was turning his life around, that man was fixing what his family had done! Your daddy wouldn’t leave us alone! We had never done anything!”

“Exactly why your father paid me to end it, you were to valuable, if I caught you two, I would have taken the entire ring down!”

“…what.”

She stood still, staring at the man as he started to chuckle, rolling his eyes. “What..? You thought it was a random man? Idiot!”

“…you…no. You—you helped me take him down from the tree, you helped me keep his guts inside.” She said lowly, breathing slowly.

He scoffed, eyes rolling as he held a sick grin, “you did the easy part in killing your daddy for me.”

Wynonna just blinked slowly, her hand moving to her side, grazing the fan, and handing on the handle of her gun, her breathing turning ragged. “You…fucking…BASTARD.”

She ran at him, drawing her gun, which caught the man by surprise as he stumbled back, a few gunshots ringing out. They struggled, Wynonna blinded by pure rage as she tried her hardest to shoot the man, a few bullets raining into the air.

“YOU FUCKING BASTARD. HE FAUGHT SO HARD TO MAKE A LIFE FOR US. WE WERE GOING TO HAVE A CHILD. WE WERE GOING TO BE SAFE DOWN IN WASHINGTON.” She screamed, her voice ragged, a guttural yell.

The man simply grunted, looking for a way to get her down, the two ending up in the shallow end of the waters. He let out a yell, and hit her ribs, causing her to gasp, loosing air as she fell to her knees. The next moments were a blur as he struggled, shoving her down into the water with a splash. She let out a yell, trying to grab a breath of air before her head went under the water.

His hands wrapped around her throat, held down under water, she fought, she really did fight hard, but she was loosing air. She clawed, she hit, she kicked, she tried to get up, nothing. Her head was getting fuzzy, her eyes hurting, her chest begging for air. She inhaled, water rushing into her lungs as she gagged. She felt weak, her mind slowly starting to fade, and in her final moments, her thoughts were only one person, the one person she made a promise too. Rider, Doll, Juniper, June,

Junie.

#rp blog #sandspider #spiderverse rp #ok to interact

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vaguely-concerned · 2 days

Text

Silly Garashir ficlet, Teen and Up-ish, mostly banter! CW: copious amounts of blood but like. Purely in a comedy capacity (don’t worry none of it is Garak’s)

“Good god,” Julian breathed, unable to do anything but stare for a moment.

“Oh, don’t worry, none of this is mine,” Garak said, dripping puddles of crimson onto the floor, calm blue eyes the only thing peeking out from the solid layer of blood covering his face and upper torso. “The gravest injury has been to my wardrobe, I assure you. As you might have gathered, I encountered our suspected evildoer as they sought to make their escape.”

“From the looks of things, I’d hazard it’s more accurate to say that they encountered you,” Julian said. He shook himself out of his momentary petrification and raised the medical tricorder to make sure Garak’s reports of being unharmed hadn’t been greatly exaggerated, as would sometimes be the case with him.

“However you would prefer to frame it,” Garak said, dipping his chin modestly and blinking globs of blood from his eyelashes. “I’m sorry to say I couldn’t ascertain many details about them, neither in terms of species or other identifying details. They were masked and coming at me with a knife at the time, which in the moment tends to blot out other considerations in one’s mind.”

Despite himself, Julian grinned at the performative airiness of Garak’s tone. He did seem to be basically fine. “I think that’s understandable under the circumstances, Garak. Odo’s probably going to track them down pretty quick, if they’re leaving a trail of blood across the station. Do you, er… want a handkerchief or something?”

“It’s very kind of you to offer, but I don’t think that’s going to do the job in this case.”

“No,” Julian had to admit, “no, you’re — probably right. I’ll let you go for a thorough sonic and peace and quiet once I’m done with this. I’m sure Odo will want a word with you later, though.”

Garak parted his lips to say something, and grimaced. “Ugh. Well, if it’s any help in figuring out the identity of our culprit, that’s definitely the taste of Napean blood. As you mentioned there will of course also likely be other clues, like them bleeding profusely as they sprint across the Promenade, but I always strive to be helpful wherever I can.”

“Garak!” Julian yelped, shooting him an alarmed look and continuing his inspection of the tricorder readings with renewed worry.

“Hm? Yes? You can run whatever tests you want on it to be sure, of course, but I am quite certain in my conclusion. There is a… distinctive tang to —”

“That’s so medically unsafe, you can’t go around ingesting —”

“Well, I hardly meant to ingest anything, Doctor, but it did end up all over my person in a way that makes it hard to entirely avoid,” Garak snapped, though he tolerated Julian going in for a second, even more thorough examination without complaint. “Maybe if this person hadn’t so rudely insisted on venting the contents of their arteries straight into my face during our tussle — ”

“Yes, yes, I understand, sorry, I wasn’t suggesting you did it on purpose or anything, but it does mean I really do need to monitor you for any allergic reactions or bloodborne… wait, wait, hang on, how do you even know what Napean blood — ”

Smiling in a way that aimed for beatific and missed it by way of too many bared teeth, in a manner that would probably be quite unsettling if Julian wasn’t so used to (so fond of, whispered a treacherous little voice in the back of his head) Garak’s face, Garak dabbed daintily at the worst of the blood dripping off his nose with his sleeve and said: “Do you really want to know, or is this your outsized curiosity running ahead of your better judgment again?”

“I’m going to be wondering about it all night, but no, I don’t think I want to know, actually. If I come back in a week and still can’t put it out of my mind, feel free to tell me, though. Or use that time to come up with a good story, I don’t mind.”

“Never any but the best for you, my friend,” Garak said fondly.

#garashir #star trek #star trek ds9 #ds9 #julian bashir #elim garak #I jumpscared myself today by checking the document wordcount and finding I have hit 10K of garashir fic wips from the last month or so #what. when. how did this happen. why is none of it like finished. why am I like this. etc.#most of it is nonsense like this b/c I love writing dialogue and they're like tailor made for that lol #my writing

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ickypuppi3 · 3 days

Note

💦☁️🛏️ harringrove please!

BUILD-A-BLURB ASK MEME

PAIRING: BILLY X STEVE

PROMPTS: 💦 sleeping together for the first time, ☁️ enemies to lovers, 🛏 only one bed

It’s a punishment of some sort. Steve’s sure of it.

Biblical level.

Penance or whatever. He stopped going to church when he was eleven. Steve wonders if that’s the reason Billy Hargrove is currently standing the other side of a bed that looks too narrow to properly classify as a double and glaring at it like it just offended his mother.

As if a guy like that has a mother.

“Fuck this.”

Billy’s pointing at the faded bedspread. And, yeah. Steve kind of has to agree. He kicks at the wooden frame himself and frowns.

Coach put them in the smallest room. Said the motel they were staying at overnight had overbooked and, well. Billy and Steve were the only pair. The only two, ‘cause Tommy H is currently laid up in bed back home with a fever. Dropped out last minute and Steve sort of hates him for it.

Sort of really hates him for it because Billy’s talking again. Voice too loud in the small room.

“This is the goddamn worst, you know that? Indiana fuckin’ sucks.”

Steve sighs. Flops down onto the bed, ancient springs creaking as the mattress bounces half heartedly.

“Feel free to leave at, like, any time.” He says around a yawn. Props himself up on his elbows and gives Billy a look. Smiles sweetly as he speaks. “In fact. I’ll pack your bags for you. Deal?”

“Shut the hell up, Harrington.”

Steve lets himself fall back again. He rubs a hand over his face and realises how beat he is from the journey. “You first, dickhead.”

“Jerkoff.”

“…Bitch.”

Billy spins around. Stupid pointy earring swinging with the movement. He glares at Steve. “Better not start feeling me up in the night.”

“Can you shut the fuck up? Like, is that possible? Do you have an off button? Or are you always set to asshole?”

Billy doesn’t reply. Just grabs his bag and heads for the bathroom. Shuts the door with a bang that has the light fittings rattling.

Steve’s eyes droop as he hears the shower turn on.

He wakes to Billy standing over him. Dripping water and skin flushed from the heat. Steve groans and rubs his eyes. Bats at Billy and tells him to jus’ go’way.

Billy pinches his side. Hard. Steve yelps. Jumps up and shoves at Billy.

“What is your issue, man?”

“Your dumbass was taking up the whole bed.”

Steve shoves at Billy again. Cranky from the lack of sleep, irritable and wound up. And Billy’s got that stupid look on his face. Smirk tugging at his mouth and eyes mean.

Steve hates him.

“I hate you.”

Billy’s mouth twists. Turns down. Steve almost feels bad. Almost.

He’s not sure who swings first but he ends up back on the bed, nose bloody and making a mess of the little pink and yellow flowers beneath him. Billy’s breathing is ragged to match Steve’s as he sits, perched on top. A leg either side of Steve’s waist.

Steve’s still in his t shirt and sweatpants and Billy’s- in his briefs. Has been since he got out of the shower.

He’s also hard.

Steve is too.

And, like-

Fuck penance. This is the full on rapture.

Steve stares at Billy’s pendant and Mother Mary stares right back. Accusing. He drags his eyes up. Billy’s pupils are blown and Steve has to fight to see any blue and-

Steve puts a hand on Billy’s thigh. Tucks his index finger just under the hem and waits for Billy to make his move.

The next punch never comes.

Billy ends up under Steve, this time.

He’s making these low, punched out noises as Steve rolls his hips like he’s fucking Billy through three layers of fabric. He shoves a hand beneath Billy’s waistband. Wraps it around him and has to tamp down a noise of his own at the feeling.

Billy’s fingers are digging into his shoulders and Steve thinks they’re gonna leave a mark. Hopes they do, for some reason. He’s got his face buried in Billy’s neck, curls tickling as he mouths at the spot under Billy’s ear, tugs at that stupid fucking earring with his teeth.

Steve hates him.

Sort of doesn’t hate him, either, though.

Wants to see what other noises he can draw out of Billy Hargrove.

#the girls are fightingggggg [readjusts glasses squints] by god .. they’re …#steve when he finds out he doesn’t hate billy actually and also that billy does in fact have an off button #great day to be bi i guess #harringrove #billy hargrove #asks #my words #whatever !!#this got longer it’s all their fault #nothing to do with me at all really #lemon

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disappointmentthemusical · 2 days

Text

Draco is a racist in the most literal sense. (Well, former – reformed? – racist, that is. He wouldn't identify as one anymore.)

But he'd nonetheless been a racist – literally. He'd subscribed to the Pureblood notion that Wixen and Man are two separate creatures, made distinct by the inherent magic to one and the lack thereof in the other, which made the latter inferior. It'd taken no less than a week of critical thought to rid himself of the philosophy.

Indeed, his stint in Azkaban between his arrest and trial had been rather enlightening. It'd given him the perfect amount of time to grapple with himself, his identity, and the very fiber of the world as he knew it.

In preparation for his hearing, he attempted to shift the blame for his racism from himself. He'd been a child after all. A child very susceptible to the whims and fancies of his parents, as many children are. So, really, it's his parents' faults for impressing upon him their obsession with blood purity, and no one could fault him – sweet, innocent, young Draco – for taking up family business of slur-hurling and the mild torture of innocents.

Yes, he'd be a free man, for sure.

But then he'd unfortunately remembered that his parents had once been children, too. And at what point did the blame shift from them to their own parents, and then the generation before them?

At what point did Draco become responsible for his actions? Was it between second and third year, the transition into teenager-hood? Or was it when he got the mark? Could he blame his parents – his mother who'd begged him not to – for that decision?

What about the cabinet?

What about Dumbledore?

He'd stared at his cell wall for hours, wracking his mind for an answer other than the one he had. None came.

The day of his trial, he resigned himself to a guilty sentence.

But then, of course, Harry Potter had to muck everything up, as he always did – does. Within hours, Draco was not returning to his cell, but standing in front of the Ministry with all of his worldly possessions cradled between his arms.

Well, then.

The next five years were rather boring, full of strife and struggle. He knew poverty for the first time in his life, an experience he never wished to repeat, and despite the horror that was ages 15 through 18, he learned that it had not been rock bottom.

No, rock bottom was much, much worse.

On the bright side, his Wizard upbringing had been good for a few things. For one, his complete ignorance of the concept of sexuality meant that his open homosexuality made him "cutting edge" and "interesting." Secondly, his impeccable aesthetic taste made him hireable.

At 25, he's the most popular stylist at a bougie London salon, and he's made quite the name for himself among the rich housewives of South Kensington. Gone were the days of dumpster diving and petty theft.

Draco Malfoy is, once again, a god among mortals.

And like any god, he is a master of keeping up a facade, which is why he's able to not visibly react when the last person on Earth he wants to see walks through the salon doors.

Harry sodding Potter.

Draco should have anticipated this. Of course, Potter would show up the moment Draco's life was going well – the prick was justice incarnate. He must have a sixth sense for undeserving people experiencing happiness, and like a good hero, he sweeps in to strip the perpetrator of the feeling.

Draco refocuses on the appointment he's in the middle of, thinking invisible thoughts in hopes that it would prevent Potter from spotting him.

As anyone could've predicted, it doesn't work.

"Draco?"

He spares half a glance toward Potter, who stands only a few feet away now, having bypassed the front desk girl. He looks back to the foil in front of him, checking the color.

"Potter."

"What are you doing here?"

He pauses, gives Potter a flat look, and then continues working.

"Oh," Potter says dumbly, "right. But, I mean, um, what are you doing here, like, in, um, this side of London."

It's a lame and fumbled attempt to ask why Draco was in Muggle London, in a Muggle salon, doing a Muggle's hair, and Draco latches on to the opportunity to turn the conversation around.

"What – you think I don't deserve to be here?"

Potter's brow furrows in that familiar way that says he understands that he's just dug himself into a hole, but he hasn't a clue how to un-dig it.

"No," he denies too aggressively. "You know what I mean. I just didn't expect you to work at a place like this."

He winces at his words, and Draco doesn't bother hiding his triumphant smile.

"I'll have you know," Draco's client, a middle aged woman named Siobhan who has that eccentric look that only works on the uber rich, says with a pointed finger at Potter, "that Draco is a very talented young man, and we here are lucky to have his skill. I'm not sure how you two know each other, but I won't stand to have Draco's talents diminished in my presence."

Potter's face turns bright red, and his shoulders shoot up to his ears. "No– I, I– I wasn't trying to–"

"It's all right, dear," Draco says to Siobhan with a hand on her shoulder. "This just shows how far I've come, the success that I've achieved; I won't let others' prejudice stop me."

"Prejudice?!" Ah, there's the outrage that Draco coveted so much when he was younger. It remains unfairly amusing.

Biting back a smirk, he gives Potter a stern look. "If you'll excuse us."

He doesn't wait to for Potter to leave to guide Siobhan to the back wall where the sinks are. Behind him, he can hear Potter awkwardly shuffle out of the salon, and the tin bell above the door announces his departure.

Draco asks one of his coworkers to take over while he has a quick smoke break. Once outside, he allows himself exactly three minutes to panic before straightening his shirt, wiping his tears and heading back inside with his head held high.

If he knows Potter as well as he thinks he does, this won't be the last time they meet. Potter's horribly stubborn like that. So all Draco can do is prepare and hope that the next time Potter shows up, it'll satisfy whatever morbid curiosity he has.

And maybe next time, Draco won't notice how handsome he is.

#harry potter #drarry #harco #drabble #fuck jkr don't support that bitch

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goddess-of-green · 2 days

Text

Four Being Praised and Called "Pretty Boy"

(Request: By @/beyondtheglowingstars) Hi hi! Loving what I've read from you so far and I noticed that requests are open (doing backflips in my head from excitement)

May I request Four's reaction to getting called a pretty boy and other such compliments over how pretty he is? <3 feel free to write it however you want

(A/N:) I love your stuff omg 😳 hi

and ofc!! Four really is a pretty boy, isn't he? they all are tbh

Contains: hc's + drabble, reader's gender is unspecified, "beautiful" used to describe reader, fluff

Word Count: 485

♥ Unlike some of the other Links, Four doesn’t mind effeminate compliments

♥ However, as a man in Hyrule, he is completely unused to hearing them

♥ As such, he is certainly going to get flustered (and likely confused) the first few times you lay those compliments on him (pretty boy blue-screened him)

♥ You could lather him in the most sugary, affectionate praises and he’d accept it all with a smile on his face (he’d be red from his neck to his ears, but he certainly wouldn’t have any complaints)

♥ He may get a little embarrassed if you do this in front of others, especially if he’s trying to exude a strong and brave exterior, but he’d never dislike the attention

♥ If you were married to Four however, he’d react a bit differently

♥ You could lay the mushiest, sweetest praises on him, call him gorgeous, beautiful, (babygirl), and he’d take it all in stride, used to your antics

♥ And be careful praising him too much, or he’ll learn to throw it back at you; he can dish what he takes

~~~

Four was embarrassed.

He never saw himself as pretty. Sure, he knew he wasn't the most macho of warriors (hard to be, at his size) but pretty? That was a new one.

...Couldn't say he didn't like it, though.

He could hardly do more than stutter and blush as you stroked his cheek, cooing about how pretty he was. For Goddesses’ sake, all he’d done was…

What…what did he do again?

It was hard to think when you were so close to his face. So close and so beautiful yourself. You giggled, placing a flower in his hair.

That’s right. A few petals had fallen into his hair. The group was walking through a thicket of flowering trees. He came out of it with a few pink petals in his hair and that seemed to trigger something for you.

Now here you were, sitting with him and pushing flowers into his hair. Not that he minded, it was nice to feel your fingers in his hair. It made him grateful he kept it on the longer side, even if it got in his way sometimes. Not to mention how…sweet you were being.

“W…What?” He blinked, coming back into focus as you stared into his eyes expectantly.

You smiled. “I said, you look so cute like this.” You had an almost cheeky look on your face. Like even if you meant your words, you knew that they’d embarrass him.

And embarrass him they did. His cheeks burned, and he couldn’t help but look away. “Must you say things like that? …I’m a warrior, you know.”

You smiled, “I know, but that doesn’t mean you’re not lovely.” Your fingertips brushed his cheek.

As you brushed gently under his eye, and over his red-dusted cheeks, he couldn’t find it in himself to argue.

#short and probably mischaracterized 😩#having a bit of a writers block right now :(#but i really hope you liked it!!#thank you for requesting :))#lu four x reader #linked universe x reader #lu x reader #four x reader #linked universe four x reader

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