#DO I HAVE SHORT TERM MEMORY LOSS OR SOMETHING???

[isatoru]

every time i finish or catch up on a manga or anime i somehow forget the majority of the lore and events that happened, i even mix up the chronological order of events and end up lowkey gaslighting myself like no this definitely didn't happen or it did when it didn't ALSKDJDF

#I GENUINELY FORGOT J.JK'S PLOT #AND LORE. emphasis on lore LJSASFJ #again if u ask me what g.ojo or n.obara's technique is or wtv i couldnt tell u rn like i'd need to reread / rewatch lmao #SAME WITH SOME B.NHA STUFF LIKE NOT FULLY BUT I DID FORGET SOME STUFF SKJD dont get me started on the manga DKFJH #LOOKING AT MI.RKO RN IM LOWKEY CONFUSED ASKJH #and im positive when the new episodes of c.sm come out im literally going to be like WAIT I DONT REMEMBER THIS even tho i read it LMFOASDJH #NOT EVEN THAT LONG AGO #i forgot aki's backstory i think SDKJFHS #and why yo.shida even showed up w ki.shibe... ALSO I BARELY REMEMBER WHO K.OBENI WAS LMAFHSGD #DO I HAVE SHORT TERM MEMORY LOSS OR SOMETHING??? #does anyone else go through this PLEASEJKHFGS

[jlf23tumble]

You are right about the ADHD but also anxiety or nerves also diminish executive function like memory. It’s dead funny though that it’s 1D songs Louis is having the most trouble with. The choruses are fine but he hasn’t got the verses yet because he didn’t sing those bits.

That would make a helluva lot of sense, plus those songs stem from a DECADE AGO during a time of intense anxiety, plus plus at least 2//5 of those suffering from that particular form of ptsd have talked about how they were fucking wasted during most of those shows, so yeah, how is it surprising lol, but no, it's short-term memory loss due to WEEEEEEEEEEEEEED, drugs are bad, m'kay

#i just figure if you already have some adhd #and you're trying to replicate something from 10 years ago that you used to do with other people #when you were five sheets to the wind #wouldn't it make sense? #i don't get the weirdos trying to say it's because he smokes so much WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED #he's a 30YO with SHORT-TERM MEMORY LOSS ON ACCOUNT OF ALL THAT WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED

[madnessandentropy]

Other people have pointed out how childish Viv and the other writers' ideas of what "mature adult content" is. Drugs, alcohol, sex, and murder. And yes, it is childish. But even their depiction of this content feels childish, like it was written by a twelve year old who doesn't actually understand the effects of these "cool badass adult things" but knows it's a bad thing.

I'm not going to focus on sex or murder here, just drugs and alcohol. Most HH or HB characters are often found chugging drinks like crazy or say they've taken drugs. If they're drunk, they'll have slurred speech and stumble around maybe act a lil crazy. If they're high... maybe the act a bit crazy?

It's, again, a child's idea of the effects of drugs and alcohol. Of course there's slurred speech and that, those are symptoms of being drunk, but it's stuff you see on TV when a character gets drunk. Drugs? Either the characters act normally or just "crazy" because that's what drugs do, right?

However if you actually research the long and short term effects of alcohol and drug use (of course different drugs have different affects) the characters are lacking in these traits.

The short-term effects of alcohol are:

•Initially causes a feeling of happiness, then leads to:

•Blurred vision

•Problems with coordination and balance

•Loss of inhibitions

•Nausuea

•Memory loss

•Slurred speech

•Alchohol poisoning or even death can occur after excessive consumption in one sitting

Okay, that's 4 or 5 out of 7 boxes ticked for the show. That's pretty good. But it would be nice to see some of the other effects.

As for the long-term effects, however:

•Damage to central and peripheral nervous systems

•Increased risk if multiple medical problems such as: cirrhosis of liver, sleep disturbance, infections, memory loss, anxiety and depression

•Increased aggression

•Coma and death

•Foetal Alcohol Syndrome if the consumer is pregnant

Many characters of both shows drink frequently or are confirmed alcoholics and we don't really see these effects. We just see the effects that are mostly shown on TV when a character gets drunk for laughs or whatnont. If there incidents of depression and anxiety, aggression, etc it's caused by something else in the shows.

Effects of drugs (non-specific for now):

•Bloodshot eyes

•Dilated pupils

•Change in appetite

•Sudden weight loss

•Change in sleep pattern

•Tremors, slurred speech

•Loss of coordination

•Mood swings

•Anxiety and paranoia

•Personality change

Effects of PCP (Angel Dust):

•Numbness of the extremities, slurred speech, and loss of coordination may be accompanied by a sense of strength and invulnerability.

•A blank stare, rapid and involuntary eye movements, and an exaggerated gait are among the more observable effects.

•Auditory hallucinations, image distortion, severe mood disorders, and amnesia may also occur.

•Acute anxiety and a feeling of impending doom, paranoia, violent hostility, a psychoses indistinguishable from schizophrenia.

Angel Dust is a character who is a drug addict, and even takes Angel Dust if I remember correctly. He displays none of these symptoms. He's just his regular horny, sassy, asshole self.

Hazbin Hotel is meant to redeem sinners and help them get better, and yet something as damaging as drug abuse is treated more as a quirky character habit and not an addiction that destroys your health and your life.

Drugs don't just make you "crazy" or "hyper energetic". Like I said, different substances have different effects, but none of that is acknowledged or delved into. It's simply a child's idea of drugs with little to no effort or research put into it.

I would also like to say, it was a lost opportunity to not only delve into the causes and effects of drug and alcohol use, but also how it effects those around you. Having a family member, for example, who is a drug addiction or alcoholic is an extremely traumatising experience. This is shown well in Transcendent Kingdom by Yaa Gyasi. It's an excellent book and I recommend you guys give it a read.

#thoughts #vivziepop critical #helluva boss critical #hazbin hotel critical

[mypoisonedvine]

𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝘃𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝘁 𝗺𝗲 | tom (make up) x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | you and tom have been two peas in a pod for your entire lives: tommy and birdie, partners in crime. you only fell in love with him a few years ago, though. maybe he'll notice sometime before you die of old age... but probably not.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 15.8k (oops)

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻���𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut (18+ only, dry humping, handjob, unprotected sex/loss of virginity, fingering, oral f receiving), alcohol consumption and tobacco use, best friends to lovers, angst, pining, fluff, tom and reader lacking braincells, extreme cornish, protectiveness/jealousy, There Was Only One Bed, I can't stress enough how fucking stupid these two are, truly no braincells detected in this entire fic

(title's after the song by the greeting committee <3 will always be the song that makes me think of tom the most)

YOU DON'T NEED TO SEE THE MOVIE TO READ THIS! plot of the film is totally discarded lmaooo

author's note part 2: there's a moment where the reader mentions that sometimes people think her and tom are siblings, she does not necessarily mean that they look alike! she means that they ACT like siblings and could be related through adoption or marriage-- her appearance isn't described and it's left open-ended for anyone to insert themselves ❤️

before we get started, I'm including a convenient cornish dictionary for you all to use if you're not already familiar with the dialect! other terms might pop up but they'll be explained in the text

teazy - acting grumpy or throwing a tantrum; something you might say to a kid having a fit or an adult who is being childishly negative

tuss - insult referencing male genitals; similar to 'knob' or 'dick' in UK and US english

my 'ansum - common, platonic greeting for men ("my handsome")

my bird - common, platonic greeting for women

rich - lovely, endearing, or beautiful

diddy? - a phrase used to mean 'is that true?' or 'really?'; diddah? and issuh? mean the same thing

wasson? - a greeting; short for "what's going on?"

jumping - very angry

hanging - terrible, gross

scat - (NOT WHAT YOU'RE THINKING lol) to push or fight someone

geek - a quick look; you can 'take a geek' at something

“Leave off, m'fine." Tom crinkled up his nose as he tried to brush your hands away, but you fought to keep dabbing the cuts on his face with the washcloth.

"Fine?  You look like you lost a fight," you frowned.

"Well, we won the match, so," he smiled, but winced when you went back to the cut just above his eyebrow.  “Fuck off, that hurts!”

“Couldn’t hurt as much as it did when you got it,” you insisted.  “C’mon, it’ll scar if you don’t let me clean it up right.”

“So?  I thought the lasses liked scars,” he grinned.  “Makes me look tough.”

“Makes you look like you got your arse handed to you.”

Tom really wasn’t built for rugby.  Though he certainly wasn’t in bad shape, he was the slimmest of all the guys he played with; he was fast, he had that going for him, but the poor kid got pummelled every time he played.

“Wish you wouldn’t go out there,” you mumbled, one of those rare times that you admitted how much you hated seeing him get hurt.

“Wish you wouldn’t worry about me when I can take care’a meself,” he replied.

And that was how it had always been— Tom was just reckless like that, and you had to try to reign him in as best you could.  You could remember so many nights spent this way, you trying to scold him enough that he might be a little more careful; but considering you’d been doing this since you were just little kids, you eventually gave up on trying to stop him and just decided to be there when he needed a little comfort.

You might’ve always been Tom’s greatest comfort.  So many things in life are uncertain, temporary, fleeting.  Not you; you’d always been there, as long as he could remember— even longer, really.  And not just because he had a shit memory from all those rugby concussions.  

“Aren’t you worried you’ll look beat up in all our holiday photos?” you asked him, speaking quietly since you were so close to his face to treat his injuries.

“Why’d that bother me?” he shrugged.  “You think I’m gonna be lookin’ at me own stupid mug in photos?”

“Don’t say that,” you shoved him on the shoulders as he laughed, leaning back into the couch.  “You’ve got a nice mug, if you didn’t get it all mucked up.”

“You think m’pretty then?” he cooed sarcastically, putting his hand under his chin and batting his eyelashes; you giggled and shoved him harder, this time knocking you both back until he was laying on the couch and you were on top of him.

“Yeah, pretty daft,” you replied, and he snorted.

“Fuck off,” he rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around your back.

“Lemme go, need to get a bandage for your face,” you explained as you squirmed.

“Nuh uh,” he denied your request, “not letting you up— sorry, birdie.”

“Tommy!” you whined through a laugh, struggling harder against him, but he just held you tighter and grinned down at you.  Giving up, you made a pouty face and rested your chin on his chest.  He mimicked your expression, mocking you until you frowned for real and gave up, turning your face again to lay your cheek down on his shirt.

He gave you a kiss on top of your head, and you let your eyes fall shut.

“Maybe just a little rest,” you decided, your voice already slurring— you were more tired than you thought.

“Mhm,” he agreed, brushing his fingers over your hair.  “Just a little, huh?”

You nodded groggily.  

“Alright— sleep tight, birdie…”

You were only tired because you’d been up way too late, packing for your trip to St. Ives with your and Tom’s families.  Joint vacations were nothing new to the two of you— actually, his parents and yours had been taking trips together since before the two of you were born.  There were pictures of you and Tommy, chubby little babies in your mums’ arms, riding on the London Eye; you’d watched a home video a few times where you were playing in the sand together at a beach in Valencia.  You weren’t sure why they felt the need to fly all the way to Spain for beaches when there were plenty here in Cornwall… but, case in point, this trip was going to be a much more relaxed (and budget-conscious) one: a roadtrip across the county, a couple rooms at a beach-side inn, and some much needed time in the sun for the next week.  Tom promised to teach you how to surf, though you weren’t sure you’d be able to figure it out anyways— but you looked forward to trying.  Really, you looked forward to Tom’s hands on your waist as he tried to help you find your balance.

Truth be told, despite being secretly in love with him since you were fourteen, you never really expected anything to happen with Tommy.  You were like brother and sister— even his parents treated you like a daughter, and vice versa— and you’d always been so close.  There’s always that fear of confessing to someone you’re close with and ruining the friendship, but this was even worse than that.  If you lost Tom, you’d lose everything.

So, it wasn’t sad— there wasn’t a lot of pining anymore, not many nights spent gushing into your diary about it and then crying yourself to sleep because he got a new girlfriend or something.  It was peaceful now, the one-sidedness of it.  You loved him, he didn’t notice, everything went on as usual and that was it.  You kept dating other guys, though Tom never liked any of them, and he dated other girls that you pretended to get along with until they split after a couple weeks.

In fact, dating was the topic of the hour as you and Tom sat in the back of his dad’s suburban, trying to entertain yourselves on the long drive to the beach resort you’d be staying at.

“That girl Dani,” you remembered, focusing most of your attention on a sudoku from the book you’d brought for the trip.  “She was fit— why’d you break up again?”

“Too clingy,” Tommy shrugged, not looking back at you; he was toying with the friendship bracelet around his wrist, the one you’d made for him at summer camp when you were eleven with blue and yellow and black chevrons.  Since you gave it to him, you’d never seen him without it, which is why the colours were all faded and dirty now, and why you were glad you made it adjustable all those years ago… he certainly outgrew the original size by now.

“I thought that was Claire,” you recalled.

“Oh, her too,” he nodded.

“This seems to be a problem for you,” you noticed, “clingy girls.  What does that even mean?”

“Means they get, like, possessive,” he clarified, holding his hands up almost like a motion of choking someone.  “Wanna know what you’re doing all the time, want a text every half hour— it’s too much.”

“That just means they like you, Tommy,” you rolled your eyes.  “You shouldn’t dump girls over that.”

“They usually dump me,” he corrected.

“What?!” you squeaked, before you cleared your throat when you noticed what your utter disbelief might imply.

“Guess they just get, I dunno, jealous?” he explained, crinkling his nose as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck.

“Jealous?” you repeated, looking away from the page in front of you for the first time.  The way he was looking at you— head tilted to the side, one eyebrow raised and mouth in a small frown— you realised what he meant.  “Of me?”

“Well, yeah,” he mumbled, “I mean, we spend so much time together.”

“But we’re just friends,” you noticed.

“That’s what I try to tell them!” he insisted.  “I mean, I say that you’re my best mate and all but I don’t even think of you like that— c’mon, I’d never…”

You looked back at the half-solved sudoku, letting out a sigh that you hoped you could pull off as frustration with the number grid before you.

“Guess they don’t believe me,” he concluded, “or they don’t care.”

“They must think it’s bound to happen one day,” you posited.  “That we’ll get together, I mean.”

“Yeah— but don’t you think if it was gonna happen, it would’ve happened already?” he pointed out.

You bit your lip.  “Yeah,” you agreed curtly.

"Hey— whatever happened to that lad with the crooked teeth you liked so much?" Tommy asked.

"You'll have to be more specific," you huffed, keeping your eyes trained on your puzzle.

"He had specs and a freckle right on the end of his nose," Tommy continued.

"Oh yeah!  Frank," you reminded him of the boy's name.  "What, did you actually approve of him or something?"

"Course not," Tommy scoffed.  "Jus' wondering, 'cause you used to go on about him all the time— 'bout how he was so wonderful and all." Tommy rolled his eyes, just to make sure it was perfectly clear that he didn't approve.

"Erm, well," you stalled, "yeah, haven't talked to him in a while."

Tommy wouldn't buy an excuse like that from you, he knew you far too well.  Leaning in, he titled his head to try to get a view of your face.  "Did something happen with him?" he pressed, and you swallowed.

"Yeah, I mean— nothing really," you shrugged, "he just got upset that I didn't wanna take things too fast, I guess.  Called me a slag and threw my phone— didn't crack, though, got lucky there—"

"Diddy?" Tommy spat, his anger obvious on his face.  He sat back up when you nodded, taking in a deep breath through his nose.  "Shoulda told me, would've scat 'im down and beat his face in.  Can't be talking to my birdie like that."

Your heart skipped a beat.  His birdie.  

"And throwin' your phone, too?  Bleddy tuss," Tommy sneered, shaking his head as he looked out the window, like he was trying to calm himself down.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you get especially Cornish when you're angry?" you giggled.

"Only twice a day, birdie," Tom laughed.  

Did anyone ever tell you that it turns me on?

“We’re here!” your mum announced, and you looked up to see that the car was turning in to a roundabout driveway.  Tom excitedly leaned against his window, looking up at the hotel.  “Wow,” he breathed.  “Look!”

He guided you to lean in right up against him, pressing your cheek to the glass so you could see the tall building.  It wasn’t a skyscraper or anything— this wasn’t that kind of place— but it was at least ten stories, with white bricks on the outside and seafoam-green shutters on each window.

With the car parked, Tom and the dads were going through the boot while his mom ran to use the loo and you and your mom checked in.

You weren’t really paying attention, honestly, while your mom gave the woman at the front desk a credit card for incidentals and all that.  The interaction only piqued your interest when you heard her confirm— “three rooms, then?”

“Yep,” your mum agreed.

“Three?” you repeated, looking up at her.

“Yeah— your dad and I, Gary and Marie, and then another room for you and Tom.”

You cleared your room.  “Tom and I get our own room?”

“You think us old geezers wanna be kept up all night by your giggling?” she snorted.  “Figured you two could entertain yourselves just fine, give the grown-ups some space.”

Before you could decide how to react to that, the opening of the front doors got everyone’s attention.  Tom looked ridiculous trying to carry as many bags as he could— all of yours, plus his and his mom’s— and you snorted as you watched him waddle into the lobby with all of them.

“What floor are we on?” he asked, the strain in his voice apparent and hilarious.

“Ten,” you informed him, and he groaned.

“Kidding!  Three,” you chuckled, “and there’s a lift.”

“Aw, Jesus,” Tom grumbled as he walked past you, struggling under the weight of the bags.  “You’re tryin’ to kill me, birdie.”

“I didn’t tell you to carry all those,” you rolled your eyes, looking at the concierge again as Tom turned the corner to find the lift.

“Is that your boyfriend?” she asked, continuing before you could answer.  “You two are adorable.”

“O-oh, er— no, actually,” you stammered, “just a friend.”

“Oh!” she mumbled.  “I see, my apologies.”

You looked down at your phone for just a second, only to hear your mom make a strange noise— a little giggle, and you saw her and the woman at the desk looking at each other.  “What?” you asked your mum.

“Nothing, dear,” she dismissed.

“What?!” you hissed, groaning when she hid a cheeky smile but said nothing.  “You’re so weird sometimes, mum…”

“Anyhoo,” the concierge mumbled, “you’re all ready to go!  Three king bed rooms, third floor, ocean view—”

“Wait, wait,” you interrupted, “all the rooms have a king bed?”  She nodded.  “Just a king bed?”

“Well… there’s a couch,” she offered.

You deflated slightly.  “That might be a little strange.”

“Oh,” she hummed, “well, I could change your room if you’d like.  But they won’t be connected anymore…”

“That’s fine,” you shook your head.

“Okay, there’s a room with two twins across the hall,” she explained, reading from her computer screen.

Ugh, a twin was gonna be uncomfortable, but so would just one bed.  “That’s fine, thank you.”

She clicked around on her keyboard for a bit, and right as she looked up at you again, Tom appeared from around the corner again.  “All done,” she announced, “I’ve changed your room for you!”

“You what?” Tom choked.

“She’s just changed our room for us,” you explained to him.

“Ah god,” he panted, laying his head against the wall while he caught his breath.  “Birdie, I just put all the bags away…”

You sighed, and the woman piped up again.  “I could still change it back for you, if the bags are too much trouble.”

“Please,” Tom breathed, and she nodded and started up with the keyboard again.  Rolling your eyes, you brushed past Tom flippantly.

“I’m gonna change,” you announced.

“Goin’ up to the room?” he asked.

“No, I was going to strip in the hallway and hope nobody walked through,” you replied snarkily.

“I was just gonna give you the key, birdie,” he smirked, pulling the plastic card out of his pocket.  You chewed your lip, regretting being so rude.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking it from him and moving along to the lift.

~

You’d only brought one swimsuit, the new one you’d bought just for this.  Maybe you’d had this crazy idea somewhere in the back of your mind that if you wore a tight little bikini, you’d finally get Tom’s attention and he’d stop seeing you just as the little girl he’d grown up with.  If you’d been a little less emotional and a touch more logical, you would’ve checked the weather first.

Yes, it was a beach, but it was still an English beach… the sky was grey and cloudy, and without sunlight, the ocean breeze was less refreshing and more chilly.  Very chilly, in fact, when you had hardly anything on like this.  You were trying so hard to act natural, to lay there on that chair on the beach and look as gorgeous as possible for whenever Tom came out, but it was so cold… every few seconds you were tensing up your jaw to try to fight off a shiver.

He came down a couple minutes later, wearing his swim trunks, but since he was apparently smarter than you, he was also wearing a half-zip jumper and a t-shirt underneath.  You pretended not to see him coming and laid still, only reacting to his presence with a polite wave when he was too close to ignore.

“Not gonna get much of a tan in this weather,” he noticed with a laugh as he sat next to you.

“I’m not tanning, I’m… relaxing,” you explained.

“Want me jumper, birdie?” he offered.  “You look freezing.”

“I-I’m fine,” you insisted, but your teeth chattered.  Next thing you knew, he was peeling it off over his head anyways— his shirt stuck to it and started to lift, too, exposing his stomach.  He managed to get the jumper off, though, and pulled it down over your face as you laughed and resigned yourself to your fate.  “Tommy, stop it,” you whined, batting his arms away so you could put the garment on yourself— he’d been trying to force it on you and accidentally trapped your face in one of the sleeves.

When you finally navigated your limbs through the borrowed sweater, popping your face out and breathing in a deep breath of fresh air after being stuck inside the cotton for a moment, you saw him looking at you… different.  Just a little different, but different nonetheless.  You wrinkled your eyebrows together at him, and he shook his head with a little laugh, and it was all back to normal again.  “Should keep you warm,” he mumbled, turning back to the view of the ocean and bringing his feet up onto the chair.

“Thanks,” you nodded, watching him lift his hands up behind his head and sigh.

For a while, you two laid there in silence, the sound of the ocean waves and seabirds like a quiet, slow song.  If you weren't thinking constantly about whether or not Tom was looking at you, you might've been able to relax enough to fall asleep.  Apparently Tom wasn't all in his head because he dozed off within a couple minutes, and after that, you decided to get up and explore the beach a bit.  There were little shops dotted here and there, a gelato stand, a cosy open-air pub playing music over their speakers.

You stopped to watch some boys playing volleyball on the beach, and one of them seemed to notice you staring— and he smiled at you, just before he served; you had to be careful not to make yourself look stupid by suddenly smiling down at the sand and toying with your hair, but you desperately wanted to.  He was cute, and tall and, you know, shirtless.  They all were, but he probably looked the best that way of any of them.

He ended the round with a spike right beside the net, and his side of the court cheered while the others groaned and complained to each other.  You clapped for them, and the boy looked at you again; he said something to his friends, and with the ball still under his arm, he jogged over toward you.

"Hey," he greeted with a sideways, pearly-white smile.

"Hi," you returned.  

"Did you like watching us play?" he asked, glancing back at the net for a second.

"Yeah, you're really good," you nodded.  "Are you a real team or somethin'?"

"No, god no," he laughed, "we just play for fun.  Not many sandy beaches to play at in London."

"Oh, you're visiting from London?  What part?"

"Southeast," he replied.

You nodded.  "Oh…"

There wasn't much you could say to that because you didn't know anything about London; he chuckled, apparently realising just that.  "I guess you're from around here?"

"Sort of— an hour down the way but, yes, I'm from Cornwall," you agreed.

“You’ve got an interesting accent,” he noticed with a smirk.  “It’s cute, actually.”

“Oh, y’think?” you smiled shyly.  “Always heard growing up that a Cornish accent made me sound like a dumb farmer or somethin’.”

“It works on you, though,” he decided.

"Oi!  Come back and serve!" one of the boys by the net called, and your new friend turned his head around.

"Go on without me," he told them, tossing the ball over.  "I'm talking to, er…"

He looked back at you, and you stammered out your name; he repeated it back to you with a smile.

"I'm Devon," he told you.

"Well, hi, Devon," you smiled.

Aaaaand, just in time, you heard Tom’s voice calling after you: “Birdie!” he shouted from down the beach, and you turned and sighed as you waved back.  

In a moment, Tom was beside you, slipping his arm around your shoulders.

"Where'd you run off to, my lover?" Tommy asked with a tilted smile, but he didn't give you a chance to answer before he looked over at the other young man and back at you.  "Who's the emmet?"

"My name's Devon, not Emmett," the Londoner corrected, and you hoped your polite laugh would break the tension.

"No, Devon, 'emmet' is Cornish," you explained.  "It's what we call tourists."

Except, ‘incomer’ is what you call tourists.  Emmet is what you call annoying tourists.  And you knew Tom was annoyed by him because he was hitting on you.

"This your girl, then?" Devon asked Tom… a little straightforward, but that's just how Londoners are, maybe?

"What's it to you?" Tom wondered.

"Er—" you interjected immediately, "no, actually, Tom's just a friend," you coughed, knowing that even though it was a way to greet a good friend around here, Tom surely intended for it to be misinterpreted.

"Bloody hell.  Can't tell what you people are saying," Devon grumbled, and you spoke up before Tom surely asked what 'you people' was supposed to mean.

"Anyways, point is— Tom and I are good friends, known each other since we were kids," you continued.

"Really?" Devon pressed.

“Yep," Tom replied with a beaming smile, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer to him, "she’s been me best mate since we were wee babes,” he beamed.  

“A bird’s your best mate?” Devon scoffed.  “Sure you’re not bent?”

“I’m bent?  You’re the one spendin’ all your time with a bunch of blokes with no shirts on, mate,” Tom defended.

Devon stepped forward and you had to jut yourself in between them to keep it from getting too heated.  “Okay, lads, let’s settle down, then—”

“Be careful,” Tom warned Devon, and you jabbed him with your elbow as punishment.

“I said to stop it, alright?” you hissed at Tom.  “Doesn’t matter, Tommy.”

“Yeah, Tommy,” Devon snickered, and you literally had to lean all your weight onto Tommy to keep him from trying to dive right over you to pummell the bellend.

"Let's go," you informed Tommy as you scoffed at Devon.  Wrapping a hand around Tom's waist, you guided him to walk with you back down the beach, away from the possibility of a fight.

Tommy could find a fight anywhere— even on the beach on holiday.  It was a real talent of his.

"You're horrible!" you whined as you punched Tom on his side.

"What did I do now?" he groaned.

"You scared that boy off, he was cute and he was flirting with me."

"Exactly!" Tommy emphasised, and you rolled your eyes.  "He turned out to be a wanker, anyhow, you heard him making fun of our accent, didn't you?"

"I think he was just making fun of your accent," you frowned.

"We've got the same one," Tom noticed.

"Well— just stop doing that!  You always do that."

"Sorry, birdie,” he shrugged, not seeming especially sorry.

You sighed and decided to let it go, because it wasn’t worth the argument.  “What’s next, then?  Think I’ve had enough of the beach.”

“Pub?” he suggested, and you laughed.

“Hardly late enough for that, don’t you think?” you snorted.

“Okay, dinner first, then pub,” he offered instead.

“That’s better.”

~

There were a few pubs along your walk back from dinner, but only one that had the rugby match on; so, of course, that was the one Tom picked.  It was almost entirely empty when you came inside, and since the match had gone to commercial break, Tom decided now was the best time to run to the loo.

“Order me something?” he requested.  “Whatever you’re getting.”

You nodded and he dashed off down a hallway.  Sitting at the bar, currently unattended with no other patrons but yourself, you looked up at the telly on the wall and caught a couple seconds of a car commercial.

“Can I get you anything?” 

The voice made you turn your head away from the telly, and you were surprised to find a boy your age on the other side of the bar.

“Oh, erm,” you choked, “just something on tap?  M’not picky.”

“There’s a stout we brew right here in the neighbourhood,” he suggested, “you might like it.”

“Sure,” you shrugged, “and one for my friend.”

“Great,” he smiled, bending down below the bar and reappearing with two pint glasses in hand.  You watched him as he tilted the glasses and filled them from the tape, admiring his tan skin and longer hair— he had that surfer look about him, in a Cornwall sort of way.

“Aren’t you a little young to be tending bar?” you noticed.

He laughed, revealing some dimples in the process.  “And you’re one to talk?” he shot back.

“I’m old enough to be served, aren’t I?” you challenged.

“Well actually, I was gonna ask for your ID,” he admitted, “but, you’re cute, so I decided to let it slide.”

You looked down as he set your drink on the bar for you.  “Thanks,” you hummed.  You tried it, giving him a nod of approval when the taste hit your tongue— it was pretty mild, and sort of grapefruit-y somehow.

“In town for holiday?” he assumed.

“Yeah,” you nodded, and he clicked his tongue.

“Too bad,” he shook his head.  “When are you going back home?”

“Thursday.”

“And where’s home?” he asked.  “You sound local.”

“Yeah, I am,” you agreed, “about an hour north.”

“Liskeard?” he guessed, and you shook your head.  “Launceston?”

“Closer,” you smiled.

“Bradworthy?”

“Oh, too far…”

“Holsworthy,” he grinned.

“Got it,” you nodded.

“Seems like it’d be easier to just drive up to Westward Ho! wouldn’t it?” he tilted his head.

“I try not to go anywhere that has an exclamation mark in the name,” you explained, and he chuckled a little.  

“I guess that’s fair,” he shrugged, “and it’s a good thing you came here anyways.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because now I get to look at you,” he cooed.

You took a sip of the beer to hide your warming face.  When you brought the glass back down, he laughed at you softly.

“Got some foam on your nose, my bird,” he warned you, reaching forward to wipe it off with his thumb.

“Oh, th-thanks,” you stammered, watching him put his thumb to his mouth and suck that bit of foam off while he kept looking at you.  What a flirt!  Do it again.

Tom came back from the washroom and sat on the stool next to yours, thanking you for ordering his beer for him before he took a large drink of it.

"O-oh," the bartender choked, and you knew that look— the ‘shit, you've got a boyfriend’ look.  

You sighed.  "Hey, um— this is my friend, Tom," you explained.

"Wasson?" Tom greeted him, nodding his head quickly in acknowledgement.

"Not much, mate," he replied, "Cade.”

“Tom,” he answered back as if he didn’t already know that, not going so far as to shake hands since Tom was holding his glass and Cade was holding a rag to wipe down the bar.

“She was just telling me you're only here for a spell,” Cade recalled, “which is a proper shame.”  

You smiled shyly.  “Oh, yeah, well, I wish our holiday could be longer, too.”

“Always the prettiest maids just here on holiday,” Cade nodded, looking at Tom.  “You know how it is, don’t you?  You’re from a holiday town, too, I heard.”

Not quite as popular as your current location, but yes, vacationers would occasionally appear in town.  You’d never noticed this ‘girls visiting from up-country are prettier’ principle, but your eyes turned to Tom expectantly.  “Uh, yeah,” Tommy nodded.  “Yeah, I know how it is.  And half of them have boyfriends back home.”

It made your heart sink a bit— what you would give to have one of those.  Or to have Tommy say no, the prettiest bird’s right here with me now.  Or both.

“But that doesn’t stop all of them,” he added with a laugh, and you rolled your eyes.

“You’re awful, Tommy,” you shoved him lightly.

“Yeah,” he agreed, licking his bottom lip.

Cade gestured at Tom’s rugby union shirt— “You play?” he asked.

“Yeah, sometimes,” Tom nodded, “you?”

“I just watch,” he shrugged, pointing at the telly in the corner.  “Cooped up in this pub all the time, anyway.”

“That’s no excuse,” Tom chided, “gotta get out there and get roughed up!”

“That’s what surfing’s for,” Cade smirked.

“Okay, now I’m definitely not going,” you shook your head.  “I don’t wanna get roughed up by the ocean!”

“I said I would teach her,” Tom informed Cade, “now look what you’ve done.”

“Sorry,” Cade laughed, “you’ll be fine, and you’ve come at just the right time of year for it.”

“That’s what I said!” Tom agreed.

Oh god, were they actually getting on alright?  Would Tom give his approval, finally?  

You sipped your stout and let them go on about rugby and football teams for a while, letting yourself get your hopes up that Tom would actually like a guy who liked you— and sure, he was a barkeep in your holiday spot, not exactly the foundation for a serious relationship, but it would be nice to have a little fling without worrying that Tom would end up beating him up.

Tom was the one who made fun of you sometimes for being a virgin, anyway.  He never meant it— actually, when he occasionally took the time to be serious, he assured you better than anyone else that it was perfectly normal and fine to still be one.  But still, you weren’t exactly trying to hang onto it much longer.  Tom told you to wait for the right person; but you’d been waiting for him for way too long.

Watching the match together, you and Tom put down a few pints and laughed at some stupid old inside jokes— Cade tended to stick around, chatting with you both, when there weren’t other customers to serve.  You caught him glancing at you a few times, and you liked how you felt when he looked at you like that— desirable, maybe even grown up.  You and Tom had been friends since you were little, after all, and since he treated you the exact same way he always had, sometimes you still felt little around him.  But you weren’t.  It was good to remember that.

The match ended— Cornwall won, thank god, or you’d be babying Tom all night after he drowned his sorrows in something stronger than the local stout.  He still drank a little too much to celebrate, but less too much.

Enough that he had to go to the loo again, though, at which point Cade was suddenly right by you again.  “Your friend’s funny,” he smiled.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “he’s not always that loud, but, yeah, he’s never been very subtle.”

“And he’s just a friend?” 

You rolled your eyes.  “Yes,” you insisted, and you focused your tone on your annoyance and not your disappointment.

“Just checking!” Cade returned defensively.  “How long have you known him?” 

“My whole life,” you sighed.  “Can’t remember a time without him.  He’s just… always been there.”

Cade nodded.  “That’s nice, wish I had a friend like that.  People come and go a lot in a place like this.”

“I bet,” you offered sympathetically.  “And your girlfriend?  Does she come and go, or stick around?”

“What?  I don’t have a girlfriend,” he frowned.

“Just checking,” you winked.

“Why, you think I should get one?” he raised an eyebrow.

You shrugged.  “If you can find one…”

His eyes dragged over you, his smile fading slightly; you pretended not to be totally overwhelmed by it all.

“Cade!” a voice shouted from the back, and an older woman poked her head out of the kitchen as Cade turned his head.  “Come back here an’ clean up!”

“I will, mum!” he called back, before returning his attention to you.  “Listen, I’d better get back to work— but you could come by tomorrow?  If you wanted.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I think I’ll find the time.”

“Tom can come too, of course,” he added, leaning closer to you on the bar, “but… I’d rather have some time alone with you, if that’s alright.”

Reaching up to scratch your shoulder, you bit your lip to hide a smile.  “Okay, yeah—” you set your hands back down on the bar when you saw the way he was looking at you, “yeah, I’d like that, too.  I’m sure Tommy can find some way to entertain himself for an hour.”

Cade’s hand landed on yours suddenly, giving it a quick squeeze while he winked at you.  And then he threw the rag over his shoulder and disappeared into the back.  You pursed your lips and exhaled through them; it had been a while since you had butterflies like that.  

Tom came back around the corner, leaning beside you on the wooden bar, and you giggled when you saw how red his nose had gotten from the booze.  “Tommy, you look like you’ve stuck your face in blusher,” you noticed.

“Aw, really?” he scrunched up his nose, wiping it with his hand.

“You can’t wipe it off!” you laughed harder.  “Cade’s gone to the back to work— wanna go on a walk, take a geek at the rest of the neighbourhood?”

“Sure,” he agreed, letting you take his hand and pull him along with you out the door and around the pavement.  You walked in silence for a few moments, glancing at him once, before you just had to bring it up.

“So, Cade was nice…” you trailed off.  You looked at Tom expectantly, wearing a hopeful smile, but you hadn't even said anything yet before he expressed his dissent.

“No, no way,” he shook his head, ignoring your protests, “not good enough for you.”

“What?  Tommy, what’s wrong with him?”

“What’s wrong with him?” Tom repeated.  “Birdie, what’s right with him?”

“I thought you liked him!” you whined.  “He was so nice to you, and you talked rugby for ages!”

“Was looking at you funny,” he shuddered.

“Well, I’d hope so,” you rolled your eyes, “doesn’t that mean he’s interested?”

“That’s what you want, creepy guys drooling all over you?” Tom snorted.  “Come on, let’s go— I don’t want you seeing that sod again.”

You groaned, but let him drape his arm over your shoulders and guide you away.  “You shouldn’t be so protective, Tom… this is why everyone thinks you’re either my brother or my boyfriend.”

“If it keeps the boys away from you, I don’t care what they think,” he decided.  You rolled your eyes as he pulled your head down with his arm, enough that he could plant a kiss on top of your head.  “There, now they’ll think I’m your boyfriend, how about that?”

“You kiss me all the time,” you laughed.

“Eh?”

“On the head,” you clarified.  “You give me kisses on the head, doesn’t make you my boyfriend.”

“Guess not,” he agreed.  

Halfway along your walk, you passed a park which Tom decided would be the perfect place to share a cigarette— actually, he was just going to smoke it himself, but you made him share.

“Remember your sixth birthday party?” he asked, seemingly out of nowhere, after a drag.  “You tripped and sprained your ankle running in the backyard that day, but you stopped crying when we gave you your presents.”

You laughed at the memory.  “God, I barely remember— but yeah.”

He handed the cigarette to you and you rested it between your lips.  “Do you remember what I got you?” he continued.

“A Barbie,” you recalled, “wasn’t it?  She was some little princess or something, can’t remember now.”

“Yeah,” he nodded.  “Well, I want you to know that before I gave her to you, I took her out of the box and took her clothes off.”

“What?!” you snorted, making a cloud of smoke 

“I had to know!” he laughed.  “I put them back on and put her back in the box and everything first before I gave her to you.”

“Yeah, I think I would remember getting a naked Barbie, Tom,” you scoffed, and he carefully plucked the cigarette from your fingers and took it back.

“Right, well—” he stopped to inhale, and then let it out as he continued— “she had plastic panties on anyway.  Wasn’t worth it,” he shook his head.

You dropped your forehead into your palm.  “The fuck are you talking about?” you giggled. 

“Just that time of night where you feel like confessing things, I guess,” he shrugged.

“Any other secrets you’ve been keeping from me?” you pressed.  “Any other childhood toys of mine that you violated?”

“Took a geek up the skirt of a Cabbage Patch Kid or two,” he added, “but that’s about it.”

“Well, we all did that,” you rolled your eyes, and he grinned at you.

“Oh, I knew it,” he purred, “I think you were just as much of a pervert as I was.”

“Yeah?  But you’re still a pervert,” you accused.

“Maybe,” he relented, “but at least I’m not a prude.”

You looked away quickly.  “M’not a prude, Tommy…”

“I know, I know,” he soothed, handing you the last quarter of the cigarette, “you’re just picky.  And you should be.”

He suddenly laid his head down on your lap, making you tense up a little bit and wonder where you were supposed to put your hands.

“Nobody deserves you anyway,” he mumbled, closing his eyes as he adjusted himself to get comfortable on the bench.

“Well, that doesn’t really solve my problem, does it?” you said, speaking a little quieter.

“What’s the problem?” he wondered sleepily.

You sighed, holding the cigarette in your mouth as you reached down and carded your fingers through his hair.  He hummed and smiled a little.  “Nothing,” you dismissed, and he started to breathe slower and slower.  

You finished the cigarette over the course of the next however-long-it-had-been, absent-mindedly touching his head and playing with his hair, and only noticed that Tom had dozed off when you felt a wet patch under his mouth on your legs.

“Eww, Tommy!” you whined, shoving him off of you as he tried to wake up.  “When I said I wanted guys to drool over me, this is not what I meant.”

“Sorry, love,” he laughed, wiping the side of his mouth with the back of his hand.  “Think that’s our cue to go back to the room and go to bed, eh?”

~

He didn’t say anything before he got in the shower, so you didn’t know what to expect when he got out: was he going to suddenly realise there was only one bed?  Had he already and just didn’t care?  Were you supposed to protest, or act like it was no big deal, or what?

When he emerged from the steamy bathroom in his pyjamas— aka, just his fuzzy plaid trousers, the ever-present friendship bracelet, and the chain on his neck— he found you standing in the middle of the room, staring at the singular bed, and gave you a confused look.

“I guess you saw when you brought our bags up,” you mumbled nervously.  

“Eh?”

“The bed.”  You motioned towards it, and he wrinkled his eyebrows together.

“What about it?” he shrugged.

“There’s only one of it!”

“Oh,” he nodded, “yeah, guess so.”

“So, we’ll have to share,” you helped him reach the obvious conclusion.

“Oh,” he said again, “you think it’ll be weird?”

“I mean, I figure,” you shrugged.

“I’ll take the couch,” he insisted.

“No, Tommy, let me,” you pleaded.

“You jokin’?  I’m supposed to let a maid sleep on the couch?”

“Didn’t realise you were such a gentleman,” you frowned, crossing your arms.

“Aren’t I?” he smirked.

You felt bad about it, but he was already putting a spare sheet down on the sofa while you were getting through your nighttime routine.  Leaning out of the bathroom, toothbrush sticking out of your mouth, you caught a glimpse of him laying there on the couch with one arm up behind his head and the other holding the book he’d been reading as of late— one of those fantasy novels that were much too violent for you.  He looked past the top of it to smile at you, and you popped back in to wrap up.

You were just wearing a baggy old t-shirt that was just long enough on you to cover your red panties, which you felt mostly not-weird about wearing around Tom, though walking past him to get to bed made you shiver a little bit.

“G’night,” he offered.

“You too,” you replied quietly, and he reached up above his head to switch off the lamp.

Sure, it was you who had worried about the whole bed-sharing thing in the first place, but that was only because you were pre-emptively worrying that he would worry about it.  It was sort of a lose-lose: if he was against it, then you’d feel dejected, but if he was fine with it, it was another way for him to rub it in that you could hold him but never have him.

Still, now that you were alone in this big old bed, you couldn’t help but think that at least it was nice you could hold him… but he was all the way over there.

You chewed your lip, trying to stay quiet.  You made it about thirty seconds.  “Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Think you’ll fall asleep alright on that?” you wondered.

“Should be asleep in a couple minutes, once you’re quiet,” he replied.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” you mumbled.  You made it a whole minute before you spoke again.  “Tommyyyyy,” you whined.

“What!” he snapped.

“I can’t sleep, I feel too bad!” you pouted.  “Just get in the bed?  We fall asleep together all the time!  What’s the difference?”

“Difference is it’s all night,” he explained, “haven’t done that since we were eight— and you kicked me in your sleep!”

“Are you seriously going to sleep on that musty old sofa, and leave me alone here in the king bed, just because you’re still mad at me for kicking you?”

“Not just that,” he mumbled, “you snore, too.”

“Shut up,” you groaned, “just come over, won’t you?  I’m cold anyways…”

He paused as he considered it.  “There’s room for me?”

“Tons,” you promised.

You heard him throw the blanket off of himself, and you smiled instantly.  In a moment, he was diving into the bed, and you laughed as the mattress creaked; he laid next to you on his back, and you reached an arm around his torso while setting your head on his shoulder.

He smelled so good after his shower, clean and woodsy from his deodorant, and his curls held their shape despite being wet still.

“Should’ve known you’d be like a barnacle soon as I got in here,” he chuckled.

“I said I was cold,” you reminded him, hugging his waist tighter.

“Night, birdie,” he whispered after he kissed the top of your head.  With him holding you, you were asleep in an instant.

It was one of those dreamless sleeps that went by quickly, like you’d only shut your eyes for a few minutes.  You would’ve thought it was still the middle of the night when you woke up, if it weren’t for the sun coming in through the open window.

Specifically, you woke up because of a long sigh right by your ear, making you blink your eyes open quickly and start to stretch your legs out under the sheet and blanket.  You were on your side, and Tommy was pressed right up on your back, his arm draped around your torso.

He sighed again, and you felt him shift around against you.  Most importantly, you felt something hard and hot on your lower back.   Eyes going wide, you jolted as you felt him rock his hips against you again.

"Tommy," you whispered, hoping to wake him up.

"Mm," he hummed, smiling against your neck, and you shuddered.

"Tommy!" you hissed, and he snorted as he woke up suddenly.

He pulled back and all but jumped away from you.  “Shit, I—” he mumbled, sitting up as the bed creaked; god, his face was so red, he looked adorably flustered and a bit terrified.  “I’m sorry, birdie, I swear I wasn’t trying to—”

“It’s okay, Tommy,” you insisted, sitting up with him, “it’s not a big deal.”

“What’d you say?  It’s not big?” he choked.

“No!  Tommy, it’s—” you stopped yourself from saying what you wanted to say then.  “I know that happens to guys in the mornings…”

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed, reaching up to rub the back of his neck nervously, “happens when we’re in bed with pretty girls, too…”

Before you could wonder if there was something to read into there, he spoke again.

“I’m fucked,” he groaned, running his hand down over his face, “what’s the time?”

“Ten ‘til 9,” you informed him following a glance at the clock on the nightstand.

“We’ve got that breakfast soon, we’re supposed to meet downstairs in five minutes,” he recalled.  “And I can’t get dressed ‘til he’s gone away.”

“How do you normally get rid of it?” you wondered, watching him look at you for a second before looking away again.

“Well…” he trailed off, clearing his throat.

“Well?” you pressed.

“Y-y’know,” he stammered, “it’s— er— fuckin’ hell, birdie, can’t say it with you lookin’ at me like that…”

“C’mon, Tommy, I know you wank off,” you rolled your eyes, “you and every other bloke on the planet.”

“But I can’t do it with you here!” he yelped, and a pang of self-consciousness hit your chest.  Were you that horrible of a sight that he wouldn’t be able to finish with you nearby?

“I-I’ll leave then, give you some space,” you offered.

“Birdie, I’ll know you’re just outside the door, that’s not gonna help,” he frowned.

“Well shit, Tommy, where’dya want me to go?  Fuckin’ Launceston?”

“No, shit, that’s not what I meant,” he groaned, reaching up and covering his face as he rubbed his eyes with his fingertips.  “You’ve just got me all messed up— s’not your fault, I mean!  I just don’t know what m’gonna do now…”

You bit your lip, glancing over at the flowery wallpaper on the opposite side of the room, then to the window and its view out over the beach.  “I mean, maybe… maybe if it would help, I could…”

“Jesus, birdie, don’t say you’re gonna wank me off or somethin’,” he pleaded with a concerned tilt of his head, and you stammered as you tried to remember what you were going to say.

“No, I— I was gonna say you could…” you began again, “er— I mean, before, while you were asleep, you were… it was…”

“What?” he pressed, leaning a little closer to you, and you chickened out.

“Nevermind, sorry,” you shook your head, “you should just get dressed— nobody’ll notice it.”

That was a lie: if it looked as big as it felt, a family of four could go camping under the tent in his shorts at this point.  “No, c’mon,” he pleaded, scooting a little closer to you, “won’t make fun of you or nothin’, just wanna know what you were gonna say.  You know I can’t run down to breakfast with my willy tryin’ to jump out, yeah?  Like, ‘hey mum an’ dads, pass me the eggs, then— don’t mind my fuckin’ blood sausage under the table—’”

You laughed, pushing him on the chest— but he just moved closer, again, looking right at your face.  You felt oddly exposed to him, even though he should’ve been the one feeling like that considering the circumstances.  “Fine,” you relented, “I was just… thought maybe you could— well, it could help you if you, um… just… pressed up against me, again?  Like you were before?  And you could, er…”

Dropping your voice to a mumble just above a whisper, you watched your hands clutch the spotted quilt in lieu of meeting his invasive stare.

“You could… grind on me, a bit,” you finally completed, so quiet that you barely heard yourself.  But he was a few inches away— he must’ve heard you.  Literally, he must have, because you couldn’t say it again.

“Eh?” he grunted, and you rolled your eyes.

“C’mon, Tommy, you’re not deaf, are you?”

“No, m’just… you wan’ me to rub me stiffy on you?” he realised, tilting his chin down and raising an eyebrow.  Leave it to Tommy to throw all the subtlety to the wind and just say it outright like that, ignorant to the way it made your cheeks burn and your throat catch.

“I-I mean, I don’t want you to,” you denied quickly, “I just thought it might go away if you did.  Means to an end, right?”

“Yeah, means to an end,” he agreed, clearing his throat.  “Just feel a little weird about it, birdie, I mean… it’s you.  You know I love ya— don’t wanna be rude to you or, er, disrespectful—”

“It’s not,” you promised, “I’m offering— and it’ll be quick, right?”

“Er, yeah,” he coughed, rubbing the back of his neck again, “should be…”

“Okay, then, should we?” you asked, sheepishly raising your eyebrows as you looked at him.

“I mean, fuck, birdie,” he laughed nervously, “I think you know we shouldn’t.”

But you both already knew that you were going to, and the thrill of something so forbidden titillated you further.

“Lay down then, yeah?” he instructed you softly, and you turned back onto your side as you felt him press up to your back.  His arm slipped around your front, the one with your bracelet on his wrist, and you could feel him breathing by the back of your neck as he brushed your hair out of the way.  “This alright?” 

You nodded, and he held you a little tighter; you felt it then, brushing up against your lower back.  You were getting sweaty from how warm it was with him pressed up on you under the thick covers, yet you still shivered.

He hummed quietly, his hand moving down your hips so he could hold you steady.  And he rocked into you again, more confidently, a shaky breath falling from his lips.  

When his forehead rested against the back of your shoulder, you felt your back arch slightly; and then you could feel the ridge under the head of his cock, you could feel it when he moved in one, long stroke and you bit your lip, arching your back deeper.

“Shit,” he grunted quietly, and he started to move a little faster right after he said that.

After just a minute or less of that, you were beyond desperate to have him inside you, you couldn’t stop thinking about what it would feel like— about how he would stretch you open, how he would moan for you as he filled you to the brim.  If he wanted to, right now, he could just lift up your shirt a bit and pull your panties down without saying anything, slip inside you in one go; you were soaking wet, he’d slide in so easily…

“Fuck, birdie,” he breathed, “roll over.”

His verbal command was a bit moot, since his hand was already on your shoulder, gently pushing you to lay on your back.  He hovered above you for a moment, and you looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Spread your legs,” he whispered; you’d only been waiting years for him to say that to you.  You did it unquestioningly, and he slotted himself between them with a low groan.  When he pressed his cock up against your aching cunt— through so many frustrating layers of pyjamas— he shut his eyes and tossed his head back for a second.  It was so perfect, his face in bliss like that, the morning sun peeking in through the curtains and making his curls shine golden-blonde.  He looked fucking beautiful.

A little gasp jumped in your mouth as he started to thrust against you again, each stroke of his hips rubbing right over your clit and making his chain dangle over your face.  You almost felt guilty, for a second, with the little engraving of Saint Thomas right there, like he was watching you do this.  “Sh-shit, Tommy…” you hissed, catching yourself before you moaned aloud when he rocked his hip harder against you and your whole pussy clenched.  If only he could feel that now— if only he could feel around his cock how desperately you needed him.

He descended down upon you, burying his face in your neck.  His hair tickled your cheek, and you fisted at the sheets to stop yourself from reaching up and holding onto him— that would be too much, too needy, right?  It was just supposed to be a means to an end, after all.  “Can I kiss you here?” he asked under his breath.

“Er, why would you do that?” you wondered.

“Just— thought it might make it go faster,” he justified.

“Y-yeah, Tommy, s’fine,” you nodded.  Do whatever you want to me.

He latched on right away, a mess of lips and tongue and teeth all over your neck; everything in you fought to keep your moans down, because you didn’t want him to know how much you loved this, how close you were to coming without even doing anything… without even taking your clothes off!

“Are you close?” you asked him softly, feeling him nod.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, and his heavy breathing cooled your skin where it was still wet with his spit.  “Just a little longer?”

“You’re not gonna give me a hickey, are you?” you whispered.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” he replied.  

“Just— make it quick, Tommy, we’ve gotta be downstairs soon,” you reminded him.

“Right, yeah, m’gonna come,” he promised, sending another chill over your body.  One of his hands moved down, holding your thigh as he thrusted faster and faster— fuck, the headboard was about to hit the wall.  Just as you looked up to see it slam once, you saw his free hand reach up and grab onto it tightly, blocking the impact with his knuckles.

“Tommy,” you breathed, an involuntary reaction to how deliberately sexy that was.

“Say it again,” he requested quietly.

“Tommy,” you repeated, and he grunted right against your ear— he didn’t stop moving entirely, just slowed down quite a bit as he rutted on you.  

“Fuck,” he sighed, panting.  You swallowed, feeling wonderfully strange knowing that must be it, that he just came— because of you.  His weight sank down onto you, making you let out a little squeal from the air rushing out of your lungs, and he laughed quietly.  “Sorry,” he mumbled, lifting himself up and hovering above you again, “didn’t mean to crush you…”

“S’all fine, Tom,” you promised, closing your legs as soon as you had the chance— before he could see that you’d soaked through your panties.

“Oh, ‘Tom’, eh?  Gettin’ formal, are we?” he grinned.  “Now that you’ve got me to bust in me trousers, we’re not so friendly anymore?”

“Shut up,” you laughed as you pushed him aside, swinging your legs off the bed so you could get up.  “Gonna use the loo and then I’ll get dressed.”

“What?!” he croaked.  “You kidding?  Of course I get to use the loo first!”

“Not if I get there before you,” you challenged, jumping up and trying to race him across the hotel room.  He beat you, but only by playing dirty— he ran up behind you and grabbed you, spinning you around as you kicked and laughed and squirmed in his grasp.

two weeks later

Moonshine on the bay had become a tradition on nights like this, when the warmth of summer was creeping around the corner, ever since you were both fifteen and in desperate need of some rebellion.  Now, without the illegality and all, it had lost some of that titillating appeal, but you still loved going out so late and meeting him at your secret spot.  It had the perfect view of the water at night, not that it was a particularly scenic section of the sea since it was mostly cargo ships and docks and all that, but under the flickering old street lamp and the tall field elms, it was almost romantic.

Tommy was currently still standing while you leaned back on your hands, brandishing the liquor he’d secured for the evening.  “For you,” he offered you the opened bottle with a smile, and you took it, but waited for him to take a sip of his first.  He did, and you saw his lips curling as he drank.

“How is it?” you asked, and he stopped drinking to cough a bit.

“It’s hangin’!” he grimaced.  “But it’ll do the job.”

You took a sip while he sat down next to you, and made a face of your own.  “Ah fuck!  That’s terrible!  Where the fuck’d you get this?”

But you knew what he meant when he said it would do the job— one sip was already warming your chest, and the next, though just as disgusting as the last, made you feel tingly at the tips of your fingers.

With your bottles halfway finished, you two sat up in the grass and watched the lights of ships go by slowly in the night.  “Had a date last night,” you blurted out suddenly, just to make conversation.

“Really?  With who?”

“You remember Jack Meyer?”

“God, I wish I didn’t,” he sneered, “what a knob.”

“Could you stop insulting all the guys I go out with?” you frowned.

“Stop going out with knobs and I will,” he bargained.

“Anyways, he was nice,” you announced firmly.  “Took me to the cinema and bought me a popcorn.”

“What size?” he asked.

“Medium.”

“Cheap bastard,” Tom grumbled.

“Shut up!  I’m trying to tell you that it was a nice date!” you yelped, pushing him on the shoulder.  “We actually, um… well, maybe I shouldn’t tell you.”

“What?” he wondered.

“I mean, I tell you everything— you tell me everything.  You told me when Sharon Caldwell let you feel her tits in eighth grade, and you told me when you lost it to Annie— what was her name again?”

“Annie Shaw,” he finished for you.

“Right… so, point is, I figured I should tell you what happened with me and Jack, right?” you wondered.  When you found the courage to look over at Tommy, his expression was… intense.  Almost angry, a little terrified.

“Don’t tell me you gave it up to him,” he pleaded, leaning in a little closer.

“God no!  I just wanked him a bit.”

"You did what to 'im?!" Tommy yelped.

"W-well, I dunno!" you backpedalled quickly. 

“Aw, birdie, you can do so much better than him,” he groaned.

“Okay, maybe so, but he’s the one I wanted to go out with.  And he was nice and he made me feel— I dunno, pretty?” you mumbled, afraid to sound too girlish.

“Come on, you can’t go rubbing off any guy who calls you pretty,” Tom scolded.

“This isn’t just any guy!”

“Yeah, it’s Jack Meyer.  In fourth year he swallowed a penny and it never came out!”

“Believe it or not, Tommy, it's not fourth year anymore,” you frowned.  “Things are different.  We’re older.  I’m not a little kid— and I’m tired of being treated like one!”

He sighed slowly, taking another swig of the booze.  “I guess that’s fair,” he relented.  “Still… can’t stand thinking about you doing that to some guy.”

"Why?"

He seemed confused by your question, and gave you a look.

"Why can't you stand thinking about it?" you interrogated.

"I… I don't know…"  He coughed a bit, clearly wanting to change the subject, but you kept staring at him as you waited for an answer.  “I guess it’s just that,” he began again, “I worry because it’s Jack, you know?  He’s a little aggressive with girls— or, he was back when I knew him.  He didn’t… pressure you into it, right?”

You thought back to the night before, and how it all happened.  “Erm, no,” you decided, “not really.”

“Not really?  What’s that mean?”

“Well, he didn’t make me do it,” you explained, “but he was… showing me how, ‘cause I didn’t know.”

“Sh-showing you?” Tom repeated.

“He, erm, he took my hand,” you remembered, feeling your heart start to race as you looked at Tom closely.  “And he put it… he put it right here.”

It was the liquor that made you do it; you pressed your hand up to the front of his trousers, feeling him getting firmer under your touch already.  He jumped a little but didn’t stop you.

"He told me to take it out for him…" you continued, voice wavering as your whole body was suddenly shivering from nervousness, and started to open his trousers yourself.

“Birdie,” Tom gasped, and you looked up to his face again.

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked him point blank.  He didn’t say anything.  “Can I keep going?”

His mouth was open slightly, and he was breathing heavily through it; he nodded.  You unzipped his fly and reached in, navigating the opening of his boxers to get his cock out.  

Of course, you’d felt it before, but you’d never seen it.  It was as beautiful as a cock could be, you thought: tanner than the rest of him for some reason, flushed at the tip, still just starting to poke out from his foreskin with a teal vein running up under your palm.  Biting your lip, you wrapped your fingers a little tighter around it.  “H-he told me to stroke it, like this,” you stammered, moving your hand gently and slowly from the base to the tip and back— then again, and again.

Daring to glance up at Tom’s face again, you saw him watching your hand with a dumbstruck expression.  You twisted your hand slightly as you reached the tip and he groaned.  "Birdie…" he sighed— his voice wore some impossible mixture of arousal, confusion, scolding, disappointment, and desperation.  It made your knees weak.  Good thing you were still kneeling on the ground, so it didn’t make much difference.  You were so sloshed that standing up would’ve been a bit of an effort, anyway.

“When I was doing it right,” you continued, “he’d tell me I was bein’ good for him… it made me feel weird when he said that, but good.  You know?”

“Y-yeah…” he choked, hissing through his teeth.  

It went on that way for a little while, just his panting and the crickets chirping; though there was clear fluid leaking from the tip of his cock, you thought it might not be enough, so you pursed your lips and let your spit dribble down onto him so you could spread it out with your hand.

“Christ,” he groaned, “Jack taught you that, too?”

You nodded, and he growled a little— the sound made your chest tighten up (as well as a few other places).  His cock was starting to bob against your grip, and his breathing was faster and heavier with each stroke.  "You're close?" you noticed, and he nodded, chest heaving as he stared down at what you were doing to him.  "You can come, Tom.  I want you to."

"Shit," he hissed.  "Shit, jus' don't stop then."

And you didn't, in fact you moved your hand even faster, until it was just a blur and he was bucking up into your palm desperately.

"Ah, fuck!" he gasped, and come started to spurt from his pulsing cock, landing on his shirt and your hand.  "Fuck…"

You watched his face as it tilted back, his eyebrows knitted together, his mouth parted in a little moan.  Your hand was still moving, and his jumped up to grab your wrist and stop you.  Then it was still, and silent, except for him breathing like he'd just run a marathon.

After a moment, he tilted his head down again and came back to reality; he instantly looked mortified.  "God, birdie," he choked, "I made a mess on you— m'so sorry, let me get it…"

He tried to wipe the come away with his shirt, frantically cleaning your hand up as best he could.  "It's fine, Tommy," you giggled.

"No it isn't, I've got your pretty hand all dirty now…"

Examining his focused expression as he wiped up the smears of come, you bit your lip slightly.  You did feel guilty for making up that whole story about a date with Jack Meyer that never did— and never would— happen, but it worked.  You’d never lied to Tommy like that before, but you decided to blame it on the liquor and not your desperation.  

In the two weeks since your holiday, nothing untoward whatsoever had happened between you and it was driving you crazy.  You didn’t even talk about it!  You, of course, thought about it every day— well, really every night, when you touched yourself and tried to remember exactly how his voice sounded in your ear.  That was what drove you to this, to getting drunk and making shit up for a chance to touch him.

"Kiss me," you said suddenly.  He looked up at your face, and you just stared at each other for a second.  

His hand dropped yours— it was clean now, or clean enough at least— and moved up to hold your face.  You sighed slightly; his thumb stroked your cheek and he smiled at you.

He gently tilted your head down and met you halfway, pressing his lips to your forehead.  Your chest deflated and your eyes fell shut.  So this is what heartbreak feels like.  It's not as bad as I thought.

"That better?" he asked as he pulled back, moving his own face down so he could look up at you with a tender smile.  You nodded, willing yourself not to cry in front of him now.  

You were throwing yourself at him and he was throwing you away.  "We'll always be friends, won't we?" you asked quietly.

"Aw, birdie— of course," he cooed, pulling you into a hug.  You clutched at his shoulders, digging your nails into handfuls of his ratty old Nirvana t-shirt.

He rolled back onto the grass and pulled you down with him, making you laugh and try to get away— but he wouldn't let you go.

"We'll always be friends," he promised again, "'cause otherwise who'd keep all those awful boys away from you?"

"Shut up," you rolled your eyes.

"I will," he sighed, relaxing his grip on you slightly.  "I'm gonna ease up on you, I think.  Let you date somebody if you want— even if he's a tosser.  'Cause you're right, you're not a little kid anymore.  And it's not fair to you."

You swallowed, laying your head on his chest.  You'd never actually wanted him to let you date someone else… you just wanted him to finally love you back.  But maybe this was the best you were going to get.

~

“Go, Tommy!” you cheered from the side of the pitch, though he surely couldn’t hear you through all that.. rugby-ing.  Rugbing?

Whatever— point is, you clapped and hollered anyways as you watched him run all over the place, narrowly dodging being tackled a few times.  You winced when he got taken down from the side by one of the biggest guys out there.  Tommy had a high pain tolerance, but you’d rather not see him lose a tooth or something.  What a waste of a perfect smile that would be.

For all their efforts, Tommy’s team lost by just a few points; it was just a scrimmage, hence why there was basically no one else here but you and the actual team members, so you hoped he wouldn’t be pouty the rest of the day after losing.  He didn’t seem to be, from what you could tell this far away— he was shaking hands and bumping fists, sweaty and streaked with dirt and grass as he chugged from his water bottle.  It really should not have been as attractive as it was…

Before you got caught ogling, someone caught your attention: “Hey,” one of the players jogged up to you, and you blinked up at him blankly, not sure who he was.  You’d definitely seen him before, you remembered his dreads and… overall massiveness.  But you weren’t sure what he was talking to you for.  “You’re here with Tom, yeah?”

“Oh, yes,” you smiled.

“He said you’re an old mate of his,” the player went on.

“Mhm,” you nodded.

“Sweet of you to come cheer him on,” he laughed, “even though it didn’t seem to do him much good today.”

You shrugged.  “He loses a lot, but he always gets back up.”

“I’m Rhys, by the way,” he offered.  “I’d shake your hand or somethin’, but I’m pretty filthy at the moment.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you laughed.  “Surprised you haven’t gone to the showers already, that’d be the first thing I’d be doing after getting that sweaty.”

“Well, I was gonna,” he explained, “but, well, I was afraid you’d be gone before I got back.”

You raised an eyebrow, wondering what that meant, and he continued on.

“Listen, I asked Tom, but I figured I should ask you… er…” he stalled as he smiled nervously.  “Have you got a boyfriend or anythin’?”

“Er, no,” you answered.

“Issuh?” he laughed.

“Yes!” you insisted.  “You think I’m lying or something?”

“I think it’s a little too good to be true, that’s all,” he explained.  “Girl like you shouldn’t stay single too long.”

You kept waiting for Tommy to come ruin it— to come rescue you.  You glanced over, and you saw him look back at you, but he just smiled and kept working on the laces of his cleats.

“So, I guess I should ask for your number before it’s too late, yeah?” Rhys continued.  You were pulled out of your thoughts, looking up at him and dropping your mouth open as you hoped for some words to come out.

“Oh!  Erm,” you began, “well—”

“It’s okay if not,” he promised, “but, you know… I’d like it.  So I can call you sometime or something— maybe I’ll have worked up the nerve to ask you out by then.”

Your cheeks were warm, but so were the backs of your eyes.  You never thought you would miss it, Tom running up and putting his arm around you, shooting whatever guy you were talking to a glare that made everyone feel uncomfortable; you glanced over at him again, watching him chat and laugh with some of the other guys.  He was just going to let this happen, wasn’t he?  And so were you.  “Yeah,” you finally blurted out, “sure— got your phone now?  I’ll put it in for you.”

“Great,” he smiled, pulling his phone out of his pocket and handing it to you.  “Wow, that went surprisingly well.”

“Are you that surprised?” you laughed as you added yourself as a contact.

“These things don’t normally go right for me,” he explained.

“For you?” you glanced up at him incredulously.

“Now, don’t give me an ego,” he chuckled, and you laughed with him.

You quickly held his phone up to take a selfie with your tongue sticking out, adding it as your contact photo.  “There you go,” you handed it back to him, and he looked at it with a wide smile on his face.

“Aw, that’s rich,” he said, and you bit your lip.  “I really should hit the showers now, but, I’ll call you?”

“Okay,” you smiled, “I’ll answer.  Probably.”

He waved at you as he left, looking down at your contact in his phone one more time with a shake of his head, before disappearing into the little tunnel through the stands.

You told Tom you would wait for him until he was all done, but god, he was taking forever getting cleaned up.  In fact, everyone else had left when he finally came out in his change of clothes and found you leaning against the cement wall outside the practice facility.  “Fuck took you so long?” you groaned as he appeared.

“You know how long it takes to wash off after a match like that?” he laughed.  “You wouldn’t have walked home with me in the state I was in.”

“Okay, fair enough,” you sighed, “can we go now?” 

“Well, um— actually, I have to get my bag from the locker room…”

“Oh my god,” you whined.

“Don’t get teazy, I just have to pack up all my gear,” he scolded.

“I’m coming with you,” you insisted, “and helping you carry it so we can get fuckin’ home already.”

“Fine, fine,” he laughed, starting back as you followed along with him.  “Lucky for you, it’s empty.”

“Aw,” you faked a pout, “no sexy rugby boys to look at?”

“Just me,” he smiled— and fuck, he was joking, but it scared you for a second.

There was a little awkward pause while he guided you around the bend into the locker area, left surprisingly clean after the boys were finished; it was only Tom’s locker open, with his things all strewn about, and you sighed.  “Look at the mess you made…” you breathed, starting to help him clean it up and get his things together.

“Rhys finally asked you out, then?” Tommy grinned, elbowing you lightly.

“O-oh, yeah,” you breathed, “erm, well— he just got my number, no date yet or anything.”

“Well, it’s a start.  I didn’t want to give him your number for you, but he asked me for it— actually, he’s asked about you a couple times now.”

“You think he’s good enough for me?” you asked.

“I mean, I dunno,” Tommy shrugged, “I don’t know him that well.  But he seems nice enough— figure you can decide the rest.”

You sighed, nodding a little.

“If he tries anything, though, you let me know and I’ll set him straight, alright?” he added, and you laughed.

“Alright, I will,” you agreed, kneeling down to get some of his clothes from off the floor and stuff them into the duffel.  “Not sure how you’re gonna do that when he’s got a metre on you and maybe twenty pounds of muscle—”

“Shut up,” Tom scoffed.  “You know I can take any guy down if it’s got to do with you.”

Your throat caught, and you stood up again.  "Tommy, listen, I actually— I wanted to… talk to you."

He cleared his throat, looking nervous as he rubbed the back of his neck.  "Yeah?  You're all good, right?  Everythin's okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," you nodded, leaning back against the lockers, "I just… I was thinking about you."

He stepped up closer to you, close enough that your heart started to race.  "Oh… what about me?"

"Well, about us," you clarified, "you and me— I want… erm…"

"Hm?"

"I just— you know how we sometimes…?"

He leaned his head in a little closer, waiting with raised eyebrows for you to get to your point.

"That thing we do, sometimes?" you started again.  "I wanna… do it again."

He nodded, like he understood, but then paused and moved his mouth over to the side.  "You wanna go to the cinema?"

You laughed, more out of frustration than amusement, and tilted your head forward to rest on his chest.  "God, Tommy…"

"What?" he laughed.

"I— I want—"  

You couldn't look up at him as you said it.  You took a deep breath and tried to compose your bravery.

"I want us to touch each other again," you finally rushed out.  You waited for him to say something, or do something, but he didn't.  “Like when we were on holiday,” you recalled, toying with the hem of his shirt.  “And that night on the bay…”

“God, birdie, I— I dunno if I can do that again,” he breathed, and you felt your eyes start to burn a bit.

“Really, Tommy?” you sighed.  “I’m that… repulsive?  Or is it Rhys?  ‘Cause all he’s done is get my number—”

“N-no,” he groaned, “shit, m’not makin’ any sense.  I can’t do that again with you because it’s too hard, okay?”

You looked up at him, knitting your eyebrows together.  “What’s too hard?”

“Touchin’ you like that,” he whispered— even now, the way he said made your spine tingle— glancing down from your eyes to your lips and back, “and havin’ to act normal again.  Not bein’ your boyfriend.”

Of everything you thought he might say then, you never expected that.  You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling, even when you bit your bottom lip.  A laugh broke out through your grin, and you had to cover your mouth to try to hide it.

“Jesus, you’re laughin’ at me now!” he lamented.  “I finally tell you and you laugh at me!  You’re heartless, you know that?”

“No, Tommy, v’got a heart— and it’s all yours,” you promised, standing up on your toes to peck him on the cheek.  He gave you a confused look, and you laughed again.  “You don’t get it do you, still?  I’ve fancied you for ages— proper in love with you, really.  Kept askin’ you to do all that stuff ‘cause, well, you’re all I think about anyways.  Thought you were just doing me favours.”

After a pause, he finally laughed with you.  “Am I a fuckin’ idiot, then?  You’ve had it goin’ for me all this time and I didn’t notice?”

“You’re a little stupid,” you mitigated.  “I think I was being pretty obvious.”

“Yeah, and what about me?” he noticed.  “I’ve been all over you forever— kissin’ and huggin’ you, cuddling all the time— you didn’t notice that I think you’re fit?”

You shrugged.  "You've always been like that."

"Yeah!" he emphasised.

"Ohhhh," you nodded, "hm.  Okay, we're both a little stupid."

“Birdie,” he smiled, and your heart melted, because he’d never said it quite like that before.  He leaned in and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“You can really kiss me, you know,” you told him, and he pulled away just enough to look at you with an impossible-to-read expression.  “I-if you want,” you mitigated suddenly, and he smiled at you, then laughed.

“Aw, fuck, Tommy,” you turned your head to the side, “you’re awful…”

He put his hand on the side of your face, gently turning you to look at him.  “Yeah,” he agreed.  And then he moved in closer and kissed you— properly, finally.  You shut your eyes, your chest emptying with a sigh; his other hand held your face then, too, and you reached up to hold his wrists.  Your right hand felt the worn-out old bracelet that he still wore, and you couldn’t help but smile a bit against him.  He smiled, too.

“Tommy,” you sighed, reaching out and grabbing him by his belt to pull him closer.  He pressed his forehead on yours, looking down at your hands working on the buckle shakily. 

“Birdie, c’mon,” he gasped, “not here—”

You pouted a little, and he laughed.

“We waited all this time and you can’t wait until we get home?”

“Yes!” you whined.  “I need you…”

“Shit,” he groaned, kissing you again— but just for a few very passionate seconds before he pulled back once more.  “We’ll go home and I’ll do this right, I swear.”

“Why can’t we just do it here?” you wondered.

“Because if you told me some guy had taken your virginity in a rugby practice field locker room, I would kill him,” Tom frowned.  

You laughed.  “Fine, fine… let’s go home.”

~ 

Thank god his parents weren’t home.  You didn’t want to try to be quiet.

He had you in his bed the second the door was shut, kissing you voraciously as he helped you undress and tore his own shirt and trousers off.  For a guy who was just preaching patience, he was pretty hasty all of a sudden.

When all you had on were your panties, he set his arms straight to hover over you and stare down at you, looking a little dumbstruck.  You almost felt self-conscious enough to try to cover your chest, but he smiled at you and you felt a little better.  “You’re so… fuck, birdie, you’re pretty.”

It was a simple compliment, but it felt incredibly powerful when he said it like that.  He was in his boxers, and it wasn’t too much more skin than you’d already seen while swimming with him and such, but it was different with his massive hard-on making a visible imprint in the patterned cotton.  

Gently, he spread your legs, and tightened his jaw at the sight of the wet patch on your underwear.  “Oh, fuck,” he sighed.

“I always get like that,” you admitted quietly.  “Should be easy for you to fuck me, right?”

“Yes, yeah,” he agreed, “but m’not gonna fuck you yet.”

You frowned a little, and he laughed as he kissed you again.

“I told you I’m doing this the right way,” he insisted, “it’s your first time.  It’ll hurt if I just go for it.”

He leaned back and sat up, bringing his hands down to the waistband of your panties and gently dragging them down your legs; you felt gooseflesh spread all over your body.

“Oh, darling,” he whispered as he opened your legs again, looking right at you now.  You squirmed a little, but his grip on your thighs was tight.  “I need you to tell me now if you’ve changed your mind about this… ‘cause I can already tell I’m gonna have a hard time stopping once I start.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you were sure, you were so sure.  “I haven’t changed my mind,” you promised.

“I won’t get mad at you or anything,” he assured.

“I know— I’m sure,” you breathed.  Wondering if you should return the sentiment, you asked, "You're sure you wanna do this?  With me?"

"Birdie, I've wanted to do this with you since I knew what this was," he smiled.

"And you don't mind that I've never…"

"No, birdie, I don't mind," he laughed.  "Think it's perfect actually.  Couldn't let any other lad be your first.  Couldn't let any other lad touch you like this."

You bit your lip.  “You were gonna let me go out with Rhys,” you reminded him.

“I let you give him your number.  We hadn’t even gotten to you going out with him,” Tom corrected.  “And I was acting fine as best I could but I was really jumpin’, birdie, thinking about if something might happen with you two— something like this…”

You whined as you tugged on his shirt, hoping to hide your face in his neck, but he pulled his face back so he could look down at you with a smile.  "Tommy, please," you whimpered.  

"Please, what?" he encouraged.

"Jus' need you…"

He kissed your neck again, making your back arch and your hands grab onto his shoulders, and pressed his hips down against you.  You whined at the feeling of his erection through clothes, but opened your eyes in confusion when he pulled back again just a moment later, hovering over you.  "Say my name when I make you come, yeah?" he instructed, and you nodded.  "Try it on for size just once, why don'tya," he encouraged with a smile.

"Tommy," you smiled back, and he kissed the tip of your nose.

"That's m'girl," he praised, before crawling back down, kissing a trail over your stomach, moving his hand up your thigh.

He just kept his face right up close to you, watching his finger swipe through your folds, then watching it gently circle your clit.  You whimpered, and felt your insides flex on nothing.  Apparently, that made him want to give you something to clench on— he gently slipped his pointer finger past your opening, and you let out a long sigh.

“So warm inside,” he observed.  He pulled the finger back out a second later, putting it in his mouth and humming happily.  He put his mouth on you at the same time that he put the finger back in, along with a second; that was a lot to take in, and your back arched up off the bed instantly.  He mouthed at your clit, swirling his tongue around while his lips created this wonderful pressure; you had to grab onto his hair, and thankfully, he didn’t seem to mind.

Eventually, he did have to break away for a second.  "Wondered how you'd taste," he admitted with a sigh.  

"Well?" you prompted.

"Taste like 'eaven, birdie," he purred.  "Sweet little pussy— an' it's all for me?"

"All yours," you nodded, and he growled a little as he dove back in.

The tip of his tongue slid right up from your opening to where your clit was swollen and throbbing— he pushed his tongue flat against it and you whimpered loudly.  He started to really fuck you with his fingers then, rather than just letting the natural movement of your hips force you to ride them; they curled inside you, hitting a spot that made your own fingers curl into fists in his hair.  You didn’t want to hurt him, but he didn’t mind getting his hair pulled, apparently, and just moaned lowly against you.

The pressure started weighing on your gut after a while, your pussy tensing up on him faster and faster until it was just bearing down on him unendingly.  “Fuck, Tommy,” you gasped.

“C’mon, birdie,” he mumbled against you, “wan’ you to come.  Go ahead and come for me, yeah?”

You called out his name one more time, and it all spilled over at once; he shut his eyes tight, letting you pull his face right up against you by his curls as your hips bucked and grinded on him.  You sobbed weakly, and when it was suddenly too much, he broke away and pinned you down for a messy kiss.

It left you even more breathless than you already were.  When he pulled back, his eyes were a little glazed over and his lips and chin were a lot glazed over; he gave you a crooked smile.  “Taste how sweet you are?” he purred.  You wouldn’t call it sweet, really, but it still turned you on like crazy to hear him say it.

“Please, Tom,” you gasped, grabbing his shoulders, “you’ll fuck me now, right?”

He nodded, and you let out a sigh of relief.  “Sure you’re ready?” he asked, laughing when you groaned and punched him on the arm.

“Course I’m fuckin’ ready!” you snapped.  “God, Tommy, you always give ‘em all this rigamarole first?”

He shook his head.  “Just you, birdie… it was always just you.”

Kissing you again, his breath changed as he reached down to push his boxers out of the way and kick them off to the floor.  The way it felt to have his bare skin against yours as he lowered himself down was… euphoric.  Warm and soft and smooth, and when he wrapped you in his arms, it felt like he could just absorb you entirely.  You wouldn’t mind it if he did.

He'd prepared you so well that there was only one quick sting of pain when he pushed inside you— though just that was still enough to make one tiny tear roll down your temple, which he kissed away softly.

"Are you alright?" he whispered.  You nodded.  "I need you to tell me, birdie."

"I'm okay," you promised through a sigh.  "It hurts a little, b-but please don't stop."

"You're sure?"

"Please!"

He pushed his hips flush with yours and you gritted your teeth, though everything in you relaxed just a moment later; and all that was left was the fullness, the warmth of him, the way his eyes sparkled as he looked down at you.  "You're so beautiful," he whispered to you, and you bit your lip.

"I love you, Tommy," you mumbled weakly, and he planted one soft kiss on your mouth.

"I love you too, darling."

He carefully began to move, needing to reach down with one hand to keep your hips steady.  Your moans were shaky at first, but got louder and more even with each movement.  

"You're… so deep," you breathed.  "Tommy, I— I didn't know anything could be so deep in me."

"Well, I am," he grinned.  "I'm right… here."

He pressed down on your stomach, right on the spot where the tip of his cock reached— and your eyes rolled back.  "Ohh, god," you whined.

"You feel it, love?" he cooed.

"Yes, yes," you groaned.  "Fuck, Tommy, why didn't you tell me you had a perfect cock?"

He laughed a little, leaning down to kiss you on the jaw.  "Guess it never came up."

"Does it always… is it always like this?" you wondered.  "It's so good, does it always feel this good?"

He shook his head, kissing your forehead and then trailing down your nose and cheek.  "No, it's not always like this," he answered quietly.  "Not for me, anyway.  It's never been like this."

His lips met yours again, and you reached up to weave your fingers into the hair at the back of his neck.  He groaned a little, moving his hips faster, and you smiled.  "Do you wanna fuck me harder?" you asked.

"Fuck," he mumbled, "I— I could.  Do you want me to?"

"I can take it," you promised.

Picking up the pace slightly, he held you tighter; and you felt each impact a little harder, the sound of his skin on yours echoing around the room.  “Like that?” he asked.

“Yes,” you answered— you meant it more neutral than it came out, it sounded proper pornographic the way you said it, and he smiled.  “More, Tommy, please?  Jus’ want more…”

He hissed but did as he was told, latching onto your neck with his lips as he let something a little more animalistic take over, making you cry out and hold onto him tighter.  “Beautiful,” he grunted, “you’re so beautiful, birdie— you sound beautiful.”

“It’s just ‘cause you’re making me sound like this,” you sighed, clutching at his back, too overwhelmed by pleasure to worry about scratching him up.

“I’m giving you a hickey this time,” he informed you.  “You want my mark on you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you admitted, “always, Tommy— fuck, always wanted it.”

“‘Cause you’re mine, yeah?”

“Always,” you whimpered.

“A-ah, shit— when it’s time, I'll pull out, okay?" he offered.

"No," you whined, wrapping your legs around his hips.  "Tommy, please, want it inside…"

"Birdie," he breathed roughly, "if you say things like that, I-I'll come too fast."

“Don’t care,” you whimpered.  “Promise you’re gonna come inside me.”

“F-fuck,” he groaned, “erm— yeah, m’gonna come in ya, okay?”

You choked out the shortest sob of joy.  “Please, please— fuck, I’ll come again…”

“Yeah, fuck, c’mon then,” he praised, “just say my name, birdie— I wanna hear my name.”

“Tommy,” you cried, feeling him gasp against your neck as another wave of heat spread over your body; feeling him flex inside you right as you hit your own peak was so perfect.  You could’ve never described your emotions in that moment with words, but they found their way out anyways: you started crying, instantly.

“Don’t cry, birdie, shh,” he soothed quietly, wiping your tears away with his thumb.  “C’mon, darling, don’t cry—”

“N-no, Tommy,” you sniffled, “I’m just happy— I’m so happy, I swear…”

So he let you cry, and held you close to him; he didn’t leave until you fell asleep, even though he said he was just going to get you a washcloth and a cup of water and come right back.  He played with your hair and kissed your face, and just talked about all the normal things you usually talked about— as in, everything.  But this time, it was actually everything, no more hidden feelings.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but after one of those dreamless sleeps that went by quickly— like you’d only shut your eyes for a few minutes— you woke up tangled with him and his sheets.  Turning on your side as best you could, you looked at his sleeping face and smiled to yourself.  He woke up just a bit later, cutting your staring short, and smiled back at you.

“Top of the morning, my ‘ansum,” you greeted as you pinched his cheek.  He laughed and batted your hand away, hiding his face from the sun under his arm.  

“You kicked me in your sleep,” he grumbled.

“So it’s all over, then?  Final straw, you’re finally getting rid of me?” you joked.

“Mm, I thought about it,” he snorted, making you laugh.  He popped his face up again and started to kiss your face all over.

“Tommy, stop,” you whined.

“You can’t make me stop now,” he pointed out, “it’s one thing to get your best friend to stop kissing you, but your boyfriend?  Nah, m’not stopping.”

You laughed, his hand on your waist pulling you closer to him only making you feel more ticklish and squirm more.  You only stilled when he grabbed your face and gave you a real kiss, and everything seemed to slow down quite a bit.  You kissed him back, properly, reaching up to weave your fingers in his hair.  “So, you’re my boyfriend, then?” you noticed when you broke away.

“No, I think we’re still just friends,” he nodded, and you laughed and shoved him on the chest.  

“Might as well be, everything we did before sayin’ we were only friends,” you admitted.

“I’m whatever you want me to be, birdie,” he promised.

#tom (make up) x reader #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #tom (make up) smut #make up (2019) fic #tom grant x reader #tom grant smut

[tiredsurvivoronmain]

When they were talking about Wesker, I can't help but when he said this to Jill (when she said it was like living in a nightmare being controlled), I think he was also talking about himself when he said this.

He had only just opened up to her about Piers (apparently the first time he's told her about him years after his death), and it almost felt as if he was confessing his guilt/loss and that he had planned on retiring, Piers being the one to take over from him. He looked vulnerable telling her, the way he held the water bottle with both hands as if he needed something to hold and ground him, like it took real effort to open up (he's still affected by Piers' death). When it came to Wesker, him 'opening up' carried over and he may have confessed how he felt about Wesker still being in his mind, memories and nightmares. It could have also been Piers he was having nightmares about and he struggled to come to terms with the loss. Not necessarily in a romantic sense but it's obvious losing Piers hit him hard. However his relationship/rivalry with Wesker was longer and more intense, it would make sense that he'd still feel that connection to him like an old scar that won't fade and gives him pain. He also uses replicas/weapons that were Wesker's, if he wanted to be done with Wesker, why use them at all? Would he have not had other alternative weapons to choose from? Wesker's dead (as far as he's concerned) yet he still has that connection to him. If he was the one who commissioned the series of weapons or was the one to name them after Wesker... Did he do it to honour his memory? Or that he wanted something of Wesker or that connection with him to stay? And what would Jill have thought of it? Chris using replica weapons of the man that controlled her and made her live a nightmare? "And if you're not careful, it'll swallow you up." Perhaps he said that because that's what has happened to him, that the nightmares of Wesker have consumed him or had at one point consumed him.

The why he looked and acted empty after killing Wesker, you'd think he'd be happy or relieved it was over like the others were. Maybe he was at first but after a while the emptiness began to settle; he trained for so long to fight Wesker, he had a purpose and a goal. When Wesker was gone it left a void that needed to be filled. But something that had such an impact and influence on his life would have left him feeling empty. In a way, he killed part of his identity that day.

Then there's this scene in RE6

WHY was Chris prepared to die because he killed Wesker? As if he felt guilty or regretted it? He didn't know Jake personally, he didn't try to defend his actions or explain that Wesker was trying to destroy the world. Yet he willingly confessed and felt he deserved to be shot for killing him.

It took Chris a strangely long time to answer, why did he have to even think it over? He wanted to take Wesker down for personal reasons and because he was ordered to, it should have been a quick and obvious answer. My guess is that he was having flashbacks to Wesker, possibly his final moments. The way he sounded when he answered was as if he had no choice but to kill Wesker, that it wasn't for the same personal reasons he had before. He had to kill him in the same way of putting down a rabid dog, to protect people and to put it out of it's misery/pain. "I had to, he wouldn't stop. He was beyond saving."

Whether he felt actual guilt/regret for killing Wesker or it was merely a very dangerous tactic to get through to Jake, it's hard to say.

Ironically, there have been many occasions Wesker has aimed a gun at Chris and never fired, not even to miss for plot or as a warning. Jake, his son, did what Wesker couldn't in his 10 years of rivalry with Chris.

And of course, this scene in the RE1 remaster.

I've talked about this in another post but long story short, he still cared about Wesker despite being betrayed by him, that just moments ago shot Rebecca. Chris laughed and mocked him seconds before and was held at gun point, but the moment Wesker got attacked he immediately tried to help/save him. He cared.

And he still did, even after his death. Using Wesker weapon replicas, protecting and defending his son, possibly still having Wesker's STARS knife from the events of Code Veronica...he needs to have something of Wesker to be part of him. Whatever his reasons, despite all the pain, anger and hatred, he refuses to let him go and let the past be buried. He is both haunted and embracing the ghost of Wesker. The longer the absence of Wesker goes on, the more Chris is changing. Deep down he may have been hoping, wanting, Wesker to come back. 10 years pass and there's still no sign of him, the realisation turning into grief and regret. Wesker gave Chris purpose (just like how Chris gave Wesker purpose), now that purpose was gone, things just aren't the same anymore and there's nothing he can do to get him back. Wesker may have been right after all; their fates really are forever intertwined.

#chrisker #chris redfield #wesker #albert wesker #analysis and theories #long post

[writersblockedx]

Potions for Pranks

Pairing - George Weasley x Fem!Reader Summary - Fred and George are practising one of their latest potions on Y/n. They suddenly realise their wrong doings when Y/n begins to forget her memories. Warnings - None I don't think Words - 1.8K

Masterlist

Y/n's memory was beginning to blur. Just specks, small pieces that she couldn't help as they slowly started to slip away.

To begin with, the girl had been blissfully unaware. She, along with Angelina, Lee and the twins, were seated at the great hall for breakfast. Something which had seemed as usual as normal. Until George had slipped some concoction into Y/n's drink without her noticing. The Wealsey boy had been under the belief it was his and Fred's newest potions: kissing concoction. Alas, he had gotten the bottles mixed up.

"So, Y/n?" Hummed George mischievously as he leaned closer to his girlfriend. "Feel anything...I don't know...strong?"

Her brows knotted and she slid away from the boy slightly, "I've got no idea what you're talking about." She answered, confused already, yet unaware as to how her memory was beginning to crack.

Fred, the only other one in on the prank, had started giggling, leading to the other's starting to catch on. "Maybe you've got an urge to do something." George wiggled his eyebrows, but at that point, as Y/n stared back at him, she noted such memory was started to fade away.

Panic settled in and she addressed the rest of the group: "What have you done?" Her tone was blunt and pierced through the air.

Everyone caught on. Something wasn't right. This wasn't some mindless prank the twins had pulled, but something that had become daunting to her. Angelina leaned forward slightly over the table and reached out her hand. "Y/n? What is it?" She queried.

The girl could only shake her head, soon finding herself lost in the place she felt safest. "I don't-" She glanced to George as his pupils filled with worry. "I don't know." Her head snapped back to Angelina. "I can't remember."

They each shared looks. All of which were troublesome. Fred finally piped up, sheepishly asking his brother, "George, which bottle did you pick up?"

George hadn't torn his eyes from Y/n until that moment. "There was more than one?" That's when they all realised they were well and truly fucked.

"Yeah. There was the kissing potion and the- erm- the forgetfulness potions."

His words thudded against the air. There was no need for George to answer the question. They all knew. And, in the sum of three words, Angelina conveyed all their emotions, "You absolute morons."

Fred raised his hands in surrender, "Don't blame me!" Then he pointed this finger to his brother, "George was the one who picked the wrong bottle up."

The other twin rolled his eyes, commenting, "Very mature." Before turning to face Y/n who was still sat at complete loss, trying to grasp onto the memories which were slowly fading away. His eyes softened as his palms reached up to cup the sides of her face. "Hey, you're alright." Though, that he couldn't be sure of yet.

"Why do you even have a forgetfulness postion?" Questioned Lee, his curious tone gliding through the unsettling atmosphere.

"Testing some things out." Fred shrugged as his gaze snapped back to Y/n who hadn't dared to look away from George. "We're trying to make a short-term forgetfulness. You know, get away with a bit more stuff." He rambled on as he came to realise how bad this may turn out for them.

"And that," Angelina pointed to Y/n's cup, "Isn't the one for short-term memory?"

Fred shook his head.

"How do you feel?" George asked through a whisper, but in the group's silence, they all heard it. And they were all eagerly awaiting her answer, eagerly awaiting to find out how much memory their friend had lost.

Her pupils shot between the different people in front of her. The people she was closest to. The people who probably took up the majority of her memories. But, as she looked around, she just saw faces. Faces of which she was struggling to identify. "I don't- I can't-" She stuttered. The only thing which felt known was the red-head's hands on her cheeks. They were gentle and comforting as her body found them familiar, while her brain found them foreign. "I can't remember."

The pure panic in her pupils pushed a silence. Their friend now staring at them like they were ghosts. "It's like I know myself, but I can't, I can't place names to faces." She explained through a trembling tone.

"It's okay." Eased George as he took his hand in hers, hoping to soothe her concern. Then he turned his head and addressed the rest of the group, "Right? We can figure something out?" There was still panic woven throughout George's tone and it was louder than his words.

Lee scoffed, "Pretty sure this is above anything we can fix." At least he were being realistic. Though, his realism had only bought him a kick in the shin from the boy across from him. "Ouch!" He winced but was silenced none the less.

Angelina looked down the table in the Great Hall before leaning in as if her words were about to be dangerous. "You know, if we can't fix this, then that means..." She glanced between the boys who weren't seeming to catch on.

"That means? It means what?" Inquired Fred with knitted brows.

The girl huffed and let on, "We're going to have to go to Snape."

They seemed to dread that more than having a friend who didn't quite remember them. "Snape?" Y/n reiterated in curiosity. "That is?" They found it surprising how easily it had been to forget such a distinguished man. Then again, they supposed it showed the intensity of the potion they had accidentally slipped into Y/n's drink.

"Someone you'll wish you could forget." Replied Lee with the raise of his brows; wishing now that he had been the one to take the burden of the potion.

"Surely there's someone else." George thought. "I mean, anyone else. You know how many points he'll deduct?"

Angelina scowled, "And that's more important than getting your girlfriend's memories back, is it?"

"I'm just saying maybe there's a professor a bit nicer, who may be able to fix this just as well."

"He's potions master, George, there's no one better than him." No one liked the idea, but Angelina was right and there was no point in arguing. "Come on," She urged as she slipped from her seat and everyone else followed.

Y/n stuck close to George, their hands still perfectly interlocked. "Where are we going?" She asked him as they followed behind the others.

He glanced to her as they continued out of the Great Hall, "To someone who can get your memories back." He informed her.

She nodded her head but still seemed uncertain of the idea. "Right." She muttered before looking to him through confused eyes, "And, remind me again, your name is?"

A slight smile hooked at his lips, "George." He told her.

The group wandered around the hallways. For once, they were dismissive. For once, they were aiming to combat any attention as they hid their most recent prank: Y/n. Luckily, most students still lingered in the Great Hall and they were able to get to potions class without many glances their way.

But their real troubles would only begin when they knocked against the door. Angelina looked back at George, who seemed sewed too the forgetful girl. "You ready?" She questioned and the red-head nodded.

Angelina raised her hand and let her knuckles knock gently against the wood. They waited a moment or two before the door swung open and Snape ducked his head out. He glared at each of them, stopping on Angelina. "Sorry to bother you, sir, but erm-" She looked to Y/n and then back to the professor. "We need some help."

The man narrowed his eyes and, for a moment, George could have sworn he was about to decline his help. But, alas, he opened the door fully, "Come in." He instructed as the group fumbled into potions class. "What is it this time?"

And so, Angelina started to explain. She explained everything. Snape listened all the way through and didn't make any comment until the girl stopped. He then huffed and through the trembling silence, looked to the twins and said, "I'm half inclined to leave her as is for a few hours, hopefully teach you a lesson you're both obviously lacking." The two bit their tongues. "Instead, I'm sure a deduction of ten house points will be sufficient."

George sent Angelina a stare which could only read: I told you so. "Do you have the potion?" Snaped queried.

"Yeah." Answered George before rummaging through his robe pockets and pulling out the small bottle and handing it over.

Snape's gaze dragged over to the girl who resembled a deer caught in the headlights. "Take a seat please, Miss Y/l/n." He told her, but she didn't seem to make any move. Well, that was until George prompted her. Snape kept quiet and unscrewed the potion, sniffing it to search for it's ingredients. "And I wonder, what were you doing with such a potion?"

The twins looked to one another, shared in their expression, before addressing Snape. "Revision, sir." Fred answered.

Snape chose not to comment before taking the potion and beginning to gather what he needed for a remedy. He put it all together, mixed it and then returned and passed the concoction to Y/n. She looked up with doe-eyes, curiously holding the potion she wasn't sure of. "Drink it, Y/n." George encouraged with the nod of his head.

She glanced between him and the drink. She wasn't sure, but for some reason, she found that the boy in front of her was one to be trusted. So she followed his instruction and swallowed it all.

They all nervously anticipated if it were to work or not. They probably should have had trust in their professor, but Snape wasn't the most trustworthy. A moment passed and Y/n showed no sign of returning to her usual self. So George offered his hand to her, "Y/n? How do you feel?" He questioned.

She looked up slowly. She wore an expression that the boy struggled to depict. It seemed relieved, yet there were speckles of irritation written into her pupils. Slowly, she stood from the stool and fully faced George. Before he could even realise what was going on, he was getting gently hit in the chest by the girl, followed by her mutterings, "You idiot, George Weasley! You stupidity amazes me sometimes!" She went on before he caught her fists and a grin spread across his lips.

He quipped his head, "How I've missed you."

#george weasley x reader #george weasley #george weasley fanfic #george weasley imagine #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x you #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley oneshot #george weasley fluff #george weasley angst #harry potter #harry potter x reader #hogwarts #hogwarts imagines #fred weasley #draco malfoy #hermione granger #x reader #fanfiction

[spacebarbarianweird]

Astarion with Wood Elf!Tav headcanons, pls?

I decided to stick to the prompt and write about Wood Elves as promised, but let me know in the requests if you want Wild Elf!Tav as well!

Astarion x Wood Elf!Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

TW: a mention of suicide and PTSD

As a Wood Elf, you grew up deep in the woods in one of the many hidden villages of your people.

Since childhood, you learned to trust humans and dwarves and know how to survive in the forests.

You are good with animals and have your own familiar - a lynx called Mould (because of her weird patterns on the fur).

When you were sixteen, your woods were destroyed by orcs. You survived by hiding high in the trees, afraid of going down.

From now on, your path is the path of revenge.

To orcs, who destroyed your home. To humans who sicced them and solved the issues with Elves with their dirty hands. To dwarves who refused to help.

And to High Elves who didn't help a young orphan

You kill. You destroy. You are cruel and violent like a drow, not a Wood Elf.

Your rage and your blindness are used by the wrong people.

Your bow and your arrows become a weapon of destruction.

You leave a blood trace wherever you go.

Until you are kidnapped by mindflayers.

You aren't afraid. You want to die. You just wait until the cruel will of the Illithyds turns you into something monstrous.

But it doesn't happen. The tadpole blocks some of your most unpleasant memories and suppresses the bloodlust and disgust.

You've never felt so good!

As a leader, you gather your small company to get to Baldur's Gate.

You feel something is off with Astarion - Wood Elves have a good intuition concerning the Undead.

You feel compassion - you also left a trace of blood. You allow him to feed on you, and with every day you get closer.

He reconnects with the Elven culture through you, though Sylvan Elves and Moon Elves are different.

You braid his short hair and adorn it with little pieces of jewelry the same way men of your kin did.

On the other hand, he tells you about history and geography things that aren't known to isolated Or-tel-quessir.

You help Astarion to heal, and you feel like something is healing inside you. Your past, your sorrows.

But the moment the tadpole disappears...

It is all back.

The blood on your hands. The cries of your victims.

You want to die.

While the streets of Baldur's Gate are festive, you walk like a ghost.

You don't deserve to live. Not after everything you've done.

You want to end it all. You find a solitary place where no one will ever find you, and you take a dagger.

You faint as the blood leaves your body, and you feel like death lulls you to forever sleep.

You hope that your soul is too corrupt to be reincarnated.

But-

You wake up.

Alive.

Astarion has saved you.

He found you by the smell of blood and managed to find help before it was too late.

You remember his desperate cry for help, his attempts to stop the blood loss.

As you recover, he takes care of you. He spoon-feeds you, changes the bandages, and never ever says anything about your suicide attempt.

He knows why you did it. And he won't allow you to do that ever again.

Together, you leave the city and go into the wilderness.

You help each other heal. Astarion soothes your mental pain, and you help him with nightmares.

You have a few more attempts to off yourself, but Astarion always finds words to stop you.

With years, it gets easier. You redeemed yourself in your own eyes by helping people. You found the strength to keep living.

As for Astarion, he comes to terms with your mortality.

You will live for centuries, and you have a lot of time together. 

And you will return. You will reincarnate and, if he is still alive, you shall meet again.

A century post-game, you find yourself in the familiar woods.

You know this place.

It is your destroyed home.

You cry and grieve while Astarion holds you, not letting you fall into the dark abyss of your sorrows.

He helps you build a small shrine, a reminder about people who used to live there.

And you feel good. You feel free.

Astarion suggests going to see more of this world. Other continents, maybe, other planes.

And you agree. You leave your past and go into the future with your Thiramin, once and forever love.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @astarion-beloved @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati

#spacebarbarian headcanon #dnd elves #high elves #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 #astarion romance #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion headcanon #astarion headcanons #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x reader #tav x astarion #astarion x f!tav #dnd elf #dnd wood elf

[addictedtoreverse1999]

Ooo can you do what would medicine pocket, dikke, and pavia do when nervous flustered gn reader try to do kabedon is on them?

Winter's Notes: OMG i didn't read your request properly and just wrote it as the reader normally doing kabedon.. sorry about that T-T but i like what i did too it. sorry about that and I hope you like my modified version.

Another Note: Kabedon is where you pin someone against a wall typically while confessing your love or something. For more info, search it up.

Style: Quote + Headcanons

MASTERLIST

Feel free to request!

Warnings: suggestive [pavia], mentions of making out [pavia again], mentions of killing and murdery stuff [once again behold pavia], kissing [all of them}, flustered medicine pocket, established relationship!

"Nice try."

-Trying to pin Pavia down is like trying to mop up the ocean. Even backed up against a wall, even if you were taller then him- it would end up with Pavia pinning you against the wall.

-And considering how strong that guy looks, you probably wouldn't be able to escape.

-It would be genuinely scary. Honestly, he kills people for a living, of course it would be scary to be pinned down with a murderer. [if you like that sort of person then you'd get along great with Pavia.]

-Probably ends up with you two making out

"..What are you doing?"

-Medicine Pocket's first reaction is to flick your forehead. Then they process what you're doing instantly and now you have flustered Medicine Pocket *jazz hands*.

-Probably would take some time to completely comprehend whatever you're doing or saying.

-Then Medicine Pocket would just kiss you on the nose and run away like nothing happened.

-The next day, Medicine Pocket claimed that they had no idea what you were saying. Perhaps they have short-term memory loss. *cough* totally

"..Huh?"

-Would probably think that this is a attempt on her life. I mean, consider how emotionally constipated Dikke is, she probably has no idea what the living hell you're doing.

-Would probably just stand there until it's so awkward that you run away.

-The next day after you explained what happened, Dikke gave you a kiss as a sorry.

[at least you didn't get punched.]

#reverse 1999 #r1999 x reader #st. pavlov foundation #r1999 #reverse 1999 x reader #🖋️written archives #medicine pocket #medicine pocket x reader #medicine pocket reverse 1999 #medicine pocket r1999 #pavia #pavia x reader #pavia reverse 1999 #pavia r1999 #dikke #dikke x reader #dikke reverse 1999 #dikke r1999 #sorry about dikke's i couldn't think of a good one #i like pavias one tho #sorry anon i misdid it but im too lazy to rewrite it

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, today we have a rec list of bottom Louis fics where either Louis or Harry has amnesia. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Finding Thoughts | Teen & Up | 6,810 words

"Hi, my name is Louis Tomlinson and I suffer from short term memory loss."

2) Our Love Was Made For Movie Screens. | Not Rated | 8,106 words

Harry wakes up and doesn't know anything about anything and Louis is his omega.

3) Cause I’m Really Not Fine At All | Mature | 13,679 words

Louis Tomlinson, one of the famous members of One Direction, is involved in a car accident that caused him to have amnesia, wiping all the last five years of his life from the memory. The interesting part is he may not remember that he has a girlfriend now, yet his mind seems to think that he has been in a relationship with one of the members, Harry Styles. Harry is baffled and shocked at the situation that's thrown in his face. He finds himself learning how to be a good boyfriend for Louis. It has to be easy.. right?

4) Indestructible | Explicit | 24,243 words

“Hi,” Harry murmurs, and Louis hiccups out a sob. “Hi,” he manages, still clutching onto Harry’s shoulders. Harry’s fingers drift across Louis’ cheeks, and there’s something off about Harry’s expression, but Louis can’t figure out what it is. “I’m okay,” Harry says, and Louis is going to say something to that, even if he doesn’t know what, except Harry’s kissing him. Louis freezes.

5) The Way This River Runs | Explicit | 27,417 words

Louis is provided a chance to start over. He takes it.

6) Deleted Scenes | Explicit | 33,623 words

Agent Harry Styles was injured on the job a few months back, and gets roped in one last mission before he can retire prematurely: playing house with Louis, a widower who has amnesia. The assignment seems simple at the beginning, but soon enough Harry's twisted in a web of his own making, and can't get out anymore.

7) Just A Pretty Boy | Explicit | 35,614 words

The alpha in front of him wasn’t only tall, but used every inch of his body to look even more threatening. He looked as shocked as Joseph felt, in his eyes he could clearly see horror and anger mixed into an odd and painful mix. It was as if he just watched a ghost or a monster from a nightmare come to life.  “Louis…” he said with a low voice. It wasn’t a question, he was calling Joseph by that name.  The crease between Joseph’s brows deepened. “Who?” Louis and Harry were married until, one day, Louis passed away in a tragic accident. Years later, he is found alive and with a thousand questions plaguing his mind. The most important ones; was his husband involved in his disappearance? And, how long did it take Harry and his best friend to fall in love after his supposed dead?

8) The Things I’d Do To Wake Up Next To You | Mature | 36,109 words

AU. Harry wakes up to a pregnant Louis Tomlinson and a wedding band on his finger.

9) Strangers In Love | Explicit | 42,207 words

Louis wakes up to find himself in a marriage with the last man he thought he'd ever end up with.

10) Define Me Again | Mature | 54,385 words

He's never felt so frightened in his life before, so fucking terrified for himself. And Louis. He looked down at their hands, which seemed to have been connected throughout the incident. He looked at the ring on Louis' hand, for the nth time that day. His heart hurt so bad now, he was terrified. He wanted to do so many things, he wanted to check on louis, if he- if he- God he couldn't even think about it. "Louis," he tried to whisper, but nothing but air came out from his mouth. "I love you, Harry," whispered a voice. But it was nowhere near him. Visions attacked his mind, rapidly flickering through like one would do the pages of a book. He was terrified. His entire life literally flashed in his mind, vision growing more and more weak and he fought unconsciousness. Memories and the picture of Louis lying unconscious in front of him altered and flickered, so rapidly that he felt dizzy with how fast his mind was whirring. What happens when you die? God he was so, so, so, fucking terrified. All his senses gave out, last thing he felt was Louis' hand in his and then, everything went black.

11) Flash Back To Me | Explicit | 73,068 words | Prequel

Louis narrows his eyes, wanting more than anything to tell Liam to go fuck himself, but he can’t be sure, is the thing. As much as he knows for a fact that he would never date someone like Harry Styles, he has months missing from his memory. And it’s scary to think that, in that time, everything he’s come to know about himself could have changed so drastically.

12) Consequences | Explicit | 78,556 words

Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

13) Invisible String | Explicit | 84,726 words

Louis swears on his life that that man came out of literal nowhere and he thanks each lucky star for having good breaks in his car. This strange alpha also happens to be the most beautiful being Louis has laid his eyes on. For some unknown reason, the omega feels safe around the alpha. It might seem strange, but you can't always explain why or how things are the way they are. All you can really be sure of is that they happen for a reason. There's a higher power (call it what you want) that knows better and definitely knows more than you do.

14) The Dead Of July | Explicit | 117,446 words

Harry is Captain America, and Louis’ been dead for 70 years.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#bottom louis #top harry #larry #fic recs #blp fic recs #amnesia

[qcellbit]

i dont expect everyone in the world to be medical experts but ive been seeing a lot of comments surrounding q!quackity after his last stream that have bothered me so i thought id clear a few things up (as someone who suffers from a brain injury).

i dont know if quackity the content creator has done his research into brain science but regardless of the federations canon goal with q!quackity, the brain is an extremely delicate organ and its impossible to surgically alter specific memories or traits. they mightve attempted to achieve something specific with their experimentation on him and regardless of whether or not theyve succeeded, theyve undoubtedly given him a brain injury. a brain injury can be caused by any manner of trauma to the brain and often results in:

nonspecific short and long term memory loss

difficulty comprehending written text

significant difficulty writing

significant difficulty speaking

confusion

psychosis (hallucinations)

emotional lability

bizarre and seemingly nonsensical behaviour

improvement is not a straight line and lapses in different areas of ability can occur at random completely disconnected from each other. q!quackity might have no trouble writing certain phrases one minute then be completely unable to write the next, but he might very well be emotionally sound throughout all of this. he may suffer from a long string of lapses in short term memory but be able to write the entire time - IF this is accurate to real life, which im currently treating it as since his symptoms all match my own.

and i cant believe this has to be said but please try to avoid laughing at any of these symptoms...? these are real effects that brain damage can have and giggling at and infantilising his inability to communicate is cruel. ive seen people making jokes about his "keysmashes" when that is something i myself and many other people with brain damage do when trying to text without realising.

#i wrote this last night and it didnt make any sense so i had to rewrite it rn with a clearer head #thats what i mean by difficulty communicating. sorry if things still dont make sense ive been chipping away at this for 15 hours #mine

[the-s1lly-corner]

Howdy! May I request Caine and Jax with a reader that comes back from abstraction but doesn’t remember anything about them or themselves? I think it would make for some good angst material. Have a good day/night!

Back from the 'Dead' (Caine and Jax x Mended!reader)

i dont know if the fandom has made a term for unabstracted people for fic stuff but i like the way mended sounds anyways YES MORE ANGST!! yipee! gonna probably be flip flopping between answering requests and finishing my art wips tonight so!! listened to this song while writing this, feelings were made jack stauber // just take my wallet

You wake up on the floor, not knowing where you are. Everything before you opened your eyes is a quickly fading blur of darkness, far too fleeting for you to grasp and make sense of. Your body hurts, a dull ache seeping down into your core. As your sight clears, you can't make out where you are... you appear to be on a stage of sorts. You can't bring yourself to move, even after the pain becomes bearable. You feel so tired. Eventually, someone approaches you

CAINE:

youre torn back to reality as a loud chattering voice fill your ears, talking almost a mile a minute. looking up you see a short man with a set of teeth for a head. he keeps repeating something that, after a few seconds of processing, sounds like its meant to be your name

hes also throwing in names of endearment, namely "My Dear"

you cut him off mid sentence after he fails to pause between his words, asking who he was and where you were

in an instant he stopped speaking, jaw hanging open and hand paused mid gesture

he doesnt ask if youre joking, i dont think caine would be in that kind of denial

on one hand, i can see him trying to jog your memory, but on the other hand i cant help but feel that he would accept it. maybe its because he doesnt want to stress you out more when youre already in a murky space, fearing that he would accidentally undo your sudden mending

its so weird for him, you were his first love and first partner; and now hes grieving your loss. except youre still here. you still have your mannerisms, but none of your memories. he truly doesnt know how to go forward

gone, blanked, erased, deleted even

he has to stop himself from calling you the nicknames he once called you

he still tries to foster a new relationship with you, but whether or not you would fall in love with him again is up to you

bonus angst, imagine you do fall in love. just not with him. like can you imagine how much that would hurt

the longing looks, the way he would attempt to reach out to you only to stop with his arm half-outstretched, the stumbling of words as he tries to stop himself from spilling how much he loved you

even if you ever abstract again, or you somehow leave the digital world, he would still go on to love you just the same. in fact, i dont think he would ever move on from the heartache

theres a visible change in demeanor in him, too, he seems a little more. fake?

JAX:

he sprints towards you, he doesnt care at all if someone hears his footsteps pounding the ground, just as long as hes there to make sure its really you. and sure enough, it is

similar to caine hes asking you how you managed to come back, not even noticing youre confused and uncomfortable face as he placed his gloved hands on your shoulder firmly and pulled you up

similar to caine as well, you have to cut him off in order to get him to stop talking, having to assert your voice firmly in order to get him to back off

you ask him who he is, where you are, and what he meant by 'coming back'

denial

this man would be in denial i think

like deep down he knows theres something going on with you, but he doesnt want to acknowledge it

hes not really outright romantic with you, since he doesnt want to actually. screw his chance to reconnect with you up, you know. i mean he can kind of see it from your perspective, you just wake up and some guy is already trying to make out with you? yeah no, he would be put off too

i think jax would have more luck trying to rekindle something with you simply because unlike caine, he doesnt carry the same fear of you abstracting again

i think, as an added thing to think about it jax's feelings of hurt and grief coming to a head and he kind of. unintentionally snaps at you, telling you to stop messing around and drop the act

overall sad stuff

constantly trying to get your attention through being a nuisance, kind of like when you guys first met and he started catching feelings

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #caine x you #caine x reader #caine imagine #jax x you #jax x reader #jax imagine

[therealcocoshady]

Recovery - Chapter 2

Eminem x Reader (Y/N) fanfiction

Summary : Marshall takes Y/N for a drive and they open up about their sobriety experiences.

Tags : mentions of substance abuse

The drive wasn’t very long but it was kind of silent. You did not really know what to say, so you kept to yourself, as Marshall was driving. After a short while, you arrived to some sort of observatory, from where you could see the whole city of Detroit. The view was breathtaking. It was starting to get dark so you could see the lights from the building.

- Woah, you said as you got out of the car.

- Nice, huh ? Marshall asked.

- Definitely better than my room, you admitted.

- It’s one of my favourite places in the city, he explained. When I started recovery, I thought I was going crazy, staying in my house. So I started coming here everyday. Sometimes for twenty minutes. Sometimes for hours. But at least it got me up from the couch and out of the house.

- The city looks great from here, you said. I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.

- It’s not highly touristic, Marshall explained. Not many people know about it. That’s what is so great.

- I have to admit I haven’t explored much of Detroit yet, you said.

- For how long have you been here ? He asked.

- About four years now. I came to get my Master’s degree, as an exchange student at University of Michigan. And then I got a PhD fellowship so I took the opportunity to stay. Plus, I got together with Simon around the same time so it kind of felt like it was meant to be.

- Simon’s your boyfriend ?

- Ex, you quickly corrected. We split up. Actually, he left when I was in the hospital. Hence the living situation with Jamal and Talia, who were kind enough to take me in.

- I see, Marshall said. So he left you because of the OD ?

- Kind of.

Without really thinking about it, you proceeded to tell him about the breakup. Something about Marshall made it easy to talk. He was easy-going and made you feel safe, as if you had known him forever and could share everything with him.

- I really thought we were endgame, you said. We were talking about getting married eventually. And having kids, too…

You stopped talking as you felt a knot forming in your stomach. Simply mentioning your plans of having kids with Simon brought back the memories of the miscarriage. That very event had been the beginning of the end for the two of you. Even though Simon had been saddened by the miscarriage, it hadn’t affected him much. You were the one who gad to deal with the days of bleeding, cramping and crying. You had become attached to this baby and had troubles coming to terms with the loss of this pregnancy. Simon, on the other hand, seemed to be doing just fine.

- We’ll try again, he had said. It happens. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be, you know ?

Even though you knew he was right, you were hurt. It wasn’t about trying again. It was about processing your loss and grieving. It felt as if Simon had moved on as soon as you’d been told there was no heartbeat anymore. As time went on, you felt unable to talk about your grief, your pain and the trauma. So you started using more and more pills.

- YN ? You heard Marshall’s voice pulling you back to reality.

- Sorry, you said apologising profusely. I got in my head.

- It’s ok. Breakups are hard to talk about, he said. You’re really strong, you know ? With everything you’re going through right now.

- I kind of brought it on myself, you said sheepishly. If I hadn’t been using, I wouldn’t be going through this breakup right now.

- You never know what could have been. You just need to focus on getting better right now.

- Any wisdom to share ? You asked with genuine interest.

In fifteen years of sobriety, you assumed he had gained some wisdom you could use.

- Don’t be afraid to talk. Like, ever. In fact, I think that staying silent and alone with your thoughts makes you insanely more vulnerable and at risk for a relapse. Also, there are thousands of things I could tell you right now, but the only thing that matters is that, as lonely as you may feel, there are many, many people going through the same thing. You are not alone. Your road to recovery doesn’t have to be a lonely one.

He smiled and got closer to you as he spoke. He gently put a hand on your shoulder.

- You may lose people in the process but that doesn’t mean you can’t be surrounded by love and support, he finally said.

You felt a little lump in your throat and, for a second, you thought you’d cry.

- How did you get over the disappointment you caused people ? You asked, looking into his piercing blue eyes.

- By making amends and, mostly, creating new memories with them. The hardest thing for me was letting my family down, especially my children. I missed Christmas with them when I OD’d. I’ll never have that time back. But I make a point of sharing meaningful moments with them now. More than ever before, he said.

- Do they resent you ? You shyly asked.

- I’m pretty sure they did. My daughter is the one who found me unconscious, two hours away from dying. I guess the kids did suffer from my absence. They needed me as a parent, not as a burden. But I’m better now, I’m present and I’m here for them. That’s what matters. It’s in the past, now. What matters the most to me is that they know I love them.

You watched Marshall’s eyes as he gazed upon the horizon. Obviously, talking about his kids struck a chord.

- You seem like a great dad, you said. Your kids are lucky to have you.

- I try to be. To be fair, they’re the ones who are great. I owe them everything.

- Tell me about them, you asked.

The way Marshall spoke of his daughters sparked your interest. The sparkle in his eyes when he mentioned them warmed your heart and you could only hope that, one day, you would be so lucky to have kids you could love as much. Obviously, he loved talking about his daughters and bragging about them. You couldn’t help but think it must be a bit odd for them to have Eminem as a dad, growing up.

You chuckled at the thought of your own Dad, who was so different than Marshall, even though they were about the same age.

- What is so funny ? He asked with a smile. Sorry, I’m such a geek when I talk about my kids.

- No, it’s not that ! You reassured him. I was thinking of my father. I think you’re about his age but somehow you’re… cooler, I guess ?

- You’re only saying that because I’m not your father, Marshall assured you.

- Pretty sure not, you insisted.

After all, you highly doubted that Marshall’s daughters would trade their rapper father for yours. Maybe it was a matter of culture, but Marshall was warmer, more emotionally available.

- Are you close to your parents ?Marshall asked. They must be proud of you, getting your PhD and stuff.

- My mom died when I was two so I don’t have a lot of memories of her. I was raised by my father and his new wife. We’re not really close but I guess you could say they’re kind of proud, you explained.

- Do they know about your OD ?

- No, you admitted shyly. I couldn’t disappoint them like that. How would you react if the same thing happened to one of your girls ?

- I don’t think I’d be disappointed, Marshall said after a few seconds of thoughts. I’d be scared, concerned and, frankly, disappointed in myself if they ever felt the need to hide this from me. My job is to be there for them, come what may. If you were my daughter, I would want you to know that.

- Well, my Dad would never forgive me, you said without a thought.

- I think the forgiveness that matters the most is your own, he pointed out.

Marshall’s words meant a lot to you. Talking to him so candidly felt so good.

- What if I can’t forgive myself, Marshall ? You asked with tears welling in your eyes.

- You can. You deserve to, Y/N. Just because you fucked up doesn’t mean it’s over for you. You deserve to have great things coming your way, he replied as he pulled you in for a hug.

- But I’m a failure, you pointed out. I lied to everyone, I screwed everything up with Simon and even Talia doesn’t trust me anymore. I don’t even deserve you being so nice to me. Why are you so nice to me ?! You blurted out.

A smile started to form on Marshall’s lips.

- Because kindness isn’t meant to be deserved anyway, He said. When I got sober, I had amazing people helping me out. I always told myself I’d do the same for anyone else in need, he explained. And you may think you deserve to have everyone hating you, but the truth is, I haven’t heard anything but good things about you from Talia and Jamal. They love you and they think the world of you. That tells me you’re pretty cool.

You let out a laugh and dried your tears.

- Thank you, Marshall. For everything.

- My pleasure, Y/N.

The two of you kept on gazing at the lights of the city for a while, making small talk. At some point, you found yourself shivering. Marshall offered you his jacket but you felt kind of tired and asked if he would mind driving you back instead. On the way home, you stared at him and realised that, even though you’d just met him, you felt insanely comfortable around him. You were thankful for making his acquaintance. Also, you couldn’t help but tell yourself he looked as good as he was kind - which was saying something. He wasn’t really your usual type but you found him quite appealing. And you started blushing as soon as you realised that you were kind of attracted to someone who was old enough to be your father. You shrugged it off and told yourself that it was probably your vulnerability playing you.

When you arrived at Talia and Jamal’s, he stopped the car and stepped out to open your door. He hugged you goodbye and reached for his necklace before handing it to you.

- It helped me through some tough times, I hope it does the same for you, he said before kissing your forehead.

- Won’t you need it though ? You asked.

- I’m good, he simply said. Take care, Y/N.

You smiled and waved goodbye as he got back to the car. You had no idea as to whether you’d see him again or not, but it did not really matter in this moment. You felt as if there was purpose in the moments you just shared. Even if you never crossed path again, you knew you’d forever be thankful for him. You put the necklace around your neck and entered the house with a smile on your face.

- Well, someone looks cheerful, Talia said as you walked through the door.

- Yeah, we had a great talk, you said. He is very nice. Is everyone gone ?

- They went out to dinner, she said. I stayed so that you wouldn’t come home to an empty place.

- You didn’t have to !

- I don’t mind, really. Plus, I think it’s good for Jamal.

- He loves having you around, you pointed out. And everyone seems to like you too !

- They’re super cool, she admitted. But I can do without the boys’ talk, she added with a grin. Plus, now, I have a live-in bestie ! A bestie with a necklace that definitely rings a bell, she pointed out.

As soon as those words left her mouth, you knew you were in for a long series of questions.

#eminem #eminem x reader #marshall mathers #eminem fanfiction #slim shady #eminem fluff #eminem imagine #marshall mathers imagine #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers headcanons

[felony-bunny]

Malleus x non-gendered reader

Scenario: Malleus doesn’t understand how mc doesn’t fear him. He doesn’t know if they’re brave, dumb, or not afraid of death. Spoiler they’re all of the above.

Btw I’m on chapter 6 and have no clue what happens in the next chapter.

LETs GET INTO THIS MOFO

(I wrote this all forever ago but I thought that I could add more to make it better but I was wrong. For some reason this was so fucking difficult. This isn’t the first time I’ve done a oneshot too. I literally do not think that I could write anymore twst oneshots because of how bad this came out. I’m literally so sorry. You can read if you want but I hate this so so much. And also sorry for the wait.)

Most people feared Malleus’s strength. That’s what he was used too. He usually didn’t focus on people enough to care but you were different. He could understand how you weren’t scared before you know how he was but even after you found out you still called him by that silly nickname and acted the same towards him. Every once and awhile he tries to think of a reason for this.

1.) You are actually really stupid

2.) You’re some sort of narcissist and think you two are on the same level

3.) You have short term memory loss

4.) You’re stupidly brave

5.) You do not fear death

He crossed out 2 and 3 after hanging around you for a bit. But even after all the times you two have hung out he still hasn’t been able to understand how you work. One day his curiosity took over and he asked you outright.

“Child of Man?”

“Yea yea?” You absent mindedly replied as you balanced on some old bricks.

“Why don’t you seem to fear me? You have many reasons to be.”

Well standing on one wobbly brick you looked up at him “Why should I? It’s not like you’ve hurt or threatened me.”

Do you not realize how much of a threat he can be?

“Still…“

“Still what? Listen I get you’re pretty overpowered, like everyone wastes money on pulls for you in Gacha games kind of overpowered.”

Huh?

“But you’ve been nice to me and that’s all I really need to trust you.”

He didn’t like the next words that came out of his mouth but he needed to know

“Child of man, I could easily kill you. Do you know how much of a danger I could be to you if I chose to?”

You both stand there for a minute.

Did he mess up?

Did he bring up something you haven’t thought of and now you were scared?

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I mean if you ever did kill me it would suck but whatever.” You look down at the brick wobbling.

Did you just say whatever at the possibility of being fatally injured?

“Why don’t you value your own life?”

“Is that really a question? What about my life actually has value? I mean it’s not guaranteed that I’ll go back home or that I’ll be able to start a new life here and if I do go back let’s say three years later I’d have to go back to school and waste a shit load of time and money on it. Honestly there are millions of things that could go wrong. It’s pretty difficult just existing here and not knowing what’s going on at home but whatever.” You jump off the brick and continue walking “At the end I just have to believe that things will string together and I don’t have to worry.” You spin around to face him and smile.

You say the weirdest things but still enchant him every time. Your a brave idiot who doesn’t care about how badly things could end and just put it up to luck, but that made him love you.

He smiled “I see. My apologies that was a foolish question on my part.”

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst incorrect quotes #twst #twst wonderland #twst headcanons #twst mc #twst yuu #twisted wonderland x reader #twst malleus #twisted wonderland malleus

[great-and-small]

hey i know this is really heavy but... My pet of 13 years was put to sleep yesterday morning and I was wondering if you have any tips on handling the loss and absence of him. My whole family is struggling really hard and I would appreciate it.

Anon I have been thinking about how to answer this and what words of comfort I can offer you in this time of grief. I have held the hand of so many people through the death of their pet and still I oftentimes find myself at a loss for words. It’s something I think about a lot, so I’m sorry that this is quite long-winded.

I was driving my grandmother to a doctors appointment a few weeks ago and she was telling me about her first dog, a Boston terrier named Guppy that she’d had since she was 8 years old. She told me that during her first year in college she received an unexpected phone call from home out of the blue. In those times, phone calls were expensive and you really only got an unscheduled call when a relative or loved one had passed away. She told me that as she was walking to the room to take the call she had prayed to God that the news on the other end of the line would be the death of her own grandmother, rather than the now geriatric Guppy who had been sick for some time. It was a call about Guppy of course, and my grandma told me she’s been guilty her whole life for wishing that a family member had died instead. She told me that she was intentionally sharing this story with me because she didn’t want me to ever feel guilty if I grieve the loss of my dog more than I do her death someday. She told me that the love of a pet is something different, and losing it hurts in a different way.

This was a morbid story with a morbid sentiment (though entirely in character for my grandma) but it got me thinking about the nature of our grief for pets. They are such constants in our lives that in many ways losing them can be harder to bear than the loss of someone who matters to you in a completely different way. My grandma didn’t love her dog more than she loved her relative, it’s just a different type of grief.

Do not let anyone (including yourself) minimize your loss, because your pet was here, they were important, and your love for them mattered immensely.

So now let me say this; I am so happy that your pet was able to spend 13 years with a family that loved and treasured them. I hope for every single one of my patients to have that safety and warmth and affection, your pet was lucky to be so dearly loved. That said, here are some little things that I will recommend to people who ask me for help in dealing with the loss of their companion.

Take things one day at a time. This sounds like a cliche and maybe it is one but I found it helped me. Try not to think about the future without your pet, but focus on getting through the day, especially in the short term after the loss. Take care of yourself and your physical needs as much as you can.

Actively grieve your pet. By this I mean, dealing with grief is hard work that cannot be ignored or put aside. Rather than shying away from memories of your pet, take the time to purposefully think about them and the life they shared with you. It hurts and it sucks so much, but there is no shortcut through it.

Memorialize your pet. This can be anything, but try to find a way to honor your pet’s memory. Make a painting, or volunteer at an animal shelter for a day, donate old blankets to a vets office in your pets name, make a rock garden, buy a fruit tree and plant it somewhere, put together a photo collage of your pet. Doing little things like this helped me more than anything else when I was grieving my dog.

Talk about them. It seems so dumb but I swear it helps. Talk about what they were like when they were little, what funny things they did to make you laugh, what it meant to have them by your side through all those years. It doesn’t have to be a therapist, but find someone kind who can listen to the stories about your pet that made them who they were.

And most of all please know that someday (maybe not soon, but someday) it will hurt less. In the meantime please be kind to yourself as much as you can.

#asks #pet death #pet loss #animal death #long post

[yn-barnes]

Exploring Explosions ~

Bucky x reader

: ⚠️ warnings mentions of Sharon, coma, memory loss, and brain stuff ⚠️ :

Summary - While on a mission, something happens to bucky while on the journey to recover, he fines something he wants more than life itself.

(I know I used this before, but look at him)

(And ik these and short and kinda move fast but other wise imma dragggg this out and ain't noone wants that! 😭)

Part 1

Your heals clicked and clacked as you make your way to the living room, as you entered the room Steve stood up and gave you a look of concern look then sat down when he didn't see any distress on your face. You sat in the armchair, looking at your papers, biting your lip, making sure there was nothing else you could do at this moment.

"Good news first.. bucky should make a full recovery and there's no long term damage, the rush surrounding his face will die done duo to the super serum and cream we can provide him-" you were about to get to the not so good news when a irritated voice pipes up from the back. Sharon. "Can you get on with it, like we get it you 'saved him' just tell me what's wrong with him" She states as everyone just stares at her in disbelief, you blink a few times before ignoring her statement completely.

"As I was saying, the issue is the substance sprayed in Mr Barnes' face - well, uhh - to put it simply, it would affect how and what the brain releases chemically. So far, his brain has produced more dopamine, and we have a fair guess that it could also produce more oxytocin at an alarming rate."

You got some nods of understanding, some blank faces, and some straight out confused about what's going on, you were about to explain more but you got a notification that you were needing back at medical. Excusing yourself you quickly left the room and made your way down the hall to the medical ward and started praying on the way that no one died, you cursed under your breath for being stylish and wearing your heels and not your crocs or boots.

You slip through the Automatic sliding doors and went to Barnes door scanning your card and finger, the door opened and you quickly went inside locking it behind you, confused as to why you were notified that his vitals changed drastically becuase they looked normal. Then it hit you, They shouldn't be this normal. You unhooked, then sleeping soldier and grabbed the front of his bed, pulling him to the door, unlocking it and dragging it out, yelling for help, and to get the MRI machine ready. Once he's in the machine and getting scanned, you whip out your phone to inform cap that his best friend might be a lot worse than thought to be.

Cap entered just when James was being moved from the room and was being put back. He looked for you and saw you at the desk looking puzzled by his results. Before you could even speak, he knew you would have some big words and to give it to him so simply that even thor would understand.

"The stuff he was sprayed with was so old that it took time kicking in, and now it has the body got so almost stressed it thought its best way to survive was to just go black." You said with a straight face, and Steve understood but also knew you left parts out you couldnt dumb down. "Steve.. if worse comes to worse, he could be in a coma for years.. and the best outcome is memory loss, " which hung in the air for quite some time before he just started nodding and walking around, pacing back and forth. He sat on the ground and just looked shocked and in denial.

@unaxv @sapphirebarnes

(Idk if it worked)

#bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes #1950s #tfatws #thor love and thunder #smut #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #iron man #steve rogers #captain america #cap #winter solider #science #sharon carter #natasha romanoff #black widow #thor odinson #thor #my fic #fiction #marvel #clint barton #the avengers #avengers #lovers

[redladydeath]

re: your vox mindbreak au, it's such a fascinating scenario with so many avenues of interest.

does vox definitively become one of alastor's thralls. you know, just like nifty is even though we're not sure her soul is alastor.

what sort of conflicts of interests would occur if he's still — if not commercially then emotionally, to them — part of the vees?

would alastor drag him to the hotel, making him a reluctant staff member, even though it fails to capture his interest? what surprising dynamics would crop up?

and if it occurs during/post-canon, and the hotel ensemble knew who vox used to be, would this irrevocably change his relationship with the cast who do not know alastor's cruelty? does vox have dysphoria when he remembers his head isn't a CRT, and then forgets, and then remembers, and then forgets, and then—? please reply asap im going insane.

Oh gosh, thank you. It's really flattering when people show interest in my weird little ideas.

does vox definitively become one of alastor's thralls

Not definitely. I have two avenues for this AU: One where the mindbreak happens in the 1960s, when Alastor and Vox have their first big fight, and one where it happens in the modern day, when Vox is part of the Vees. In the 60s route, he's one of Al's thralls; in the modern route, Alastor vanishes (possibly for seven years) immediately after breaking him and Val and Velvette are left to deal with the aftermath.

what sort of conflicts of interests would occur if he's still part of the vees?

Oh God, the subconscious yearning. Vox can't remember why he cares so much about these two random overlords, but he demonstrably does. He wouldn't feel so drawn to them and their products if they weren't important in some way. If Alastor ever ordered him to hurt them, he'd probably refuse (or at least try to talk his way out of it), which never happens anymore.

would alastor drag him to the hotel, making him a reluctant staff member, even though it fails to capture his interest? what surprising dynamics would crop up?

Of course! He's basically Alastor's loyal pet now– no reason not to bring him along! The hotel is novel enough that he's not particularly bored (always some wacky nonsense happening there!), even if the whole redemption thing is a bit out of his depth and doesn't feel possible.

Vox scares the absolute crap out of Husk. Knowing Niffty wasn't just a one-off and that Alastor is willing to do this to someone he considered a friend just because he didn't like his attitude is terrifying. Vox would also end up pretty close with Niffty, not because of their shared situation (neither of them are really aware of that), but because her 1950s sensibilities are comforting and familiar to him– she always makes sense to him in a way the rest of the world just doesn't. She also wouldn't even be remotely bothered by the constant out-of-nowhere topic changes or the short-term memory loss, so that's a plus.

and if it occurs during/post-canon, and the hotel ensemble knew who vox used to be, would this irrevocably change his relationship with the cast who do not know alastor's cruelty?

Oh yeah. I think seeing Alastor do something this extreme and unnecessary would be the final straw for Charlie. She's not even comfortable with killing genocidal freaks like Adam; no matter what Vox did, she wouldn't be okay with this. Plus, actually seeing him do this would make it click for everyone that maybe Niffty's not just some funny little creature, which would feel incredibly violating in retrospect given how much they've all come to care about her. Charlie would kick Alastor out of the hotel, which he'd be thrilled about, although he might end up back on their doorstep due to the constraints of his contract.

does vox have dysphoria when he remembers his head isn't a CRT, and then forgets, and then remembers, and then forgets, and then—?

Imo, in both routes he'd probably go back to the original 1950s set that he manifested with. It's just something he feels compelled to do– it's what Alastor would want him to do, after all. He'd probably need help making the change, but Alastor would do so happily / Velvette would do so reluctantly if that's what'll make him feel comfortable. I have a mental image where, when he first wakes up after The Incident, the first sign that something's wrong is that his display is fully black and white, despite the fact he's still using the modern flatscreen. But yeah, I imagine there'd be a lot of loops of "something is wrong– nevermind!– something is wrong– nevermind!" about various things, whether it's his body, the situation, or the presence/absence of certain people.

#btw all my ideas are open source so if anyone wants to scoop up this concept and do something different with it feel free #redlady speaks #hazbin hotel #vox #words are only at 50% capacity right now but eeeeeee #i kind of want to come up with a name for this au but i can't think of any broken television puns i like #randomly accessed memories (RAM)