#but they are bouncing around in my brain!!! and i will draw them once i can get them to stay still long enough to realize what they are!!!

[yayforocs]

👉👈 so @silverskye13 i saw this and..............

had to make an aron helsmet!!!!!! this was really hecking fun to think about actually like what she'd be like n design (which. is a poke at the rp server she was from actually) and also made me sit down and think more on my other minecraft ocs i have sittin around and why they ended up getting redesigns lkdsfh BUT YEAH i!!!!!!!! aron!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#what do i. tag this as. sdklfjslk #i mean ig since it's like??? she's a concept from it i should??? #redstone and skulk #aron #a lotta the stuff aron goes through in her character arc in the rps has to do with like. she has her stuff that she's comfortable doing #and stuff that she's not #and after trying and trying and trying to go outside her comfort zone and help ppl around her in a Better Way #feels like she's just not good at it and should give up and go back to what she was doing before #-only to find out through A Lot Of Events that no she actually was learning even tho she didn't realize it and she was getting better #and she was actually helping #and also. it was. kind of impossible for her to go back anyway. jlsdf. #sO i thought her helsmet would be more of the 'stick with what i know and don't leave that' kinda thing!!! #leaning into her minecraft roots; she was originally a redstoner/demolitionist (i mean she's still a demo but) #so her helsmet would- if following that idea- be Really Hecking Good at redstone #but only stick to redstone bc No I'm Not Trying Anything Else #also aron had a lot of problems trusting people she shouldn't and it really bit her back so there's that aspect too!!! #...also is it just me or does this pic feel very Camish like i don't know what it is about the style bc i tried smth different #and when i finished i looked at it and went 'huh. this looks like camish drew it.' #I WILL ALSO!! make more!! of my other minecrafters!!! i just underestimated how much thought i would be putting into making helsmets sdlkfj #but they are bouncing around in my brain!!! and i will draw them once i can get them to stay still long enough to realize what they are!!!

[utahimeow]

cw — nsfw content. minors dni. boxer!wriothesley, established relationship, handjob, slight size kink

warm water wraps around you as though a blanket, envelops you as though a coccoon. steam crawls softly into the air, wispy as it winds its way into your lungs and tucks away every last thought in your brain.

the scent of cherry blossom settles into every corner of the bathroom and mingles with the soft vanilla of the candles you lit. tealights glow like little fireflies all around the tub. with your eyes closed, you’re floating along a river in an enchanted forest, until a door clicks and you’re back in your quaint city apartment.

not that that’s a bad thing—after all, the noise signifies the return of your lover.

there’s about a minute of shuffling outside and the heavy thud of his duffle bag hitting the floor. then, the door handle dips slowly and wriothesley slinks into the haven you’ve made of your bathroom.

he crosses the room in one stride, but before you have the chance to open your eyes to examine his face like he knows you will, he cups your entire face in one huge hand and draws you in until his mouth is on yours.

his lips are hot, the bottom one slightly swollen and bumpy in a way that you know in an instant it’s been bruised.

it comes with the job is what he always tells you. you think he’s trying to convince himself more than you. he’s broken your heart a thousand times, coming home with cut cheekbones and blood streaming from his nostrils at least once a week, and still it never gets easier for you to see.

if it were up to you, you would lock him up inside your ribcage and keep him safe, stowed away from the relentless world.

he’s stopped letting you come to his fights. he did a while ago—his version of ‘protecting’ you. he figured it was worth giving up sharing the triumph of his victories with you if it meant you didn’t have to witness the violence he was paid to do, to have done to him. it also meant you were left to stay at home and bask in a pool of your own dread until he came through the front door again.

i fight for you, my dear is what he always tells you. he doesn’t listen when you tell him that you wish he didn’t have to.

wriothesley starts to climb into the spot behind you, but you shake your head no.

“sit in front,” you say, soft.

wordlessly, he obeys.

you continue, “did you win?”

“‘course i did,” he says, like he’s telling you the weather. “it was a rookie though. almost beat my ass. he could be trouble in a couple years.”

you hum. the water sloshes as he settles in the nook created by your thighs, his broad, hulking back facing you.

wriothesley is a mountain. he stands at six foot five, his muscles hard and thick and honed to perfection. he is the personification of raw power, and yet when your thumbs rub tight circles into his shoulder blades, he melts like wax.

your gentle fingers work away the stubborn knots beneath his skin. his breathing bounces off the bathroom tiles, deep and heavy yet full of relief, as your touch helps him slip further and further from the weapon that he becomes in the ring.

the tips of your fingers trace along his spine, sliding over each vertebra. they ghost over his shoulders, gliding forward until they run along his collarbones.

with your arms hooked around his neck, wriothesley allows you to pull him backwards lightly until his back is flush to your bare front, and you hold him. there is nowhere you want to be more than here, with your flesh moulded with his.

you reach for his wrist, lifting his hand out of the water, rubbing your thumbs over his bruised, bloodied knuckles. after you’ve cleansed them, you bring them to your lips and you kiss them one by one. then you reach for his other hand, wipe away his sins, and forgive them with your lips.

moments like this remind you of what wriothesley was like when you first met him. a stray dog in human form— he cowered from your touch, bared his teeth and growled and snapped at you. he had no trust left in him, therefore all he knew how to do was fight.

like all stray dogs, however, he started to let you in, slowly. he started to come to you. he knew he could come to you. quickly he figured out that your lap was his favourite spot.

now, he lays between your thighs, while your lips press wet kisses at the top of his spine, and along his shoulder blade, and in a trail up his neck. he lets you kiss and suck and bite and devour him all you want, mark him up, make him yours. there is nowhere he wants to be more than here, melting into you.

a deep moan, almost inaudible, rumbles in his chest as he breathes out, a sound that makes you throb between your legs and your lips twist into a grin.

you lean in close to his ear, let your warm breath ghost over the skin of his neck. “can i touch your cock?” you ask in a whisper.

“please,” he grumbles, but it’s far from desperate. wriothesley does not beg—his plea is to encourage you.

one of your hands trails down his rigid body until you find his cock, half-hard at the bottom of a dark trail of hair, and your fingers curl around him, but he’s so thick that your fingertips don’t even touch. you thumb at his slit, drawing small circles around his blushing tip, the way you know makes him utterly weak.

the moment you start to move, gliding your hand slowly up and down his cock, wriothesley’s head falls back against your shoulder, his body slumping as he surrenders himself to your touch. he sighs out, like he’s trying to expel the stress that’s within him, relishing in the way you work him.

biting your lip, you start to pick up your pace, jerking him off with a tad more vigour. you tighten your fist around the head of his cock, feeling the muscles of his back stiffen against your chest as you do.

it’s uncharacteristic how pliant he becomes sometimes, so putty in your hands in a way that makes you wonder if this is the same man who can put his opponents in a coma. he batters and beats them bloody, just to come home and fall apart in your arms.

“am i making you feel good?” you murmur into his skin, tugging at his cock steadily.

“fuck yes,” he replies, a low growl. “always do, baby.”

wriothesley’s gravelly voice travels straight to your core, spurring you on, so you flick your wrist just a little faster, again. you squeeze him a little tighter before loosening your grip, going back and forth in a way that makes the man’s head spin.

you’re peppering his neck and shoulder with kisses, lips fluttering over his skin tenderly in hopes of drawing him nearer to his edge. blood rushes to his face, his cheeks and nose burning hot pink, his lips parting slightly as he pants. the one downside to having him like this—you can’t see his pretty face.

he can’t help how his hips buck slightly up into your hand, following the swift strokes of your wrist. you go faster, filled with the urge to help him finish, determined to help him find euphoria.

he’s achingly hard in your hand now, throbbing against your fingertips.

“‘m fuckin’ close,” he mumbles, breathy and low, lifting his head off your shoulder to watch the way your hand drags up and down his cock.

and the sight alone is enough to make him cum—he groans, roaring loud, throwing his head back onto your shoulder, the ridges of his abdomen clenching as his cock twitches and his release dribbles from his tip, warm and thick as it covers your hand.

his body shakes against yours. you’re pressing your lips to his hot skin again while he comes back down from his climax, breathing hard, sinking further into your body now that you’ve loosened him up even more.

“fuck. need a nap now,” wriothesley rasps.

you giggle, full of affection for him. “then do it. promise i won’t drown you.”

“i would, but baby, this bath is not made for people who are six-foot-five. my back’s starting to hurt,” he says, rising out of the water and stepping out of the bath. fully bare, he looks like a greek god. when he turns back around, you’re pouting.

“maybe you’re getting old,” you quip. the way you stare at him reminds him of a cat.

he quirks an eyebrow. you don’t see it coming when he lunges forward and scoops you up out of the bath, and you’re squealing.

“good, so i’ll be dead soon. won’t have to put up with you any longer,” he says, but he’s wrapping a towel around you and patting you dry, and his icy blue eyes are brimming with a fondness reserved for nobody else but you.

#wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #wriothesley imagine #wriothesley fanfic #genshin fanfic #genshin imagine #꒰ lovers. ꒱ — wriothesley

[itsabouttimex2]

Platonic yandere shadowpeach x teenager daughter dating redson

(First ship I’ve explicitly been asked to write for. Not too surprised that it was Shadowpeach! I’ve written for Wukong and Macaque’s reaction to dating Red Son here!)

(Also, I’ve got a questionnaire if anyone would like to help me with my blog)

Platonic Yandere Shadowpeach

Sun Wukong and Macaque should; in theory, balance each other out. One is bright and forthcoming, the other is secluded and scheming. One is a glittering ray of sunshine that everyone looks towards for safety and salvation, the other a beam of moonlight slinking about unseen in the shadows.

They should get along. They’ve both got a penchant for the dramatic, and take interest in different arts- one in drawing, one in performing. The two are both fond of food and wildlife.

They should be capable of getting along.

But they don’t. Or maybe they can’t.

They’re both too arrogant, too worn, too hurt to be something healthy or happy or wholesome. Why they’ve rushed into this relationship before either had begun to heal and forgive and truly make amends is anyone’s guess, but there’s one thing you know for certain-

You’re the glue holding this ramshackle family together.

A joke long ago led to your birth, two offerings of blood thrown blasphemously into a sacred vase of jade. Wukong had laughed and pitched down a measure of fresh blood from his chest, then Macaque frowned and followed along, dropping a handful of dried flakes gathered from a wrapped wound on his head.

Neither had bothered to read beyond a scant few characters carved on the vase, speaking of ‘rituals’ and ‘blood’ and ‘growing’- and both stopped short when their eyes fell upon ‘Guanyin’, goddess of mercy and compassion.

Immediately, Wukong had started an exuberant and loud routine of sacrilege, prodding the vase and shaking it, mockingly yelling into it and pretending to be a mortal pleading futilely for help from the heavens- right before he decided to take his disrespect a bit further.

“Bud,” the Monkey King hollered excitedly, bouncing on his heels, “Come here, come here! I have a great idea!”

Macaque cautiously uncovered his ears once the yelling had stopped, trudging over to the jade-hewn vase to stand beside his partner. “Uh, Wukong… I don’t know if messing with a sacred vase is all that great of an idea-“

“Hush! Don’t be such a scaredy-cat, bud! We’re gonna toss in a little bit of blood and see how sacred this silly thing really is!”

(Macaque would come to regret many things about has past- but being swayed by Wukong to participate in this sacrilegious ritual would not be amongst the list of them.)

Their blood alike; wrenched from beside Sun’s heart and pulled from the place nearest Macaque’s brain, dripped to the very bottom of the open-mouthed vase, mixing and melding as they oozed down. The blessed container rattled once, twice- then stopped short and went still.

The sudden halt had Wukong howling with laughter, doubled over and wiping tears from his eyes. “Of course not! Like the gods would do anything for the people down here,” he loudly called, as if trying to reach his accusations to the heavens through sheer volume. For good measure, he had given the precious vase a kick, rattling it around.

And listened as something thudded around at the bottom.

Macaque had turned on his sable heel at the sound, scurrying back over to his now alert partner. The demon’s eyes scrunched with worry as Wukong stuffed his arms all the way into the vase, gripping whatever sat at the previously empty bottom. His hand shifted to rest on the end of Wukong’s tiger-hide skirt, though it was more for his own comfort- a way to keep close to his exuberant partner without impeding his arms.

“It’s a baby,” Wukong had stated in awe, a rare note of outright reverence in his voice as he pulled your form past the jade maw of the vase and into his arms. “Bud, this thing just made a baby!”

For a few minutes, neither dared to speak. They just stood and stared, trying to register just how far this little ‘joke’ had spiraled.

Common sense quickly kicked in, leaving Macaque to pry you from his partner, staring down at you with softened eyes.

“Look at her- she’s ours, bud,” the Great Sage announced with pride, and few would have dared to argue with him.

A child fresh to the world, born from dregs of demon blood and formed by sacred jade, with fur and a tail and golden, glowing eyes to prove that you were theirs.

“…never knew I’d be a father,” Macaque quietly says, wrapping you in the long red scarf he always wore.

“Never knew we’d be fathers,” comes his partner’s supportive voice, a rare tone for the Monkey King. Wukong steps forward and slings an arm around Macaque’s neck, hauling him close.

“But I wouldn’t trade this family for the world.”

You had grown up happy and safe, surrounded by uncles whose names had been your first words. Each one was an inspiration to you, standing proud as they walked in lockstep and wielded mighty weapons. They had been your heroes, every last one of them. You wanted to be strong and intelligent and graceful and noble, to be all that they were and even more.

When it had been them and your fathers, everything had been at least fine, when not outright good.

Learning to read maps with Uncle Yellowtusk. Eavesdropping on fights caused by training mishaps. Hunting with Uncle Bull. Getting scolded for messing with weapons without permission. Uncle Peng teaching you how to gut rabbits and fish. Climbing onto shoulders and backs so you wouldn’t fall underfoot.

Everything with Uncle Azure.

Listening close to his stories and relishing his kind touch, letting him braid your hair and fix your clothes. Sitting on his knees and sharing your food, trying new things with his gentle encouragement. Staying up far too late to stargaze with him before falling asleep in his arms, wrapped in his cape.

It had been family, however unorthodox.

But not all families are built to last- some crumble and sever, instead.

One fight years later had been the tipping point between your fathers, leaving Macaque to cart you away over his shoulder as he sulked away through the shadows, putting as much distance between himself and Wukong as possible- he still had you, Macaque reminds himself.

None of the past mattered if he could focus on a bright future with his daughter. The two of you. Alone. No brothers, no partners- just a father and his daughter. No more teasing remarks or being spoken over or dragged along on dangerous missions for a futile cause.

Just him and you.

And that works for all of five centuries, before there’s a ‘parent swap’ and one of your fathers is dead with a glittering gold staff struck through his flesh and bone, poking in through his eye and out through his skull.

Macaque’s blood; freshly splattered across you, hadn’t even dried before Wukong had swept you into his arms with a guttural scream of both sorrow and relief. His child, at the cost of his partner.

Not a fair trade. But one he chose to make anyways.

The Great Sage holds you close, pressing kisses to your forehead and wiping away your fearful tears. He whispers into your ear about how safe you are now, how you won’t ever be alone or scared again. How he’s back and so, so sorry that it took so long to find and save you, that he’ll protect you from now on.

And how he won’t let you go ever again.

How could he? You’re his.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Sun Wukong #Yandere Macaque #Macaque #Yandere Father #Yandere Shadowpeach #Shadowpeach

[b1mbodoll]

every single word you have ever written? so real pookie!!!

dropping in to say g!pchaewon and g!psakura are truly the realest thing to me, bc who else (me) is going to ride chaewon until she’s passed out and leave sakura dry (also me) while she films with her extensive camera collection? (me me me me)

pairings: miyawaki sakura + kim chaewon x f! reader

warnings: g!p + threesome + creampies + overstimulation + mommy kink + dacryphilia + oral + anal

💌: nonie baby you have the sexiest brain ever im so obsessed with this 😵‍💫 did my own lil spin on this but i hope you still enjoy !

sakura’s not an idiot. she knows about chaewon’s infatuation with her girlfriend and how the younger girl fantasizes about fucking you til she’s sure you’re knocked up.

she informs you of chaewon’s fantasies when she’s ballsdeep in your cunt and the thought of her joining you and kkura in bed makes your pussy clench, warm walls squeezing your girlfriend’s cunt. “oh, you like the sound of that, baby? is my cock not enough for your slutty pussy, hm?” her words cause your eyes to roll and your mouth to fall open in a silent moan, fucking yourself back on her dick.

after pumping you full of cum she pulls out and uses her fingers to spread your pussy open, obsessed with the sight of her semen dripping from your sloppy hole.

sakura tells chaewon that the two of you would be more than happy for her to join this once and she agrees immediately, cock hardening as she imagines how well you’d take her cock. the two of them make their way to your apartment where you’re already waiting, pussy wet and waiting to be fucked.

after they make their way inside, sakura greets you with a soft kiss before you pounce on chaewon, pulling her into bed with you and straddling her. “can’t wait to feel you inside me, chae.” you tell her, hands working on unbuttoning her shorts. she grunts softly at your words, mind hazy because she’s been waiting for this day for so long and now that it’s here she can’t believe it.

your pussy is drenched, making it easy for her length to slide in completely. “fuck you feel good” she sighs. you don’t allow her to get used to the feeling of you walls gripping her cock and start to bounce on her dick immediately. sakura doesn’t say a word, allowing you to use her friend for your pleasure until it’s her turn.

your cunt feels incredible and chaewon nearly blows her load seconds into you riding her. “don’t move.” she pleads, her words are choppy, teeth clenched as her hands grip your waist in an effort to stop your movements. “‘s okay wonnie,” you purr, pussy tightening around her, “cum inside me, sweetheart. want kkura to watch you fill me up.” your words send her over the edge, cock twitching as her cum shoots inside you, thick ropes painting your walls white as you cream around her. one load isn’t enough and you continue grinding against her, overstimulation drawing whimpers from the poor girl as she orgasms again, filling you to the brim, some of it even leaking out and dripping down her balls.

sakura decides to step in when chaewon begins to cry softly, “did you forget about me, princess?” she teases. your girlfriend pats your thigh twice and you know she wants you on your knees at the foot of the bed.

you obey immediately, allowing her to sit on the edge before making your way between her legs, grabbing her impossibly hard cock and slipping it in your mouth. “that’s my girl,” she praises, “always know jus’ what mommy wants, isnt that right?”

desperate moans and mhm’s are your only reply, not wanting to part with her cock and sakura thinks your mouth is heavenly, already close to blowing her load. her hands pull you off, a pout adorning your lips because you weren’t expecting her to deny you a taste.

“don’t pout, princess. wanna cum in your pussy, not your mouth.” her explanation has you scrambling to your feet and seating yourself on her lap, cunt dripping a mixture of yours and chaewon’s cum on sakura’s length.

she slips inside and it makes you moan, her cock is so thick it always stretches your hole so well. you’re insatiable, moaning like a pornstar as she toys with your clit, wanting you to cum first. everything becomes too much and your orgasm hits you without warning, unable to voice it to your girlfriend.

“i know, baby, i know.” her voice is laced with affection, thrusting slowly as she fills you up with cum.

when sakura cleans you up, chaewon watches you with adoration and all she can think about is how you took their cocks like a champ, wanting nothing more than to pound your cunt while kkura fucks your asshole next time.

#i hope this is good bc i TRIED #idk how good i am at writing threesomes 😵‍💫 #♡.signed. sealed. delivered. #♡.the honeypot #le sserafim #kim chaewon #miyawaki sakura #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim smut #kim chaewon x reader #kim chaewon smut #miyawaki sakura x reader #miyawaki sakura smut #💌.g!p #💌.creampies #💌.overstimulation #💌.mommy kink #💌.oral #💌.dacryphilia #💌.anal

[forlorn-crows]

crow. babe. darling. my love.

do you know what i need? i need aeon and dew reluctantly being sweet. all the tension that's hung in the air between them dissolving as one of them sneaks into bed because being alone is too much right now, even if their only option is someone who (they think) hates them.

i know you know what i mean.

oh wow how convenient of an ask. would you look at that. and from my sweet darling mal. however could you have known what i wanted to write today. that is crazy (tee hee)

what is ALSO crazy is APPARENTLY @miasmaghoul and i, onCE AGAIN, have the same braincell and wrote basically the same fucking thing at the same fucking time. no, i literally told her nothing about what i was writing beyond "aeon/dew comfort somethin somethin", and she told me nothing about hers. love you bitch

a little bit of aeon/dew Feelings. breaking down walls and such. @waywardsamaritan inspired me to write them with their fic about dew bein all sweet to aeon.

iimagazh means 'little light' in ghoulish; word so graciously borrowed from mal's big lore brain

Dew flips around for what feels like the hundredth time, smushing his cheek into his pillow with more force than necessary. Sleep continues to slip through his claws like fine sand, leaving a heavy weight of . . . something in its wake. Maybe it’s just insomnia or uncomfortable bus bunks. Maybe it’s the pinprick of emptiness gnawing at the back of his brainstem, a feeling that situated itself there as soon as they left for tour.

He wishes Aether were here. To pull him close with those big, warm arms. Aid his addled mind. Kiss him on his hairline and lull him to sleep with a few well-placed waves of quintessence. 

But he’s not.

Instead, Dew stares across the aisle at Aeon’s sleeping form. His eyes roam over his back, bouncing between his wide shoulders. His chest rises and falls evenly in sleep. Lucky bastard, the fire ghoul thinks. Envious. He can almost feel the tug of Aeon’s magick from here, the tiniest tingling at the edges of his awareness. Dew can recognize it well enough, even if it’s not the same brand, so to speak. It’s more subtle than Aether’s, more demure. For as big as his presence is on stage, his magickal footprint is anything but. Aeon’s is more of a low hum, stuck in a tight aura around his vessel. It doesn’t quite warm a room like Aether’s, big in energy and personality as he is. But Dew’s caught the edge of his quintessence enough times to start to get familiar with its calm, yet electric spirals. 

It’s dangerously tempting now, even with their strained relationship. Dew clutches the pillow in his arms a little tighter, scoots closer to the edge of the bunk. He could crawl in with Mountain, as he’s done already so many nights prior. Tucked himself into his nest of long limbs, drawing close to the steady, grounding beat of his heart in his rumbling chest. Putting him as close as he can to their oldest bond. 

He’s just not Aether. And as much as he hates to admit it, he misses the calming touch of quintessence in general, not just from his mate. 

Dew feels vulnerable. Like his longing has cracked open a chasm in his chest and left him open. Wanting. 

His body is moving before his brain can ruminate any further. He slips down from his bunk, careful to avoid the creak of the built-in’s edge. Dew pads across the small aisle, standing dumbly in front of Aeon’s bunk. Breathing as quietly as his lungs will allow. 

Fuck it.

Deftly, the fire ghoul climbs over Aeon and into his bunk, nearly launching himself into the back wall in effort not to jostle the other ghoul. The quintessence ghoul grumbles a little at the dip in the mattress but doesn't fully wake. Dew situates himself close to his front, moving to curl his limbs into himself so as not to touch. Just enough to be close. 

"Hmm . . . iimagazh. . ." Aeon mumbles, pulling the fire ghoul to his chest and throwing a leg over his hips. The lisp of infernal language makes Dew’s breath hitch, let alone the way Aeon easily slots himself against his suddenly over-warm body and presses his nose against the crown of his head, right between the horns, and sighs heavily. 

This is not how this was supposed to go. He can’t know it’s Dew. There’s no reason to elicit such an intimate reaction from someone he’s barely even touched beyond a civil handshake. The fire ghoul holds his breath and wishes he could whisk himself back to his bunk. 

It only takes a few more moments before Aeon unsurprisingly stirs, brow furrowing as he no doubt inhales the scent of fresh shampoo and burnt spices. The quintessence ghoul lets out a confused chirp, shifting back to blink open his eyes and stare at the ghoul in his arms. 

Dew’s eyes are as wide as saucers, fingers curled weakly into Aeon’s sleep shirt. Aeon flicks his gaze all over, realization blooming across his cheeks in the form of a lilac blush, visible even in the dim of the bunk. 

“Uh.” He clears his throat weakly. “Thought you were ‘Rora,” Aeon mutters, avoiding Dew’s eyes in the dark. He moves to pull away, but Dew interrupts. 

“Is it . . . okay that I’m not?”

Aeon makes a small noise, a cross between surprise and disbelief. He hovers between too far and close enough, breaths as shallow as a rabbit’s. Something unreadable crosses his face, but eventually he relaxes a little. Tentatively rests a hand on Dew’s hip. “S-sure. It’s alright.”

“Okay.”

He’s not sure which of them moves first. But soon after he speaks the word they’re pressed together once more, skinny legs intertwined and Aeon’s arms holding him close. He’s surprisingly dense, if Dew had to choose a word for it. He’s not as big and soft as Aether—he’s closer to Dew’s own physique, with a dash of Rain’s height and limber joints. But there’s still a gentle edge to him, comforting in a different way—smells different too. Like the static in the air before a storm, like cool air and myrrh. Yet underneath the mark of quintessence is something else; sage, a hint of metallic tang, and the smell of sap that bursts from a freshly broken branch. Earthy. 

Dew doesn’t want to unpack how that makes him feel right now.

Silence passes between them, broken only by the shuffle of limbs, Mountain's snores from the bunk above, and the dull rumble of the tires on the road.

"Thought you hated me," Aeon whispers.

Dew sighs. Rubs his face into Aeon's shirt. "Don't hate you. M' sorry." 

A beat. Then: “I’m glad you don’t.” Dew lifts his head up, face now millimeters from Aeon’s, tips of their noses barely brushing. Copper eyes gaze into dark ashy brown ones, searching. The quintessence ghoul reaches up and brushes a stray strand of hair back behind Dew’s horns, touch feather-light. And though Aeon’s gaze dips down to his mouth, almost imperceptibly, he only leans in to place a chaste kiss to his forehead before tucking his head back under his chin with a slow exhale. In a way, Dew’s thankful for that. He slips his arms around Aeon’s middle, shuffling as close as possible before allowing himself to close his eyes and release the last bit of tension still straightening his spine. 

Mountain’s the first one up in the morning, dropping down from his bunk with a soft thud. He’s met with the sight of the two lanky ghouls absolutely tangled up in each other in the same small bunk, Dew notably flung across Aeon’s torso and drooling onto his shoulder. The earth ghoul looks at them with amused shock, fondness tugging at his heart a little. 

“Oh ho ho, look what we have—” Swiss is immediately silenced by a well-deserved pillow smack from across the aisle. Mountain frowns at him, miming for the multi ghoul to shut his mouth. 

“Not a word,” he hisses. Mountain presses into his mind instead. That, the earth ghoul points to them, is the best sleep he has gotten this entire time. 

Swiss holds his hands up in surrender, smirk tugging at his lips. Okay, okay. I’ll let the gremlin and his new friend have their beauty sleep. 

#ask #mal #ficlet #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfic #ghost fanfic #fanfic #aeon ghoul #phantom ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #dew/aeon #aeon/dew #phantom/dew #dew/phantom #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #first time writing the new bug how do we feel #hurt/comfort

[k-hotchoisan]

congratulations for the 500 followers! it's my first time doing this, so how about number 7? 🥴 i won't regret anything because both of choices are my favorite

tia!

7. Sub Wooyoung or Dom Mingi?

Sub woo is always the right answer bestie 🫡🫡🫡

I don’t know what made me think of this but where we are???

Warnings: smut, pwp, sub!wooyoung, whining, unprotected sex, cream pie, oh god he whines so much, handjob, riding

Tag list: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @hoe4wooyoung @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies

K’s 500 this or that: Masterlist!

You turn a little more, watching the way the fishnet tights pull against your bare ass in the mirror before you. You tilt your head slightly, pursing your lips in approval before you decide to remove it. Truth of the matter was that you were obviously too lazy to put your underwear on after getting out of the shower when you saw the pair of fishnet tights you bought on the top of your clean laundry pile.

You are about to slide the pair of article off your body when your partner walks in.

And boy, does he have his eyes blown out seeing you in nothing but fishnet stockings. Wooyoung blinks, his legs automatically carrying himself to the bed, watching the way the stockings press against your supple skin, ass and pussy bare.

“Fuck me”, Wooyoung mutters.

You also watch the way his cock under his sweats push against the fabric—a small wet patch forming.

You can’t help but laugh. So you walk over to the bed, and straddle on his lap, your arms wrapped around his as you press your lips against his, parting to taste every part of him, feeling him melt into your mouth. He pushes himself further into the bed and his hands snake around your waist, only for you to swat them away.

“I’ll let you touch me if you be a good boy and keep your hands to yourself”, you say, giggling when you see Wooyoung nod his head frantically. His hands are paused mid air, his breath caught in his throat. He wants to touch you so fucking bad. He wants to rip those fishnets and fuck you so dumb in them. It’s driving him crazy. He doesn’t see you like this everyday, and that all the more drives his desperation.

You shift forward, until your cunt is right at his face and you gasp at the breath Wooyoung releases onto your pussy. Wooyoung already forgets the rule of not touching you, his hands aiming for your thighs, and you give him a soft slap on his hand, having him retreat immediately after, not before releasing whines.

His tongue immediately laps at your sopping cunt, like he hasn’t eaten in fucking weeks—pressing his tongue flat against your clit before he gives it flicks, then he has his lips pressed onto your cunt, kneading his tongue against your clit once more, your moans bouncing off the walls of the room only egging him on to let you fuck and ride his face.

Your fingers run through his hair before you tighten your grip, and Wooyoung whimpers at your tugs, feeling his cock leak more precum. His brain is melting at the way your pussy tastes, the way you don’t stop leaking for him and the whole idea of him just eating you out in your fishnet stockings.

“Fuck. That’s it baby. Right there”, you squeal, your hips automatically just riding his face. Your hands steady onto Wooyoung’s head, tugging his hair gently while you cream all over his mouth as your orgasm washes over you, and your eyes roll back from how Wooyoung is still fucking your cunt with his tongue, drawing out your orgasm as long as possible. You lean onto the headboard, catching your breath after releasing your grip from male below you.

Fuck, sometimes you forget how good Wooyoung is at giving you head. You gather your thoughts and snap yourself back to reality. Wooyoung has that smug look on his face that he always wears when he’s the reason you’re undone. Granted, he was pretty well behaved, keeping his hands to himself, but that only makes you want to tease him more.

You shift downwards, and press a wet kiss on his lips, tasting yourself on his tongue as he moans into your mouth, while your fingers slowly wrap around his length, giving him short bouts of pumps, watching his pretty face contort into one of pleasure. His head is thrown back as his fingers hold onto the pillow, his whines starting to build as his bucks his hips to your hand. Every time you slow down, Wooyoung attempts to catch his breath, and you barely let him as your hands speed up. Wooyoung’s orgasm is building up dangerously fast. The back and forth teasing is driving him nuts.

“Y/n, a-ah! I wanna cum ngh, in you, please, ah shiit-“ Wooyoung sobs, and you see the way his abdomen is flexing whenever he’s so close, his eyes so glazed out from the pleasure, and his knuckles turning white from fisting the sheets.

You let go, and a long sigh of relief is released from Wooyoung, his hand slapping onto his sweaty forehead as he combs his hair back. Just when he thought he could actually catch a break, you slide yourself over him, taking his cock inch by inch, shutting your eyes from how much he’s stretching you out.

More curses come out from Wooyoung’s parted lips as he feels your walls completely engulf him, and he’s left twitching and leaking in you.

Maybe you’ll make him keep his hands to himself for a little longer, you think, as you lift your hips to start fucking his cock. Every time your cunt swallows his cock to the hilt, Wooyoung’s brain slowly goes short circuit, and you watch endearingly at the way he completely goes pussydrunk — eyes rolled back and eyebrows furrowed. At that point he could barely keep his eyes open.

You could only giggle at how much you adore seeing him completely fucked out like this, so you lean in, your stockings pressing onto his skin, and your tits pressing onto his chest, while your hand snakes to his jaw, giving his cheek couple of taps.

“Aw, is my Wooyoungie feeling too good?” You tease, fucking yourself on his cock. Wooyoung barely has the capability to answer. His eyes meet yours and he fucking swears he’s about to see stars.

“So good. Ugh. I wanna -fuck!- touch so fucking bad, please”, he whines, as he balls his hands into a fist. He’s been such a good boy for you despite the walking temptation you are. You press a soft kiss onto his jaw, then trailing downwards his neck, where you give an extra long and hard suck, drawing more whimpers out of him.

“Go ahead. Since you’ve been such a good boy”, you hum, stroking his hair. You know he isn’t letting himself cum because he wants to get his hands all over you, and sometimes it impresses you. Wooyoung’s breathing becomes more shallow and a sigh of relief echoes through the room when you feel his hands all over you, grasping your skin, and most your thighs desperately as he feels the fishnet against your skin. He lets his hands feel against your ass as you bounce off his cock.

“Cumming. Fuck!”, he cries, his fingers pressing onto your thighs as his body floods with a euphoric high, his cockhead filling your cunt with warm and sticky cum. Fucking hell, it was starting to make you go insane too, looking at the way he’s completely undone, his hair clinging onto his forehead with his eyes barely registering the environment around him, and his fingers still holding onto your thighs as he jolts from the remainder of his orgasm.

You slowly remove yourself off him, rubbing his thighs to soothe him, before preparing to leave to wash up in the shower. That is, until you feel a pair of arms wrap around your waist, yanking you back into the bed. You could barely turn your head, now confused at the currently situation.

“I’m making sure I’m milking every fucking drop I have in me while you’re in that pair of fishnets, babe”, Wooyoung hisses into your ear, and you feel a familiar hard and wet appendage dragging down your barely covered cunt once more. “You’re not going anywhere.”

#k’s500thisorthat🌶️ #ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez smut #smut #ateez fic #kpop smut #Wooyoung smut #Jung Wooyoung #Wooyoung #ateez Wooyoung #wooyoung x reader

[thatwriterchick222]

slap you silly (john price x f/reader)

summary: literally just a short one shot with pussy slapping teehee

a/n: another draft i had lying around that i never posted... i'm still blushing and giggling over it tbh

NSFW under the cut ;))))

--------------

“Look at the mess you’ve made, my love.” Price pulled his fingers out of your dripping cunt, his eyes intently watching as he smeared your come around. You trembled beneath him, his thumb still rubbing your clit as you came down from a powerful orgasm.

Lifting his hand from your cunt, a string of your slick connected the two of you for a moment, and you couldn’t help but stare, your mouth agape and your breaths still heavy.

Suddenly, and without warning, Price’s hand came down and gave your pussy a quick slap, sending a mixture of pleasure and pain jolting through your body. You jumped, a surprised yelp escaping your throat. He looked up at you, letting his hand gently rub you up and down.

“Like that?” He tilted his head, his forefinger and middle finger lightly drawing circles on your clit for a moment. He looked infuriatingly cocky, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You nodded, redness creeping up your neck.

Sure enough, he pulled his hand away before landing another slap on your aching cunt, and this time, the sound of your wetness was apparent. Your face became even redder than it had been, the slick sounds emanating from your body being one of the most arousing things about it. Price rubbed you again, the stinging pain from the slap subsiding quickly.

He quickly smacked you again, his palm lingering on your clit as you jumped under him, your lips parted as you simply let him do whatever he pleased.

“Bloody hell…” Price watched your face contort in both surprise and pleasure, taking in the way your body reacted to his hands, your hips bucking as he stroked you, or your tits bouncing as he slapped you once again.

The strange concoction between the stinging pain and searing pleasure was oddly addictive, each harsh slap of his hand against your cunt making you squeeze your thighs around his forearm, yet bucking your hips for more.

You could feel yourself working up to another orgasm, strangely on edge despite him barely touching you how he normally did. It was as if he were teasing you, after slapping you hard he let himself hit a little lighter repeatedly, as if he were patting you on the back.

“John…” You ground your hips into his hand as he gently stroked you, soothing the pain that rippled through you. Your cunt burned, and you assumed it was probably redder than it ever had been, and wetter than it ever had been. Sharp breaths and pathetic whimpers were the only sounds you could get out, your brain practically mush as he began to stroke your clit once more.

“Use your words, darling.” He said, his eyes staring you down, knowing damn well that you were already close to your second orgasm.

If you were being honest, you didn’t have words, for you were too flustered, your heart pounding in your ears and your body absolutely on fire. You just wanted him to keep touching you, and you would do about anything to keep his hand there.

“Don’t– stop.” Were the only words you managed to get out, but you should’ve held back because you knew Price was in the mood to be mean. He slowed his movements on your clit, and then pulled away, landing another quick slap against your pussy. You bit down on your lip, hard, to stop the moan from coming out, to prevent yourself from giving the satisfaction that you enjoyed this.

His finger began slowly running up your slit, gathering the slick that was dripping down. You let your head fall back against the pillow, his feather-light touch a welcome change to distract you from how numb your lips were.

And then he slowly began to push his thick middle finger inside you, and you practically melted around him at the delightful stretch. It went in easily because of how wet you were, and he quickly decided to add another finger, slowly pumping them in and out. You were already so on edge due to the painfully slow teasing, and you instantly ground your hips down desperately on his fingers, reveling in the way his upwardly curved palm brushed against your clit. Your eyes screwed shut, your orgasm approaching faster than you thought it would.

You were startled out of your trance as Price reached up and landed a quick– yet gentle– slap on your cheek, along with a quick and low whistle to grab your attention.

“Hey, eyes on me, angel.”

Fucking Christ.

It wasn’t long before you were letting go around his fingers, each quick thrust of them against your g-spot coaxing more and more out of you, your hands scrambling for purchase on the bedsheets. Your body shook as waves of burning pleasure coursed through you, and as you were beginning to calm down, your breathy and shaky gasps dissipating, he pulled his fingers out and slapped your tired aching pussy one last time.

#john price #captain price #call of duty #smut #call of duty smut #captain price x reader #captain price smut #slapping kink

[undercoverpena]

it happened (iii)

johnny ‘soap’ mactavish x f!reader 

summary: for weeks, one single thought has been creeping up on him—sneaking its way out into the daylight, prickling his skin and threading through his mind: he doesn’t know how to live without you. word count: 5.7k warnings: injured reader, but happy ending, promise. spice + smut. lovers to relationship.

part three of it happens | soap masterlist

8. 

He wishes the day ended differently. 

For weeks, one single thought has been creeping up on him—sneaking its way out into the daylight, prickling his skin and threading through his mind:

He doesn’t know how to live without you.

For a while, he envisions it’s been tucked away, festering in the back of his brain. Growing over time, slowly.

Likely somewhere between kissing you and stuffing your throat with his cock. Becoming more apparent in the small window when things turned from a quick fuck to something more gentle, something he wanted to prolong. 

There's a high chance it was when you stopped calling him Soap and called him Johnny. Not just when the two of you were alone, but out with others—shoulder close to his. 

But, truthfully, he’s been finding the thought more incessant when he’s lying next to you, sweat still clinging to his skin. The words sliding around his head, bouncing from one side to the other. Not wanting to move, to jolt it away, because your fingers are drawing a pattern on his stomach—something he’s come to like. Something he craves—just your touch. How it’s direct, purposeful, and wrapped in a personal touch. 

“I like you being around, even if I don’t show it." “I know you only keep m’around ‘cause ov’ my cock.” “I’d still keep you around even if your cock got chopped off by Ghost, Johnny. You’re a nice pillow.” “Cheers, hen.”

Now his cards are on the table—his feelings. All unwrapped in front of you, having thrown them at you like an angry present. The bow coming straight off, the paper disintegrating before the two of you. 

If he was thinking straight, he’d have delivered them better. Presented them in a kinder format. Instead, his heart had been in his throat, hammering and thumping as he wiped the tears from your cheek. The ones you’d refuse to say were spilled because of him. 

He didn’t blame you. He wasn’t sure if he’d have been willing either—but the adrenaline forced his hand. Made him run headfirst and care about it after. 

Just like he did on assignments, operations—missions. The same ones you glare at him for, not outwardly telling him what’s wrong, but it's clear from your face you're not impressed. 

You worry. And it’s why he worries. Because you rarely show any emotions when it comes to him, you are so hard to crack, so hard to see through. But, over time, you’ve allowed him in—and what he once recognised were unimpressed glances, he suddenly sees are secret distress. 

The two of you put the job first, the task. But as it approaches a year of that cabin and what transpired, the worry of losing you appears like a jack in the box. It shoots up, bouncing in front of him when you’re talking to him—when you’re letting him in. 

You could lose her. You’ll lose her. You’ll lose. 

It’s why sometimes he holds you a little closer, lets you groan against him as he keeps you pinned to him—sheets tangling around both of your legs. He savours it. Let the moment steep until the corners of your mouth rise less sarcastically, your breaths slowing, before you brush knuckles against his cheek. 

You want him to hold you, he can tell. You just won’t ask. Afraid, maybe. 

And so sometimes, he doesn’t give in to his wishes and instead respects yours. 

But, he should have taken his time today.

He would have done it, had he known how the day would end. He’d have taken his time. He wouldn’t have made it quick, rushed the time alone. He’d have spent longer touching you, making you keen against his hand and he wouldn’t have bottomed out in one quick thrust. 

His mouth would have spent time leaving marks on your skin, instead of setting a brutal pace that had the name Johnny kissing the air in bursts. Mostly, he’d have spent less time bruising his fingers into your hip bone—sinking his teeth into your shoulder—and more time staring into your eyes. 

“So fuckin’ pretty.” 

“You s–say that so often, it’s going to st–fuck–stop meaning something.” 

His hand had brushed over your collarbone, sliding up against your neck as your lips parted. “No, it won’t.”

He watched you smirk. Just lightly—just enough. Lips twitching around your impending pleasure that’s ready to wash over you. He liked you like this. Liked consuming you—claiming you. He also liked watching you squirm, writhing under him, the room dyed in the squelching noises coming from him fucking your cunt. 

The memories of the morning kept him entertained as they were dispatched. You sat far away, head turned, talking to Price. His eyes occasionally glanced your way, wondering if he should say something, anything. A ‘good luck’, a ‘look after yourself’. 

Now, he wishes he did. 

The whole thing went to shit the moment their boots hit the ground. Your radio messages fragmented, cracking—Ghost’s voice stern, trying to ascertain what it was you were saying. In and out. In and out. Those were the words Price had said. 

And you’d gone in, like planned. Alone while the others caused a distraction—you’re good. Quick. Talented. But, you’re also on the opposite side to where he was stationed—and you had failed to come out. 

In and out. In and out.

“LT—“

“Find her.” 

He nods, trying not to focus on the tone. The edge to Ghost’s voice and how it tinged with concern. He’d become softer, less Fort Knox and more regular prison walls since Graves—especially with you. Your dry sarcasm and focused energy likely made it easy for him. 

You made it easy for all of them to let you in. 

It’s all he thinks as he entered the building, sweeping the corridor, turning and turning, corner after corner. 

Then he sees you. 

Sees you break for reasons completely opposite to how he’d made you break this morning. 

He didn’t move to check the other body in the room. He knew they were dead, disposed of. No threat. He knew because of the way you were huddled into a corner, knowing you’d have done the job before you tended to yourself. 

You do that a lot. For as heroic as you say he is, you’re not that different. 

His hand clenches as the air is tinged with the horrid sounds of your breaths—all ragged, desperate—punching each one out into space. 

For a second, he just stares. Watching. Boots gelled to the floor unable to shift himself as he watched scarlet coat your fingers. His own worries building, anxiously swirling, rendering him fucking useless. He can’t lose you. Not now he has you. 

“J-Johnny.” 

He blinks, and then he moves. Your fractured voice yanked him from his frozen state, his heart attempting to break. 

He tries not to let it. 

It does all the same.

You broke right at the seams. 

Falling into the corner, panic setting in—bathing you, dousing you. Your breath is jagged, uneven—your thoughts jumbled, and your training all out the window.

You picture him, initially: Johnny. 

How crestfallen he’d look, how full of sorrow—likely even able to hear his heart descend to his feet. For that reason, you hope he’d leave you behind. Go on—not ruin the images of you he has by seeing you like this. 

Because if you look how you feel, you’re not a pretty sight, and this morning you'd been…

This morning was nice. Maybe too nice. Your hips rolled with his; your hand almost reached for his, wished to grasp it close, press it against your skin. 

Now, you wish you had. 

Wished you’d stolen a moment, had something to call back to as you tried to not bleed out across the dirt and dusty floor. 

All because of a knife.

One you’d not anticipated, one you hadn’t expected. 

Fool. You’re a fucking idiot. You can hear Ghost spit that you are; hear Price ask if you’d lost your mind. You guess you did—allowing yourself a moment to think of this morning. Of how full you’d felt; how empty you felt before. Now, you feel even less. 

Your hands shake, tremble. They clutch the slits of your skin together as your eyes flick up—hoping, praying, seeking. And then, there he is. The light from the world outside the room all haloed around his figure, making him look like an angel. You guess he is. 

He saved you, without knowing you needed to be saved. He was a rock, something to cling to when the sea battered you against the sand. He was… hope, in the dark and something entirely too good for you and—

It had been the very thing which infuriated you, to begin with. He was good—too good. They all did good things, but he did them without thought. They came naturally, being a hero—doing right for the cause. That and the fact he couldn’t meet your eye, couldn’t spit a response at you.

Now, all he did was talk, and you lapped up each word. 

“J-Johnny…”

His eyes fell, face dropping—shattering amongst the bullet casings and blood. 

Thick, horrid, throat-choking sobs dilute the rest of your words. Suffocating them as he slides to you on his knees, hands unsure where to go. The panic evident as you clutched it—held the weeping wound as best as you could. 

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. 

“Let me see, lemme see… steamin’ Jesu—Yer gonna be alright—We just need a medic—look at me.” 

You flicked them up, meeting blue—all-Johnny-fucking-blue—his hand, rough and all coated in your blood as he grasps your cheek. 

Flashes of memories. Ones where he’s lying next to you or hovering above you, ones where he’s caging you against the wall and when he’s pressed you down against the washer. All of them rush you, overwhelm you…

And you want more of them. 

Your lips curl, opening—all cracked and sore—as you try to get yourself to say that. To say you want more of him, more of them—

“I need t’move y’, ‘kay? I gotta move y’, hen. Then can fix y’. Keep y’with me.” 

His other hand slides under your legs, preparing, staring into your soul as he tries to soothe it. He does. He always does. 

Has done since that first night, splinters in your thighs as you grasp onto him. The quieter moments, where the two of you simply lay breathing, no other sounds, allowing it to ferment and develop. 

You don’t tell him that enough. That he matters to you. 

There’s a lot that you don’t tell him, truthfully.

Secretly keeping it buried inside, afraid to lose—afraid to have something and then not. You’d done it once, loved and lost. It hurt. It broke you. The shards of yourself barely back in place before you ended up here, with a new family—new people to care about. To fall for. 

But, for him, you fell all the same.

You’d do it again, too. Over and over. You’d jump, leap and fly. 

“Y’not leaving me, lass. Y’hear me.”

You smile lazily—and it hurts to try. Head sliding into the space near his neck, your hand desperately clutching at your own stomach. 

“Arm round m’neck, hen.” You pause, afraid to taint the back of his head and helmet with blood till he stares—waiting, both patient and impatiently till you do, your eyes watching as blue and black swirl in his eyes. “Good girl, such a good girl. This’ll hurt, I’m sorry…” 

Don’t let me go. Don’t let go. Don’t go.

It should hurt. It prickles, and nicks. But it doesn’t make you burn as it should. Instead, you’re so fucking cold. 

“—I’m so sorry, so sorry—”

So damn cold it hurts. 

Bone-chillingly, so. 

“—Hold on, lass. Y’hear me.”

You nuzzle, smelling him—salt, sulphur and sweat. Hoping to capture as much of it as you can, just in case… your eyes unable to stay open, hand unable to remain on his neck, on your stomach—

Especially as you jolt, bounce—

Black.

You’re under his skin. 

Like exploded ink swirling with his blood. He sees that now. How you’ve spread and seeped into him—stained all of the parts of him. How you’ve bled beautifully across his heart, forever ruined. You don’t heal him, but you make it easier to smile, to breathe. 

And it’s enough. More than he really thought he’d have in this line of work.

Which is why he needs you to wake up. Needs your eyes to coat his skin. Desperate to hear your voice, your laugh. 

Soap brushes his hand against your cheek. It’s natural, normal almost—thankful your skin feels warm, and soft, even with the nicks and growing bruises. 

“Yer scared me, hen.” 

He says it to no one. 

You’re not awake, not in a coma either. You’re somewhere in between, not lost, but not found. There’s no way you can hear him, but he speaks to you all the same. 

It’s why he lets his fingers do a slow stroke of your cheek, unable to hide how calming he’s finding it as his shoulders sink into their usual place and his jaw loosens its iron grip on itself.  

“Dunna think I can live without yer. As… terrifyin’ as that is to admit.”

He drops his hand from your cheek to clutch your hand. Contemplating whether to climb in beside you, now there’s no medic hovering—no one else here, busying themselves. 

“Glad y’not awake, y’d be fumin’ with me for getting all emotional.” 

He moves, and stands. Cautiously easing himself down beside you, trying not to move you, trying to crush you. His hand slides up to your jaw and cheek, clutching your skin as he listens to the soft patter of your heart—happy he hears it, proving you’re alive. 

At one stage—one horrid stage—he hadn’t been sure you would be. So pale, so lifeless, the wound on your stomach continuing to leak scarlet over the evac floor as he dug his elbows down into his knees. 

They perform miracles, the medics. 

He knows that. Puts all his faith in them. Knows there were plenty of times he’d been in their hands…

But he couldn’t lose you. 

His grip on your jaw almost tightens, except he doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want to leave any more marks on you the world hadn’t tried to paint. 

His own lashes were heavy, a calmness spreading from being close to you—just like he’d been yesterday morning. Yesterday when things were different, your body beside him, under him, against him—

“Hi…” you croak, eyes still closed.

Pausing, he doesn’t dare move, afraid he’s hallucinating it all—you, your voice. 

“…D-Don’t stop. Feels nice.” 

And he sighs in relief. His heart leaps, both up and down, bouncing in joy as he fights, pulling you close. His lips twitch, teeth pinching the inside of his cheek. 

“Hey, lass.” 

“You miss?” 

He nods, even if your eyes are closed. “I missed, hen. Fuckin’ Jesus I missed.” 

9. 

He’s begun making a habit of kissing your scar. 

Even if your body is adorned with little stories, here and there. Some silver, some pink and some he knows and some he's never asked about. It's the larger one which demands his attention.

Before your newly acquired one, he loved kissing your shoulder. It made your chest heavy, almost bloat. He'd been all concerned with it, as if somehow he was to blame—but, now that's quickly forgotten. It’s no longer deemed as kiss-worthy as the one which runs along your stomach. 

Not that you care. 

You like running your fingers through his hair when he’s kissing along your hip bone. Your cunt fluttering around nothing, desperately craving his fingers, tongue or cock. 

But, you wait—patiently. Having truly been able to master what that even means when you had been banned from overexerting yourself. Taking the simple things for granted like his chest being between your thighs and you being able to run your nails along his scalp.

You'd been allowed to kiss him, to have him close. Johnny had allowed that. Given into that, even if at first he'd been reluctant. Not wanting to hurt you, not knowing, because you were too afraid to tell him, that by not it would hurt far worse than a knife.

Plus, there's nothing quite like Johnny kissing you like you’re the only air he ever needs. It makes your toes curl, your thighs desperate to wrap and cage him close, not wanting him to be away from you.

But, it's easier to just hold him close than tell him he’s all you need, too. 

Now, though, you can bask in the moment when he descends down your collarbone, kissing the skin under your breasts before sliding down to your naval, kissing the healed scar and its tingly nerves. Usually, you watch his eyes flick up at you, bathing you in blue that makes it feel like you’re swimming. Your breath hitching, knowing that look—how it’s accompanied by a slow, taunting descent as the tip of his tongue makes a path down to your cunt. 

“Don’t tease,” you whisper, pleadingly. 

But he will. 

He gets some sick satisfaction from making you wait, from torturing you. You don’t blame him. You enjoy doing it back. Slow torturous kisses up his shaft followed by slow swirls of your tongue over his dripping head. 

“Like takin’ my time wit’ yer, lass.”

He savours you now. Likely has done for some time.

You're unsure when it changed. When it went from chest pressed down on a washing machine, fucking into you like he’s running out of time to this. Now, it’s locked doors and holding you close, pressing your spine against the inside laundry door, slowly filling you as he holds you up, close, with nowhere to go. 

As if you want to be anywhere but with him. 

You blame the injury. He doesn’t treat you like you’re fragile, but he doesn’t fuck you like your robust. Not since you bled over him, since he paled in front of your eyes and you stole all his cockiness. 

Now, it’s like he needs to remind himself you’re alive—and he does so by making you mewl, moan and whimper. Both of your previous coping mechanisms for stress and hate have now developed into something else entirely. You know you’ve sunk to your knees for him, taking all of him down your throat—tears springing to your lashes—just to remind him he had someone. To root him, fill him with a reason to come back to you, to find you, to let you in. 

If it wasn’t for Price, you wouldn't have known it was reciprocated, that same yearning, same need to keep hold of him. 

Price told you that you broke him—snapped Johnny in two. 

“Like a kicked puppy, that one. Half-surprised he didn’t piss a ring around y’bed. Wouldn’t even get himself looked at. Practically wore the floor out, turnin’ on the spot.”  “No he wasn’t.” He assures you he was. “Heal up, alright? Need you back with us.” 

That had been over a month ago. 

Now he’s lying between your legs, very much whole. Treating you—rewarding you for not giving up during sparring. Even if you’d wanted to. Even if all your muscles burned in anger at him, especially when his body was close—a grey t-shirt clinging to his muscles from sweat, looking every bit carved and god-like even in clothing. 

You hated it. How fit he was. 

How weak you were. 

He saw it, must have done—you did a piss poor job at hiding it. And so he blackmailed you—tempted you with the only thing he knew he could give you, and him alone. 

“Think of it like this, Hen. Y’get me on my back. I’ll make y’ bein’ on yours worth it later.” “I’ve got fingers, MacTavish.” “Aye, you do. But, your tongue can’t get tha’ hard to reach spot now can’it?”  His hand on your waist, on the good side—staring into your eyes. And fuck, you wanted to kiss him. Wanted to run your tongue passed his teeth.  “And, I kno’ y’love my mouth, lass.” 

He keeps his word. 

Beginning his promise in the shower, water and body wash sliding down your skin as he pins you to the tiles. No touching, just there—all within reach. Letting your eyes follow the suds as they slide down his deep-V.

Then you were on your back, wet towel on his floor, cool air brushing over your still damp skin. 

“Seems counterproductive, showering me, to get me filthy again.” 

“Maybe,” he grins, kissing your neck, the tip of his tongue drawing circles. “But, I’ll never complain about gettin’ and keepin’ yer naked, hen. You’re fuckin’ beautiful.” 

He pulls you from the memory, the one which happened mere minutes ago, as he slides the flat of his tongue against your core. It makes you almost jolt—hiss, moan. His hand pins your good side to the bed. 

“Keep still, lass. Don’t want y’to exert yourself.”

“You cocky pri—“

He buries your words by prodding your cunt with his fingers, tongue swirling your bundle of nerves as you grasp the sheets for leverage.  

You swear he smirks. Can feel it against you as he circles his tongue over you, lapping, teasing, and tasting. Likely fuelled by your desperate whines, the ones he pulls from you over and over again.

He hums, and vibrates his mouth against you as he curls his fingers inside of you—hands clenching around his hair, doing your best to keep your back on the bed. 

He has you at his mercy. Dangling you over the edge, almost allowing you to tip over, coat his tongue and palm in your pleasure.

But, Johnny is an expert. He knows you, what has you whimpering and moaning—and how to keep you hanging. He’s studied what pressure to apply, how to twist his tongue against your clit, until you’re a quivering mess, barely clinging to reality as he pushes you close to ascending.

Your hips buck, but his grip on your hip is stronger.

“Yer taste heavenly.”

You’ll never grow used to his compliments.

The ones which fall from his mouth with ease. The ones which make you blush from your cheeks to your toes—something he must notice, even if he doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“Want y’ forever.” 

Your heart rises, doubles and flutters. “I’m all yours, Johnny.” 

You only know he’s heard you from how he pauses, before he continues his assault—and this time he doesn’t dangle you. He lets you fall, right over the fucking edge.

It hits you so fast it takes your breath away, unsure how you had enough to spit his name out—never mind it falling from your lips over and over again.

Johnny pecks the air, merging with whines to make a sound that was sinful, so rich—you’re sure the room would ring off it for hours. Your eyes flicker, glancing down, seeing him lift up, grin adorning his face.

“Yer tired, hen?”

You snort, trying to hide how your legs are trembling. “No.”

“Good girl.”

His eyes a thunderstorm out over a sea—and a fucking sight to behold.

10.

You used to fuck him because you didn’t like him. 

Now, you fuck him because you love him and you’re not sure what to do with it. 

The feelings knotting, amassing into a chunk in your chest. Your lips say as much when they crash against his, pulling him closer by his belt loops. 

“Need to feel you, Johnny.”

You don’t beg. But you do ask, now. Less action, and more words. Your fingers peeled his t-shirt first, allowing your hands to run over his skin, feel each muscle, the thrum of his pulse. The rest fall from both of you, littering the floor as you cling to him, as you palm his want in your hand and he coats his fingers in your desperation. 

There’s a heaviness to each movement. It wraps its fingers around each touch, each noise. It pollutes it, what this could be—something nice, normal. 

Instead, it reminds you of what you could lose. That you could board and watch the base vanish into the distance, not sure if you’d see it again. See him again. 

You’d tried to not let feelings bloom. You’d tried to keep it as pleasure, as stress relief—but you’d liked waking up beside him—loved that he was the person beside you when you’d opened your eyes after surgery. 

While the clinical stench hit you first, then the pain, it was he who quickly followed. Even now, even as you’ve tried to rewrite that moment, you know in your heart you’d wished he had been the first thing you’d felt. Only him. No pain, no smell, not even a noise: just Johnny. 

He must know. He has a second sense for things—for bubbling thoughts and moments being twisted. Or, he has a sense for you, at least. You think it because he’s on his knees on the cold floor, hooking your thighs onto his forearms as he devours you—and fuck does he do it well.

He takes you to the edge, lets you dangle, almost lets it swallow you before he pulls his lips back, blowing cool air along your soaked cunt. 

“Gotta make y’come back f’more.” 

Johnny says it like he doesn’t know. 

Like the idea that you’re in love with him isn’t possible, unfathomable, rather than something which is very much reality. 

Because you are in love with him. It’s a fact. Something concrete. Just the same as you are full of him, once he pushes you back on the bed and buries his cock to the hilt in you. 

It’s filthy—obscene—all the noises you let loose. The ones willing to escape, purposefully peeled from the words that cling to your tongue: I love you. I love you so much. 

His cock hits that spot which makes your legs feel weightless, and you kiss him again, hungrily, needily. His hand fists your hair, each thrust perfectly hitting that spot that made a tear fall from your lash at how good it was—how good he was.

“Fuck, Johnny—fuck.”

It’s the only words you let escape—all you can do. So fearful of those three words touching the air, escaping. 

I love you. 

Your teeth clamp down on your bottom lip as he presses his forehead to yours. His hips meeting yours, another wave of pleasure building and building, all set to crash down and cover you. 

You took it all the same. You’d take everything he’d give you. Your hands grasping him closer, clutching onto him as your throat burns—you’re so full of him, in every sense of the word. You can’t imagine it never being him, not just here, between your thighs but everywhere else he is. 

In your bed. 

In your head.

In your heart. 

His hand knots in yours, fingers on either side of yours as he clamps himself, palm to palm—secretly clamping you. 

And it’s too much. 

It’s so real, so beautiful. You want to deserve it, deserve him—

“Fuck.”

He angles himself, dragging his cock through your walls harder, faster. 

“I kno’, lass. Yer fuckin’ somethin’ else y’are, hen. Heavenly. Fuckin’ goddess-like.” 

Then he plunges you in blue, and stares past your eyes and into your soul. Likely seeing the words, the ones he should have, should be given willingly and not held back by nervous hands. 

“Let go, hen. Let go f’me.” 

And you do. You'd do everything for him.

So, it snaps, the knot in your stomach. The one you'd been clinging to. Your body becomes both tight and loose all at once as you let go, and come around his cock. His name rips from your throat as pleasure, all white-light and flaming-touch, tears through you and consumes you. 

It’s like lightning and fireworks, and everything else when your resolve cracks—his hips still pistoning, chasing his own as your aftershocks continue, as you flutter back down to him.

But, it’s his hand in yours, the one still clamps you here with him that you focus on when you hear him moan your name. 

Your hand remains with his even as he slides himself out of you, his frame falling limply next to you—right onto his side of the bed. The place you always leave free, whether it’s your own bed or his. The place your head is already turned, waiting expectantly for him. So used to all of this now, this routine. 

“When do y’have to go?” 

Your mouth twitches, a longing in your eyes and the heaviness from earlier, settling onto your bones. “I’ll miss you.”

“Aye?”

Smirking, you roll your eyes. Trying to keep hold of the moment for as long as you can. To keep a mental picture of him like this, happy, not fearing and nervous. 

“You’ve prepared me well.”

“Aye. Well. Y’let me.”

You kiss him. 

Not like you’d usually do, but one which says more than you think you can articulate. The movement of your lips is able to write the words your heart is desperate to sing. You keep hold of his hand, quite liking his palm against yours. You enjoy how your thumb can stroke the healed and silver scar on his hand, all from something boring like DIY and not combat. 

You don’t want to stop, hating it when you do. 

Each item of your clothing returns back into place, fixing your hair, and haphazardly wiping anything from your face—pleasure-filled tears or sweat. 

When you leave him, you’re thankful he doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t ask you to wait; doesn’t ask for another second. He knows, like you do, that operations wait for no one and those in the dark don’t wait for the sun to set. 

You do hear him call your name, more professional than he had moments ago. 

You turn, walking backwards staring at his head and how it peers around the doorway. “Y’come back in one piece.”

“For you?” you smirk, “I’ll consider it.”

11. 

Now, it's different. 

It began on a dusty floor, and it grew amongst the sand and sheets. 

Your head turns, staring up at him as he adjusts the strap on his vest. His brows pinched, strands of hair threatening to fall across his forehead—his hair so much longer across the entire space of his head. The same hair you ragged and ran your fingers through.

It’s nice to be beside him again. To be allowed to run with them as a squad—your smaller, less combative operations appeasing Price that you’re ready. 

You’re an important part of the team, y’hear me? We ain’t rushin’ it. 

Now, you were glad.

No ghostly pains, just ones from Simon’s stare at your commentary. No pangs or jolts, only when you hear Johnny recommend something dangerous, always involving himself. Even if you know he’ll come back. Even if he’s promised you he will. Your heart lurches each time you think of something nicking his skin, something embedding into his bones—something taking his eyes, smile and soul from you. 

“Yer good?” 

Smiling, you nod, “Aye.”

“Bugger aff wid ye’.”

You smirk, rolling your lips, sliding one hand between your top and vest, staring off at the others checking their gear as you hear him sigh. 

“Try n’ follow orders, lass,” he says in a low voice, “Don’t fancy gettin’ stuck in a dusty safehour wit’ yer. Can’t keep y’warm. Got a girlfriend, y’know.”

Sweeping your tongue across your bottom lip, you fight a grin. “That so? She must be a saint.”

“Aye, she’s somethin’ special, I’ll tell you.” 

“Has to be, to put up with you.”

He keeps his laugh low, but it lights you all the same. Kisses every inch of you, warming you from head to toe. Your skin is desperate to press against him, your muscles and bones calling for him. 

His fingers stretch, flex—ghosting between the gap which feels like miles. You can feel his head turning to look at you, likely watching you as you stare out at the sand—the two of you all kitted up, weighed down and raring to go.

And then he does it, lightly brushing his fingers against yours. It’s the most brazen he’s been—most the two of you have ever been. Even since the two of you became something real, something more than just a rumour and a lie. 

And it’s electrifying and grounding, making your lips twitch, eyes smiling the rest. 

You know he can tell, even from the side. He knows you too well by now, the same way you know him. The two of you have become so well versed in one another—knowing exactly what each muscle change in each face means.

“Didn’t have you down as unprofessional, MacTavish,” you whisper. Just loud enough for him to hear.

Your fingers hooking around his, holding his hand. Tightly. Meaningfully. 

“For you, I’m a lotta things, lass.”

“That so?” 

He smirks, tilting his head, as you raise your chin to look at him. “Good job I’m happy to be a lot of things for you too, then. Isn’t it?”

“Tha’ y’saying yer love me, lass?” 

You smile, staring ahead as you sigh. “No. You’ll know it when I say it. But, I do know you love me, MacTavish.”

“Aye. I do.” 

His fingers release yours, a breeze ghosting over the space they were. Your head is unable to turn, unable to stop your eyes from staring into his. 

“I’m not saying it now, got to give you something to come back to me for.” 

You watch it slowly, how it eclipses his entire face. It sparks his eyes, blasting you in a blue that should change the entire environment and not just you. Then, it lifts his cheeks, the corners of his lips, and then he grins—grins so wide he’s sure he could make you forget how to breathe. 

“Fair,” he says, raising his wrist, fingers moving along his wrist as you frown.

It takes a second—far too long for how intuitive you are. Your eyes catch sight of it, half-impressed he hasn’t lost it as he slides it from under his watch—that hairband. The one he stole. 

“But, yer should kno’. I’ll always come back t’you, hen, ‘cause I gotta give y’this back.” 

You nod, and your other hand—the one desperate to hold his—clutches the other strap of your vest, pressing your thighs together. The earlier moment now isn’t feeling enough, even if the bruises on your hip brushing against your trousers say otherwise. 

Turning your head, you look across at the others, them looking almost set, as you sigh. 

“I love,” you say in a whisper.

Not sure if the breeze stole it, whipped them and carried them away into some corner of the world. They were only two words, after all.

But, he presses his hand on the lower part of your spine—firm, and fingers spread. The two of you walking, hating that with each step you were close to feeling his hand fall from you until the next moment alone.

“I love, too.”

He says it with a dipped head, a soft look in his eye as he slides his hand along your back, around your hip before it’s gone—just left with blue, Johnny blue, the best fucking shade of all. 

it's completeeee. i know she was only three chapters, but i don't think I've been able to juggle my life to be this consistent with anything in a long time. so, i'm buzzing.

soap sunday will continue with a new mini-series. diff reader, etc. but thank you for making my sundays have purpose, and all being so kind about me, this and my work. i loves you.

#john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #cod soap x reader #cod mw2 #johnny mactavish x f!reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish #cod x reader smut #cod x reader #cod soap x f!reader #cod soap #soap squad

[miasmaghoul]

*hands you a comically small microphone 🎤*

miasma, which one of the ghoulettes do you think has a piss kink?

*stands here patiently waiting*

I think they will all play in that space from time to time, but that could just be my overactive pissboy brain.

All flavors of piss girl thots below the cut!

(Please note I am wicked high and this is probably A Lot lmao)

Cirrus does it only on rare occasions, if someone needs to be treated with special cruelty. To be debased and degraded. It doesn't happen often, but every now and again Aether will come to her with a certain look in his eye. Will kneel at her feet with his head bowed and ask for it with soft, distant words. She indulges him every time; the sound Aether makes when she soaks him from the neck down is simply exquisite.

Cumulus is into holding. Likes to chug a huge bottle of water and then work on a craft project, or open a long book. She sets goals for herself once pressure starts to build low in her belly - 20 more stitches, one more row, ten more pages, and then she'll reassess. See if she can keep holding it. She can, of course, but she squirms. More and more as the minutes tick by. She's full after three hours, wriggling by four and absolutely aching by the time the fifth hour passes. So much pressure she can hardly stand it - she really, really has to go...but, well, she hasn't met her goal yet! And Cumulus is anything but a quitter. She clenches her thighs, breathes deep, and tries not to think about how far away her bathroom is.

Sunshine is the biggest pissboy amongst the girls, i think. She likes when Mountain will let her whip it out in the greenhouse so she can water the plants. Sometimes she even waters him, while Mountain tugs at himself and thanks her profusely. But she also adores having someone soak her - loves when someone lets go while they bounce on her cock, loves to be made a mess every now and again. She's also super into wetting, happy to drench her uniform while she sits in Copia's lap and sucks his gloved fingers until he cums in his pants about it.

Mist, when she indulges, likes desperation. She wants her victim partner in beautiful agony, wants them so full they can't help but shiver and leak. She absolutely used her magick to her advantage, drawing fluid into already straining bladders until they're fit to burst. Likes them to beg and plead and tremble like frightened kittens until they simply can't hold back any longer. If her partner has a cock, she takes special joy in forcing them hard and telling them to hold it. Keep it in so she can make them feel good even in their misery. So far, no one has been able to cum before they make a mess.

Aurora thinks of it less like a kink and more like a game. She like to see how full she can get, likes to see the way her bladder bulges out between her hips. Sometimes Cumulus will join her, but Aurora doesn't take things as far as Lus like to. She prefers to hold it as long as she can, and then sneak outside to find a place to let go. Somewhere she can hear people milling around, with extra points gained if she can see them too. Her favorite spot is a portion of the roof overlooking the rose gardens - she'll sit on the wide stone rail edging it and spread herself open, groaning as it arcs out of her and rains down onto the grass below. One time the stream managed to catch the sun just right, and Aurora joyfully told everyone at dinner that night that she could piss rainbows.

#miasma's work #the band ghost ficlets #the band ghost headcanons #cirrus ghoulette #cumulus ghoulette #sunshine ghoulette #mist ghoulette #aurora ghoulette #cw piss #piss kink #god im such a pissboy :(

[wordsaresimple-imnot]

Drunken Confessions - Bill Guarnere x F!Reader (1st POV)

Summary: The boys and reader are out for a night of fun and drinking that leaves the reader with little to no memories of what happened after she had a drinking contest with Babe. As things slowly start to drift back to her, she remembers one thing clearly; she spilled her true feelings about Bill to someone. But who did she tell?

Warnings: none really, cursing per usual. No use of y/n or physical description. She/her pronouns.

A/N: I have the biggest respect for the real life heroes of WWII (and all other wars, past & current), this work & all other works is based on the actor(s) and character(s) portrayed in the Band of Brothers series.

A/N pt2: This turned out longer than I thought it would starting out, but I let the fanfic gods guide my fingers and here we are, haha. If anyone likes this enough, I have an idea of a next day smut part 2 I can write. Comments, likes, and reblogs make my day. Thanks for reading!

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I wasn't sure what made me wake up. Maybe the skull splitting headache, or maybe the sun shining through the blinds hitting my face, or maybe the way I'd sell everything I owned for water or maybe my bladder being so full that a single sneeze would cause a mess. Whatever the reason, the barest of movements to open my eyelids made me want to die instantly. The only motivation I could grasp onto to get up was to empty my bladder. Dying from a hangover is one thing, dying in my own piss is not something I could ever live with. The logic of my thought made no sense, but what the hell did I care as I practically crawled to the bathroom.

Once I was relieved and able to draw the last bit of strength I had to splash water on my face and half-ass brush my teeth, I made it back to my bed with a little more dignity. Okay, it was still on my knees but at least I wasn't crawling. A win is a win. A full glass of water on my bedside table catches my eye and I down it quicker than I've ever done before, well except for maybe the drinks last night. How did this get here? No way I was coherent enough to pour a glass of water for myself to wake up to.

As I got more situated in the bed, very much facing away from the windows because I couldn't bring myself to gather any more will power to close them more properly I couldn't stop thinking about the glass of water. And then it hit me that I was not in my dress from the night before or even just my underwear but pajamas. Being aware of how little my brain and motor skills actually worked together when I'm more than tipsy, these things stood out. What the hell happened last night? I tried to focus on my last memories of the previous night hoping that would shed some light on my current situation.

~~ last night ~~

"Oh come on! Are y'all scared to lose to little ole me?" I smiled sweetly to the table, making my southern accent a little heavier to hopefully sway one of them to take on my challenge.

"None of us would lose against you, doll. We just don't want to deal with you tomorrow morning." Toye said, motioning around the table before pointing his finger directly at me. I rolled my eyes and leaned a little closer over the table.

"Nah, I'm sweet as pie darlin'. I think y'all don't want the news spreading that someone in Easy Company lost to a little farmer girl." I smirked at Toye and the rest of the men, daring them to deny it.

"Fuck it, I'll do it." Babe shot up from the end of the table and made his way over towards my section. I beamed at his cocky smiled and made shooing motions to Luz and Perco to make space so he could sit across from me. With a nod to Liebgott, I watched him go off to grab us our first rounds of beer.

As Liebgott made his way back holding two beers, I see Bull, Martin, and Bill following him from the bar.

"The fuck are you doing?" Bill's eyes bounced back and forth between me and Babe. Unsure of who was directing the question to, I shrugged and decided to answer.

"Babe thinks he can handle a drinkin' contest with me." I shoot Babe a wink as he narrows his eyes a little at me. I look back up to Bill when I hear him curse and turn more fully to Babe.

"Haven't I taught you anything? Don't start shit you can't win." He's poking Babe in the chest with every other word, making the other bat his hand away.

"Who says I ain't gonna win? Look at her, she's like a flower. This will be over by the third beer." Babe sits up straighter, setting determined eyes on me. He starts to look more annoyed than ever when Luz, Bull, and Tab start laughing.

"Anyone else, I'd say you had a chance. But she," Tab throws his arm over my shoulders, jostling me into his side, "has come the closest out of all of us to beating Bull. She lost, but damn it was amazing to watch." I give Tab a playful shove, righting myself back to a sitting position.

Babe's face has paled a little but somehow manages to look even more determined to see this through. "I'm still in."

"Perfect!" I smile at him, raising my glass to cheers him. "If I win, you have to be my shadow all day tomorrow to take care of me. If I win, you can get my cigarettes for the next two supply packages."

"Deal." Babe cheers me back, and we take our first sips of beer simultaneously. Bill looks beyond annoyed, muttering 'It's your funeral' and starts back to the bar. Bull sends me a wink, Martin a smile, and then follow behind Bill.

"Buckle up, Philly boy. You're in for a ride." I shoot a final wink at him, and then start inhaling my beer. Babe's shocked face and scramble to follow my lead is the last full coherent memory of that night.

~~

I groan in frustration as the rest of the night seems to dissolve from my mind and I can't comfortably say I know what is fiction and what really happened. I have a vague feeling dancing with Tab, Luz and Toye probably happened. Drinking usually turned to dancing in my case. I prayed that singing at the bar with Malarkey and Muck was fiction. It feels like a huge gap is missing after that (please be fictional) memory and then slivers of different memories start floating out. Suddenly I'm in a cold sweat as bits start floating in.

"He's alright but doesn't hold a candle to Bill. When he actually smiles, it's like seeing the sun shine."

"You can't tell him any of this. Swear it."

"No, I know his eyes and yours are too dark. His are warm and beautiful with small flecks of gold in them. I could drown in those eyes forever."

Fuck me, fuck my parents for having me, fuck my grandparents and ancestors for having them, fuck fuck fuck. I take it back, I'd happily sing drunk songs with Malarkey and Muck for the rest of my life if I can take those words back. And just when I thought my life couldn't get worse, I shot up in bed and another fact hits me...I don't know who I said all of those things to. FUCK!

Hours later, I'm still in bed trying to make myself remember anything about my mystery companion or at the very least come up a way to turn back time. Just as my stomach growls for the fourth time, there's a knock on my door and then it's swinging open. I jump up again for the second time that day.

"Hey sleeping beauty, how's the hangover?" Luz asks, all bright eyes and smiles as Babe follows behind him looking exactly how I feel. I shift up the bed to make room for Luz to sprawl out at the foot of the bed while Babe just curls into a ball next to me, back to the window and sunlight.

"I feel like death." I manage to croak out. It's the first time I've used my voice since passing out last night and you'd swear I smoked like a chimney from the sound.

"You look it too." Luz narrowly dodges the pillow I throw at his face. The movements cause Babe to give a pathetic whine and he curls up even more. "I don't know who pissed in your coffee, but this is not how a winner should be acting." I roll my eyes, smiling briefly as I get confirmation that I did win last night. My stomach growling again wipes it from my face.

"I'm starving. And if I won, that means you're my personal shadow all day today to help me feel better." I give Babe a small nudge, just enough to make him crack an eye open to look at me. "Y'all head down to the mess hall and get me two of everything while I get ready and meet you there."

After a few seconds of Babe making no moves to get up, Luz jumps up and all but starts dragging him towards the door. "Come on, Babe, you heard your mistress." Because his hands are full with Babe, he can't dodge the pillow I throw and gives out a low 'ow' as it connects with his face.

Just as they were about to close the door, I blurted out the question I've been trying to figure out. "Hey, who helped me home last night?"

"Not sure doll, I was playing darts with Martin, Bull and Babe." Luz almost had the door closed when he poked his back back in. "Why do you ask?"

I shrug, praying it comes out nonchalant while I'm dying inside. "Just needed to ask them a question. I think I lost something on the way home and just wondered if they knew about it." Something being my dignity. "Don't worry about it, I'll figure it out. Thanks." With a nod, Luz closed the door and left me to agonize alone.

The rest of the day was the most frustrating day of my life. Not because of the hangover, that started feeling better after I got some food and water, with a splash of hair of the dog, in me. Babe started to perk up too but was still definitely battling it so I took mercy on him and let him go back to sleep until his turn for patrol that night. I had the day off from helping Nixon censor mail and finalize reports so that didn't add to my frustrations. No, all of my frustration was because I spent the whole day tracking down the guys and asking who helped me home. They all gave the same answer: wasn't me.

Through my investigating, I was able to piece a loose timeline of the night. Once our game was over, I started dancing with Tab, the next song went to Luz, and I somehow managed to drag Toye out for the one after that. Once they all declined another song, I went to the bar to get another drink and ended up singing two bar songs with Malarkey and Muck, who afterwards started up a card game with Toye, Tab and Penkala that went on the rest of the time. I apparently stayed at the bar, chatting with Bull, Martin and Bill till Luz and Babe came over and got them to play darts the rest of the night. Liebgott kept me company at the bar, making sure I started on water but eventually left to start flirting with the barmaid that kept making eyes at him. My last hope was Perco but someone told me he left before I did to get some sleep before his morning patrol.

Just as the sun started to drift down, I was at my wits end. As a last ditch effort, I decided to write up a timeline diagram to triple check that everyone was accounted for. Surely one of the guys was lying to me and waiting to use my confessions as leverage for something. I move everything on my desk to one side and start making my diagram. By my third review of it, I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing something. So I write all of the men's names down and start checking them off as I mentally go over the stories again.

Luz...check. Bull...check. Perco...check. Babe...check. Liebgott...check. Tab...check. Toye...check. Muck...check. Malarkey...check. Martin...check. Penkala...check. There's no one left. I was just a lunatic talking to myself and somehow managed to get myself home and in bed like a sober person? Just as I was about to commit to believing that I realized I left one name off the list that didn't show up in anyone's story long enough to be crossed off. Bill...fuck.

I crumbled the paper and practically sprinted to my room, dodging soldiers and helpers like a madwoman. There was more foot traffic as the morning and evening patrol were switching foxholes and dinner was currently going. I managed to catch Babe on his way towards the mess hall and made him swear to tell everyone I was still feeling sick and would be in my room the rest of the night. Thankfully he was still feeling sick, so he took me at my word and didn't pay attention to my erratic behavior.

Back in my room I couldn't decide what I was more humiliated about; spilling my secret feelings about Bill TO Bill or being so drunk I don't know it was Bill I was even talking to. With a belly flop I landed on my bed, pressed my face into my pillow and let out a full body scream. Just as it ended there was a knock on my door.

"Go away, I'm dying." I moved my face to the side so whoever was there could somewhat hear me. It wasn't from drinking but hey, semantics at this point. The knock came again, this time more forceful. "Seriously, whoever is there just let me be." With a huff I push myself off the bed and swing open the door to reveal the cause of all my misery. Bill fucking Guarnere. Fuck me.

He's leaning against the door frame without a care in the world it seems and his signature smirk on his face. He'd never looked better. "You know my ma and sisters would come all the way over here and beat my ass if they ever found out I let a woman be miserable all alone. Especially without food." He raised a small bag to emphasize his point. Without waiting for me to answer, he brushed past me into my room and sat squarely on the bed, leaning against the wall, watching me.

Who knows how long it took my brain to send the right signals to make my body move, but eventually I broke our staring contest, closed the door and made my way to the bed. Because I was basically Nix's aid, I was able to get my own room but it was the barest of bare minimums. Side table, joining bathroom, and a bed against the wall. So the only place left to sit was on the bed with Bill, but I tried to put as much distance as I could so I sat crossed legged against the wall acting as the headboard and looked at the bag he still held.

"What's in there?" I decided the best tactic right now was to pretend nothing happened at all. So far Bill seemed to be of the same mind.

"Bread and some cheese. Didn't know how much your stomach could handle." He tossed the bag to me, nodding his acknowledgement to my quick thanks and I tore it open and started nibbling on the contents. After a few beats, he decided the best time to say something was when my mouth was completely full. "So...heard you lost something last night."

Next thing I know I really do feel like I'm dying as I choke on my bite of food, simultaneously batting away his hands that are trying to reach behind to pat my back. After I get small control over my breathing, I wipe the few tears that formed and down the rest of the water I had at my bedside. Two shaky breaths later all I can manage is squeaking out, "What?"

Bill looks at me with a sliver of concern that I'll start hacking up a lung again, but slowly his normal smirk starts to form and he leans back against the wall. "Luz said you were trying to figure out who helped you home last night because you lost something. Toye and Bull said you were pretty aggressive in your questions about everyone's activities last night. If you haven't figured it out already, I was the one that helped you get home from the bar but I don't recall you losing anything." His posture was relaxed, even lazy, but his eyes were hard and jaw was set. Challenging me to make the next move.

I cleared my throat two times, before I forced myself to speak. "Yeah, I actually figured it out a little bit ago." Bill inclined his head towards me, indicating that he wanted me to elaborate on the 'losing something' part. "I, uh, well I was just trying to figure out who helped me and didn't want Luz asking a million and one questions so that seemed the best answer."

"Why didn't you come find me once you figure it all out?" One thing about Bill Guarnere, he never pulled punches and was a hound dog when he set his mind to something.

"No reason...I, uh, well I just..." I turned all my focus on the crumpled paper bag in front of me so I didn't catch his eyes and completely spill my guts. Sober this time.

"Ah come on sweetheart, cat got your tongue now?" He moved to lean down on his arm, shifting closer to me. "Let me help you remember." With that damn, sexy smirk Bill started recounting the night before to fill in the blanks.

~~ last night, Bill POV ~~

I haven't taken my eyes off her all night. If anyone asked I'd say it was out of concern for how much she drank and watching out for a fellow soldier. That was partly true, but the majority was being jealous. Jealous for how easy she laughed and touched and moved with our friends. Don't get it twisted, we are friends too, closer than most of them but it's not as carefree as these moments I'm witnessing.

It can't be carefree because if I let my guard down for one second I'd spill my guts about how she makes me feel. How everything fades out around the edges when she gives that million dollar smile and her eyes crinkle a little at the sides. How I would do anything stupid again and again to make that little snort come out when she's laughing too hard and can't help it. How I want to protect her from this war so damn bad so I never have to see pain in her eyes. How I'd fight the entire Kraut army for the chance to kiss her just once and hold her in my arms.

But I can't say any of that because I'd rather suffer in silence than risk losing her from my life, even as just a friend. So I stay silent and keep watch as everyone around me enjoys their night without a care in the world, not knowing that my entire world is sitting at the bar alone.

She's just started on a second glass of water when some guy from Fox Company slides up next to her and starts talking. Whatever he said has her turning in her seat to point in the direction of Liebgott that left her for some barmaid. While she's focused on where Liebgott is, I'm focused on watching the guy shamelessly check her out. I down the rest of my beer, shove the glass into Luz's hand and march straight over to the bar before any of the guys can ask what I'm doing.

I make it over just as their hands connect and I can hear them exchanging names.

"I can't believe someone as beautiful as you is here all alone." I'm going to brake this guys jaw.

"She's not alone, private." I push myself to my full height and use my Sergeant's voice. This makes him stand up straighter and drop her hand.

"Bill!" She says my name with so much awe and happiness, as if she hadn't be around me in some fashion throughout the night. Being to drunk to care about policy or decorum she wraps her arms around me and gives me the prettiest smile.

"Hey sweetheart," I give her a soft smile back and wrap one arm around her shoulders, keeping her where she is. I look back at the private with a hard glare and raise an eyebrow. "Need something?"

"No sir, I just came to grab a drink. I'll, uh, I'll just get one over there." He practically runs to the other end of the bar, avoiding anymore eye contact.

A soft giggle, makes me look back down and smile again. "What's so funny, doll?"

"You didn't need to scare him, we were just talking." A piece of her hair falls against her cheek when she laughs again. I move it behind her ear, letting my finger graze her cheek before I answer.

"He wanted to do more than talk, believe me."

"What would I do without Bill Guarnere as my knight in shining armor." The smile she sends up to me is nearly enough to send me to my knees right then and there.

I wrap my other arm around her and drop a quick kiss to the top of her head. "You'll never have to find out, sweetheart. I'm always gonna be there." We stay like that for a minute, which isn't nearly long enough before I say, "Come on, lets get you to bed or you're gonna be dyin' tomorrow."

She manages to be get off the barstool and walk out of the bar so efficiently I wonder if she really is as drunk as I thought, but that hope is dashed once she stumbles over air and starts laughing. I can't help but laugh with her as I grab her hands to steady her.

"We should go dancing." She suddenly says and tries to get me to spin her.

"I don't think that's a good idea. Besides you probably want Tab for that, seems to be your favorite dancing partner. Always smiling at you and everything" I meant it to come out as a joke, but it sounded more bitter that anything. Thankfully she was in her own thoughts and didn't pick up the edge to my voice.

"He's alright but he doesn't hold a candle to Bill. When he actually smiles, it's like seeing the sun shine." She says it like it's a known fact and the most natural thing in the world for her say. It stops me dead in my tracks, which stops her because we are still holding hands.

"What did you say?" I tug her a little so she's turned around and looking at me. She gives a small shrug.

"Tab is cute and sweet but he's not Bill. I'd kill to dance with him and make him smile. It's so rare and makes my whole day when I can cause it."

"Sweetheart, you do know I'm Bill." I wait for the lightbulb to go off as she takes a step closer and looks at my face.

"No you're not, you're eyes are too dark."

"They're the same as they've been my whole life."

"No, I know his eyes and yours are too dark. His are warm and beautiful with small flecks of gold in them. I could drown in those eyes forever." She lets go of my hands and starts walking off to her billet. I know I have the goofiest smile on my face as I watch her, before it's wiped away by the realization that she can't remember who I am. Of course I finally get the girl of my dreams to confess her feelings for me and she doesn't even know it's me she's talking to.

Just as I'm catching up to her, trying to figure out what to say, she turns to me with a panic stricken face. "You can't tell him any of this. Swear it." She grasps my hands again, squeezing for dear life.

"Your secrets safe with me, sweetheart." I do my best to give her a comforting smile to ease her panic, which seems to work. We don't talk anymore the rest of the way to her billet but we do hold hands the whole way.

Once we are in her room, I can tell she's losing consciousness quickly. I find some pajamas for her to change into, helping just enough to make it easier for her change without seeing or touching anything inappropriate. As she finishes changing and crawls into bed, I fill up a glass of water and set it on the bedside table. I take one final look around to make sure she's comfortable and settled in properly before dropping a kiss on top of her head and heading to the barracks for some shut eye before my patrol.

~~ End of Bill's POV ~~

I feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment after Bill tells me the conversation we had. My eyes are firmly planted on the bag in my lap, that I've all but turned into confetti. I feel him shift on the bed again, so he's seated right next in front of me, but I can't bring myself to meet him gaze. His eyes never left my face the whole time he recounted everything and I'm too scared to look and see what emotion I'll find there. Amusement? Pity?

The decision is taken away from me when one of his hands cups the side of my neck and tips my head up to finally meet his gaze. There's a lot of emotion in his eyes, but I can't pinpoint what it is, which scares me even more.

"I'm sor-" I start to say but get cut off.

"Did you mean it?" His voice is soft but firm. He's not going to drop this and seems to be holding his breathe waiting for my answer.

"Yes." The word is barely more than a whisper but I know he heard it from the smile that takes over his face. Next thing I know he's leaning the rest of the way into my space, tilting my head to the side and softly pressing his lips to mine.

My hands reach up to fist his jacket, pulling him closer and the smallest whimper comes up when he nips at my bottom lip. My reaction seems to be all the go ahead Bill needs as he focuses on pulling me so we are flush against each other while taking possession over my mouth. At some point we rearrange ourselves to be laying on the bed, him draped over me like a second skin.

Our kisses between slow and languid to passionate and slightly frenzied. We don't know how long we stay like that, minutes or hours, but when we part our lips are swollen and we are breathing hard. Bill rests his forehead against mine and nudges my nose with his.

"Can I stay the night? No funny business, I just...now that I have you in my arms, I don't want to let you go just yet." He places soft kisses on both my cheeks and then my lips, looking at me with his heart in his eyes.

"I never want to be anywhere except your arms, Bill." I nudge his nose back and return the kiss he just gave. The smile he gives me has my heart melting and my lungs forgetting to breathe.

A few small kisses later, we've arranged ourselves into more comfortable positions; him on his back, me all but laying on top of him, our arms wrapped tightly around each other. Slowly we drift off to sleep with smiles on our faces thinking the same thing:

We have our whole world in our arms.

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #bill guarnere #bill guarnere x reader #hbo war #hbo band of brothers #easy company #bill guarnere x you #william guarnere #band of brothers x you

[chromatasia]

Thank you so much for acknowledging that Martlet deserves to be the Ink character of the UTY verse. Could you share your ideas you had for her? I'd love to hear them!

HEHE OF COURSE!! i am not immune to silly characters with scarfs shrugs

pluto and i were bouncing ideas back in forth for a while so i’ll summarize our overall thoughts and some extra stuff ive thought of (probably while writing this)

so the initial idea came up based on my post about martlet Remembering Resets like sans does and the idea of oh what if she got to explore the multiverse too (maybe the determination injection made her see that oh goodness there is a Lot Of AUs just. there.) then pluto mentioned possible ink and error martlet and i got Ideas… but my first attempt to draw ink martlet ended with fully realized spiral avatar martlet oops! but i finished the design yesterday lol

as for character! ink martlet has taken it upon herself to be the guard of the multiverse, flying through the space between the aus and making sure everything is going well. she’s pretty similar to base uty martlet, save for probably some backstory stuff (that i haven’t thought of yet. el oh el)

there’s no actual plot line… yet >:) we threw around some ideas (vigilante-sheriff starlo and multiverse exploring feisty five and a ceroba searching for a universe where her family doesn’t end up. gestures to uty) but there’s no designs (maybe once i learn how to draw star…)

btw for character design she’s based on eastern bluebirds (though i initially just looked up “blue and brown bird”) with ink’s general style! now that i think about it since i was just kinda doing colors for the actual paint she’d probably have ink the same color as the human souls. maybe throw in a determination serum one just for fun hehe. also adding from my Brain blast during math today she’d wear her hair half up to look like a paintbrush (doodle of it down below)

#thank you for liking her!! i’m so glad everyone’s enjoying her she was so fun to draw :3 #goodness this was a lot oops. i just really like her lol #ask/answer #ink!martlet #< she gets her own tag now!! #undertale yellow #🌙

[bookshelf-dust]

HI LOVELY. I'm here to request again, as you can imagine. what about the jocks find Gareth drawing reader in class (maybe this is before the teacher gets there) and make fun of him? Reader is there and defends him? thank you, as always🙇‍♀️

I'm sure you'll do a fantastic job with this request, don't worry!

the robins

gareth emerson x gn!reader

word count: 840

warnings: swearing, jason’s goons but no jason, flirty stuff, fluff

a/n: my love!! thank you so much for your request!! this is such a sweet idea. i kind of made reader a bit protective, so i hope that’s okay. i really hope you enjoy this!! also sorry it took me a couple days!! <333

————

Gareth lifts his hand and there’s a smudge of graphite on the side of his palm. He wipes it off in the margins of his notebook paper.

Half the time he doesn’t even notice when he starts drawing.

Sometimes it’s a new weapon for his D&D character, something long and sharp that spans the entirety of the page. Maybe it retracts and folds up or something.

Other times it’s a new way for the Corroded Coffin logo to look, because he’s been wanting to change the one on his bass drum, or it’s a random cartoon character he saw while his sister was eating breakfast that morning.

Today, it’s you.

You’re sitting in the row beside him, your desk right next to his. Class hasn’t started yet. Mrs. O’Hare always comes in late, coffee in hand, fingers red because the cup is so hot.

You look so pretty today, Gareth thinks. You always look pretty, though.

But today, right now, you seem happy. Calm. It’s raining outside, and the classroom is gray because of it. But that’s your favorite weather. You told him that once.

He sketches you as you sit, reading your book before class begins. It’s just your profile really, the slope of your nose, the dip of your brow and the curve of your mouth.

He feels you touch his thigh. Just a little tap with the tips of your fingers.

“Hm?” Gareth’s head is turned in your direction though his eyes are still on the paper. You grin at the bounce of his curls.

“Look outside, Gare.” Your voice is hushed but very excited. He turns his blue eyes on you before they follow your gaze out the window. “Look at the robins,” you tell him.

The birds are hopping around under the trees in the courtyard.

Gareth’s face splits into the prettiest smile when he realized you’re excited about birds. That you’re showing him birds.

He’s totally in love with you, he thinks. He thinks that a lot.

“They look like they’re having fun, sugarplum.”He’s barely gotten the words out before he feels a hand on the back of his chair.

“What the fuck is this, huh, Emerson?”

Chance picks up Gareth’s notebook, eyes dancing over the sketch of you, the scribbles covering almost every inch of the college-lined paper.

“Oh are we an artist now or somethin’? And is that supposed to be them?” He points the notebook in your direction. “How romantic.”

Chance turns his head, looking at Patrick and Andy, hoping they’ll laugh at his antics.

You snatch the notebook out of his hand and hold it out to Gareth, who stares at you. You drop it on his desk.

Chance looks at you then, like you’ve just had the audacity to mess with him.

He goes to speak and you stop him.

“What the hell is your problem? Why can’t you just let him do something he enjoys and mind your own fucking business? Last time I checked, he’s never said shit about your hobbies, though we both know the only reason you’re on the football team is because your dad has an in with the coach.”

Chance goes bright red at that.

“There’s never been anything wrong with drawing, and there never will be. Fuck off, you hear me?”

Patrick turns and leaves, and Andy follows because he’s never had a single brain cell help him make an original decision.

Chance looks between you and Gareth and then spins to walk to the other side of the room where he takes a seat, scratching his chin, though he never looks back in your direction.

You look at Gareth. He’s still staring at you.

You open your mouth to talk but he goes first. “Thank you,” he chokes out, and then he’s smacking the sweetest and most passionate kiss on your forehead. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You twist one of his curls around your finger. “Yes, I did. He’s an asshole. I’m not going to let him treat you like that.”

Gareth blushes. He reaches for your hand and squeezes it.

“Also you know that I love seeing you draw, right? I don’t want you to think you’re not any good because of them. I love it when your fingers get all inky and when your eyebrows furrow because you’re concentrating. I just want you to know that I’m proud of you.”

Gareth raises your hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it, keeping it there to hide his smile. “I know. I’m proud of you too.”

You smile.

He fights the urge to tell you that he found your defending him very attractive. Maybe he’ll tell you another time.

Gareth looks out the window again. “Look. There’s like seven of them over there!”

You sit up, watching little flashes of orange as the robins bounce around.

That’s the moment Mrs. O’Hare enters the room, and even when the room goes quiet for her to teach, you catch Gareth watching the robins for the rest of class.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

#gareth emerson #gareth emerson fic #gareth emerson x reader #gareth emerson x you #gareth emerson x gender neutral reader #gareth emerson x gn!reader #gareth emerson fanfiction #gareth emerson fanfic #gareth emerson fluff #gareth emerson x y/n #gareth stranger things fic #gareth stranger things #gareth the great #stranger things fic #gareth emerson oneshot #gareth emerson imagine #savannah’s fics

[styllwaters]

⚠️ Old designs and lore // Do not reblog ⚠️

Well folks, this is about as sci fi-fantasy as it gets. People have been asking about humans in Vivere 44, and a bunch of quick sketches turned into a full-on infographic, and now I have no choice but to elaborate. So! humans. (The story is set in the year 2155, and considering the lack of physical forms I suppose post-humans would be a more reasonable term...) 

Despite having changed significantly since they left Earth, humans have an established place within the Wider Galactic Community. Most of the essential info is in the image, but I’ll go ahead and slap on extra notes anyways. Long-ish post ahead!

For starters, if you want a more extensive read of humanity’s history in Vivere 44 and how exactly they came to look like that, then head on over to the google doc. Be warned, it gets a little dark at some points.

Although they might look like holograms, the human’s appearance has little to do with light fields. Instead, they are made up of millions of tiny ‘cyber-particles’, which were discovered by the **Angelum **in 2110. Their properties are still being researched, but they are known to be able to host consciousness - which has earned them the nickname ‘mind flecks’. They have been used in computers, AI, and projections, and have only recently been applied to digitized brains. 

Through these mind flecks, a human can shape their appearance however they please, however it relies heavily on individual brainpower and how clearly one can visualize an image. For this reason, young children often have difficulty with clear forms and are more inclined to look like vague shapes (or their default form). They learn by mimicking others. Fun fact, It’s also easy for experienced individuals to lose clarity in their form when experiencing strong emotions. Thus, the word ‘distortion’ has been used as a substitute for losing one’s composure.

Unfortunately in spite of their unique shifting abilities, humans have difficulty interacting with the non-digital world. Luckily, the Angelum are known for their expertise in machinery, so together they developed mech suits that allow people to walk around and pick up stuff and whatnot. Some people like the convenience, but others hate the restrictive feeling of the suits and opt for gloves instead (I’ll draw them one day). This embedding of intelligence systems in machines meant jobs like spacecraft intelligence (as opposed to spacecraft artificial intelligence) became quite prevalent among humans. 

Humanity’s new configurations also mean that they no longer have the need to eat or drink. Yet, unlike an AI they still need to sleep every now and then. And unlike an AI, humans are not immortal. The particles begin to deteriorate after about 160 years, and at 200 years will have completely disappeared. Still a pretty impressive lifespan. I should also note that once a person’s mind is transferred to cyber-particles, they are stuck like that. No changing hosts or returning to a body.

The first generation of post-humans is still around today, but since then two more have arisen. Artificial chromosomes and a form of gene swapping were developed in the early days allowing humanity to continue its legacy. There is a bit of controversy as to whether these new generations count as ‘true’ humans since they never had an organic body to begin with, but they certainly aren’t robots either. The new generations think, act and live just as the originals did, if not more progressively.

That’s about it for now! This concept has been bouncing around in my head for a while now so I’m glad to finally have the chance to put it somewhere. As always, open to questions!

#speculative biology #i guess #with every new addition to this verse i descend further into insanity #spec bio #speculative evolution #xenobiology #alien #humans #sea crawler #species #my art #art #sci fi #space fantasy #worldbuilding #sci fi fantasy #old vivere 44

[rahleeyah]

It frustrates me a little when people are like "anyone can draw" bc like I can't, and I can't bc a) my hands are unsteady and often do not do what my brain tells them to do (playing piano was also not for me, my hs bf (theater kid) used to put my eyeliner on for me before plays bc I would stab myself in the eye, etc) and b) I do not have good spatial reasoning and cannot seem to grasp how to construct a drawing, that is like "put a line here, and another line here, and one here, and you'll build up an image" is beyond me (bro I don't even know how far away 3d objects in the real world are I am bouncing off counters like a ping pong ball. Permanently bruised) like no!!! My brain doesn't work that way!! I do not think in clear images - when asked what my OCs look like in fic I do not have an answer unless someone else has suggested a face claim I like - and I simply cannot grasp the steps involved to craft an image with my hands. You can sit me down and try to teach me things - I've taken drawing and painting classes! I'm decent at very simple pottery. I make jewelry but almost always off reference images - and I understand general concepts like scale and perspective but putting it together myself? Nope that's where it falls apart. Don't even get me started on color theory once years and years ago when Tumblr was only on desktop and everybody was using custom themes I painstakingly built one for myself and someone came on anon and told me it looked like the Easter bunny threw up on my blog and my gf at the time, who had my Tumblr password for Reasons, got on my blog in the middle of the night while I was sleeping to rebuild it so it didn't look so heinous (for which I was very grateful) like!! I've gotten handwriting books and I can't even trace the damn letters. Visual art is not my wheelhouse and no amount of theory is going to change the fundamental way in which my brain works and I'm fine with that, actually, bc we cannot all be good at every single thing, that's just not how it works, and I like the things I'm good at and even occasionally play around with the things I'm not (painting, extremely ugly but earnest bullet journaling) bc it's fun but I am under no illusion that what I'll make will be like. Good. And I don't push myself to try to draw bc I know how it'll go, I'm grown enough to recognize my limitations, however. If I had even just an ounce more visual capability, if my hands just did what I told them to, I would try. And when I developed my skill enough to share it with other people, I would be posting drawings of Olivia Benson's titties every day of the week.

#god said we gotta keep her humble. make her hands shake and make her so so stupid about shapes

[kaunis-sielu]

Sick: 6

You’ve been bouncing ideas for a cure off of one another all night. Even while you, Nat and Yelena dig through the dark web to try and see if anyone has posted anything bragging about making this virus, you need to occupy your brain as much as possible. If you don’t you’re afraid you’re going to go into a panic spiral about Steve.

None of the guys are any better, but none are any worse either. Sam’s temperature had spiked for a couple hours but has since dropped back to normal. You have FRIDAY monitoring the rest of the guys to make sure that their temperatures stay down too. Carol had flown Scott in, in his shrunk down suit since it was the easiest and fastest way to get him here. It seems the virus had started on the east coast and was now infecting other big cities. Chicago, Minneapolis, LA, Atlanta and Milwaukee.

You don’t sleep for two days no one seems to notice so you just keep working, keep going, you’re not going to stop until you figure this out. You miss your brothers and you miss Steve, god it’s like you’re missing part of your body.

“Hey.” Wanda says softly drawing your attention from the screen you’ve been staring at. “When did you last sleep?”

“I’m fine.”

“Nox, you cannot lie to me.” She says softly, “you need to sleep.”

“I will when we have a cure.”

“You could sleep next to him. He wouldn’t want you to kill yourself looking for a cure.”

“I’m fine.”

“Please don’t make me force you.” She says softly and you glare over at her. You may not be the best fighter but you can hold your own against Wanda if she plays fair. You have a feeling she won’t be playing fair.

“Fine. Just a few hours.”

“Would you like my help?” You sigh heavily before responding,

“Yes please.” You head back to the room where the guys are, they’re all hooked up and all still unconscious. You gently touch the foot of each man as you pass them, making sure they’re still doing okay, easing any pain.

If physically hurts you to see him like this. It’s like he’s been frozen in the ice again and it breaks your heart.

You climb up onto the bed with him, careful not to pull out any of the things that are monitoring him. Once you’re settled Wanda gently touches your shoulder and you fall into a deep sleep.

You’ll never admit it but when you wake up several hours later you feel almost normal. You kiss Steve on the cheek then gently climb back out of bed. You check on the other guys then wander out of the room to find your friends.

You’re half way down the hallway when a hand reaches out of the lab and grabs your arm. Helen pulls you into the lab “You can’t ask me how I know this or why. You just have to trust that I do.” Helen says wringing her hands, her gaze is darting around the room.

“Uh, okay.” You agree hesitantly.

“I know who made the virus.”

“Who made it?”

“Yea.”

“Okay?”

“Which means I might know how we can stop it. But she’s not going to be easy to find.”

“Who?”

“Dr. Deidre Wentworth. We were roommates in college. She’s part of this group, they call themselves the Femizons. She runs the group and hates men.” Things are starting to fall into place.

“Do you know where to find them?”

“No, but Natasha will.” You nod and turn to leave when she stops you, “Nox?” She says softly and you look over your shoulder at her. “Just please don’t judge me.”

“Is there more Helen?”

“I- No. She wasn’t always like this.” You nod then head out of the room and back to where you’d last seen Natasha.

“Nat? Nat! Are you in here?” Of course she’s not in the room, you turn on your heel and sprint out of the room before stopping suddenly. FRIDAY. “FRIDAY! Where’s Natasha?”

“In the gym Miss.”

“Thank you!” You call before you start to run again. When you burst into the gym Nat freezes, horror is etched onto her face.

“No, nothing, nothing, bad.” You pant and her face relaxes. “Have a, lead.”

“What? How?” She asks excitedly, you gulp down a few more deep breaths and then tell her everything that Helen told you.

“The Femizons are the worst. Because their message is so twisted. They believe in female power and being badass and shit but they also hate men and think they’re superior to them.” She says with a huff, “like I want to support some of their shit but they’re just too extreme and also they wouldn’t have me.”

“Why wouldn’t they have you?”

“Um I kinda beat the shit out of Black Lotus, one of the members. They tried to kidnap me and it didn’t end well for them.” She says with a little shrug and you blink at her in surprise. One of the things you’ve always loved about Natasha is how straightforward she is.

“Helen said you would know where to find them.”

“I know where to start looking.” She says wiping her forehead with a towel. “How are you doing?”

“Feeling more optimistic now that we have a lead.”

“How did Helen figure this one out?”

“I don’t know. She said not to ask how or why she knew but to trust that she did. And I trust her.” Natasha looks thoughtful, “what?”

“I don’t like it but it can slide for now. We have more pressing issues. Finding Femizons is first.” She tells you as the two of you make your way back to the war room.

“We should start looking down south. Usually that’s where they hang out.”

“Okay, what exactly am I looking for?” You ask as you drop into a chair and get comfortable with your laptop on your lap.

“They tend to live in smaller towns, several women together. Not super isolated but isolated enough where they can do shit they don’t want people to know about. Be prepared, this could take a while.”

“Someplace like this?” You ask flipping the computer around to show her.

“Wait, what the hell? How did you find this so fast?”

“I just googled feminist communes.” You tell her with a shrug and she shakes her head in astonishment. “This is them right?” She comes over and looks at the photo. Natasha doesn’t even need to say anything to confirm that it’s the Femizons, you can see it in her eyes.

“See if you can find any other compounds. I’ll start getting a team and a plan together.” She says, “since apparently you’re really good at just googling.” You laugh softly but get to work as Natasha leaves the room. You can’t imagine this group is going to be particularly difficult, you’ve got two Black Widows, a Scarlett Witch who Wanda can now control, a woman with literal alien tech in her veins and yourself. While you’re not quite as deadly as Yelena or Natasha you know how to fight, and you know how to weaponize your powers like Wanda. You’ve never been helpless a day in your life.

After an hour of searching the first couple of Avengers have wandered into the space. Hope has been here for almost the whole hour. She’s been fiddling with some tech on her suit and cursing softly occasionally. Wanda, Kamala, Monica, Carol and Jessica came in as a small group about a half hour ago. You know that Nat and Yelena will be here soon and you’ve found two more compounds that you need to search. Pepper wanders in talking to Jean and Rogue, while the Mighty Thor and Storm chat about their ability to harness lightening. Valkyrie, Yelena, Kate, Gamora, Nebula and Jennifer come in as a noisy group but there’s still no Natasha. Sue comes in with Helen, followed by Shuri, Okoye, America and Doreen who makes a beeline for Kamala who looks like she’s going to explode with excitement. You’ve never seen this many female heroes in one room and it’s honestly overwhelming and amazing. Kitty, Jessica Jones, Felicia, Elektra and Nat come in and when Natasha makes her way to the front of the room. As she passes the room slowly quiets.

“I know there are a lot of questions, but let’s get started. Helen.” She says and Helen stands before clearing her throat.

“We know that the strain of this is only effecting men. It’s something to do with the Y chromosome and it is made by a Dr. Deidre Wentworth. She will have made a cure but she’s either going to be withholding it for ransom or she’s just withholding it for fun.”

“Does this look like fun?” Carol asks gesturing to the tv that’s playing the chaos on mute.

“To Deidre? Yes.”

“Deidre hates men.” Natasha says, “she runs the group the Femizons.”

“Fuck.” Carol says and Natasha nods.

“Um, who are the Femizons?” Kamala asks looking between Natasha and Carol.

“They’re a group of women who live in compounds and hate men. They’ve recruited several super powered women. Titania is one of them.” She says and Jen frowns,

“So they have money.” She says and Natasha nods.

“And other super powered women.”

“And smart women. Deidre isn’t exactly moral but she is smart.” Helen chimes in again.

“So we’re going to need a good plan.” Hope says and Natasha nods.

“How many locations are we looking at?”

“Potentially three.” You say, “FRIDAY share my screen.”

Tag list:

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#Steve rogers x reader #Steve rogers #captain America x reader #captain America #Steve rogers imagine #avengers imagine #imagine Steve Rogers #imagine Captain America #imagine Captain America x reader #imagine Steve Rogers x reader #sick story

[sybilius]

Old Internet Fridays #3: Story of My Hands

Story of My Hands (The Offing)

What’s this?

What’s this website?

This a short comic published in the online literary magazine The Offing. The comic is two pages, chunks of text overlaid on to drawings in a monochromatic purple.

The comic is a collaboration between artist Catherine Please, and writer Amanda Monti.

Okay, how did you find it?

I've been familiar with The Offing since I saw Chanda Prescod-Weinstein speak at a conference back in 2016. At the time, she was editor-in-chief of the publication, but has since moved on.

I decided to bounce around to see what was catching my attention on here. I would like to add as an addendum that I was very rapt with the short story Like Kings, but I'm still chewing on it and it was both a bit long and its subject matter (queer American Jewish complex yearning that also has commentary on Isreal-Palestine tensions) left me a little out of my depth as to how to summarize it (as a random internet goyim). So for my very sleepy week, we do the hands comic instead -- but I recommend that one also.

How’s it doing on Internet Archive?

7 saves -- but I am absolutely chuffed to report that this heading has done its work: neither of the image URLs were saved. Now this makes plain sense for most webpages, but clicking on the image URL to see the close-up is kind of a must for these. So I'm glad to have grabbed snapshots of both these works.

What delighted you the most?

Once a House of Leaves fan, always a House of Leaves fan:

What I'm saying is it's made me a sucker for "here's a tangentially relevant factual chunk of text", heh. I also really did adore the progression of the story, and the way that the impulsive self-harm-ish makes the POV character's hands imperfect, and thus in a strange way takes back her agency over them. It's pinging in my brain.

#old internet fridays #self harm #comics