#i guess i thought 'feeling spiders crawling on your skin' would be a common enough thing that doctors would be like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

soda-pop-kandy-krush · 3 years

Text

so this is a tiiiny bit longer than the drabble i set out for it to be... clearly i have no chill and get carried away far too easily. also, i wrote most of this whilst incredibly hormonal/sleep-deprived, so please excuse any mistakes. i will probably go through and proof-read it at a later date. maybe. in the meantime, enjoy! <33

(Prompt Post)

12: Come cuddle!

17: I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life...

Knock, knock.

“Vee? Are you in there?”

Virgil’s brow furrowed a little, but he didn’t look up from his switch screen as he fiddled with the buttons to reorganise his inventory. “Who is it?”

“Your favourite dad!”

A tiny smirk pinched at the corners of his mouth. He wriggled into a more comfortable position on his beanbag, lifting the console closer to his face. “You can come in, Pat.”

Patton pushed the door open, scanning the room for his son. A beaming grin appeared on his face when he found him, and he made an immediate beeline towards the pile of cushions on the floor.

“Hey, kiddo!” He flopped down right next to Virgil, pulling him into his chest so that he could wrap him in a bear hug.

Virgil grunted in surprise, dropping his switch in his lap as Patton squished his arms to his sides. He squirmed a little, trying to sit up, but Patton only held him tighter, smushing his cheek against Virgil’s soft, purple hair. “Can I help you, Pops?”

He could feel the excited hum of his words vibrating through his scalp. “Come cuddle!”

Virgil squinted. “... Is that not what we’re doing right now?”

Patton giggled. “No, silly! I meant in my room! I’ll bake cookies, and I’ll build us a pillow fort- oh!” He bounced on his knees. “And I’ll even let you choose what movie we watch! As long as it’s not the scary one from last week, with all of the monsters in it.” Virgil rolled his eyes fondly as Patton shuddered.

“The Nightmare Before Christmas isn’t scary, Pat.” He wriggled one arm free and used it to pick up his switch, going back to his game. “Why don’t you ask Princey? I’m kinda busy right now.”

“Oh, come on, kiddo. You can put down the video games for a couple of hours to spend some quality time with your old man, can’t you? Plus…” Patton leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “We both know how much you love your cuddles.”

A choked scoff escaped before Virgil could stop it, his ears turning pink. “I- you- I do not-”

Patton giggled, blowing warm air on the back of his neck. “Yes, you do!~”

“No, I don’t!”

“Don’t lie, Vee. I’ve seen you in action. You’re really not as slick as you think you are, cuddlebug.”

Virgil’s face was so red he thought he was about to burst into flames. He didn’t realise the others actually noticed the way he slowly migrated towards whoever was sat on the other end of the couch during their movie nights, curling his legs up on the cushions so that he could worm his way under their arms and bury his face in their chest. Or how he would drag his beanbag into the common room and plop it in front of anybody in there, sinking down and not-so-subtly leaning back to rest his head against their knees so that they would play with his hair and let him drift asleep. Patton had caught him out, and he’d never been more embarrassed in his life.

In his final attempt to hold onto the last, tattered shreds of his dignity, he turned to the only sensible option left: sulking like a child. He folded his arms with a petulant huff, glaring at the ground. Patton couldn’t help but laugh.

“Awww, what’s wrong, kiddo?” He teased, wiggling a finger under his chin. “Where did that little smile go?”

Virgil’s scowl immediately flattened out, the corners of his mouth twitching as he scrunched his shoulders. Intrigued, Patton repeated the action, grinning delightedly when Virgil made an ‘mmph’ noise, his hand coming up to push him away.

“Wait a second... Is somebody ticklish?”

He pulled Virgil into his lap and tweaked the curve of his waist, earning a loud squeak as the dark side lurched away from the attacking hand, struggling to hide what was unmistakably the beginnings of a flustered smile.

“Oh my goodness,” He gasped, spidering his fingers up and down Virgil’s sides. “This is the most adorable thing in the whole entire universe!”

Virgil whined, premature giggles already beginning to bubble up as he batted at Patton with one hand, burying his burning face in the other. “Shut uuuup!”

Patton chuckled. “Oh-ho, I would watch what I said if I were in your position, Mister.” There was a devious lilt to his voice that wasn’t there before. Virgil’s stomach dropped. “The tickle monster really doesn’t take kindly to that sort of language.”

He would deny the way that he shrieked when Patton reached down to poke his belly until the day he died. Virgil’s hands immediately shot down from his face to protect himself- but unfortunately, that was exactly what Patton was betting on.

“Uh oh! We’d better get those-” He caught both of Virgil’s wrists, pinning them against his chest so that he was effectively trapped in Patton’s embrace. “-out of the way. There we go!”

Virgil whimpered, nervous giggles spilling out as he tugged uselessly at his arms. “No! Pat, plehease!”

“Please what, Vee?” Patton grinned mischievously. “Pleeease… Give you all of the tickles?”

“No!”

“Yeah?”

“Nohoho!”

“Aw, kiddo! All you had to do was ask!”

Ten wiggly fingers suddenly dug into the spaces between Virgil’s ribs. Combined with the teasing and his current helplessness, it tipped him over the edge just far enough that he couldn’t hold back the bright, child-like laughter that spilled from his lips. It was the sweetest sound that Patton had ever heard- and it was coming from Virgil!

Oh, yeah. He was never letting this go.

“I can’t believe that you kept this a secret from us!” He moved to pinch Virgil’s lower ribs, chasing the cluster of sweet spots towards his back that had him squealing and arching away. “Oooo, that was a good spot, huh?” Patton chuckled, reaching over to his other side and repeating the action.

“Ahahaha- Pat! I cahahaha-!” Virgil collapsed against the moral side, his laughter tinged with hysteria as Patton’s fingers started poking his all of ribs randomly, making him squirm so much that he was now practically laying flat in his lap.

“What was that? You can’t believe how much fun you’re having?” Patton cooed, grazing his midriff using his fingertips. “Well, aren’t you just the sweetest! And don’t you worry- we’ve got plenty of other places to explore before we’re anywhere near finished~”

Virgil groaned as Patton lifted his wrists above his head, allowing him to catch his breath. He screwed his eyes shut, preparing for another attack, only to jump when he felt Patton’s hand cup his cheek, gently stroking the soft skin with his thumb. He blinked and looked up to see the moral side smiling back down at him.

“You okay there, kiddo?” He chuckled.

Virgil flushed, leftover giggles spilling out as he panted. He was giving him a chance to escape. Asking him if he wanted to continue. Making sure that he was actually enjoying himself.

He knew that he liked it... And he was okay with it?

Swallowing, Virgil nodded. His timid smile morphed back into a wide grin within seconds as Patton’s fingers scribbled their way down his neck, his collarbones; looping over his shoulders before they wormed their way into his armpits, scratching at the taut skin and causing Virgil to fall right back into loud laughter.

“Ehehehe- gehehet out of there!” He cried, pulling at his arms. Patton laughed along with him, still reeling from his wonderful discovery. The sight of a happy, squeaky, ticklish Virgil was a million times cuter than he could ever have imagined.

“Huh? You mean here?” He wiggled a single finger right in the centre. “Okay, sure!” Patton switched to the other side, vibrating his fingers deep into the hollows.

Virgil squawked, promptly falling into uncontrollable cackling. By this point, he was so weak with laughter that he could barely even fight back. Not that that was such a terrible position to be in, but he’d be damned if the others ever figured out that he liked this, as well. Having the resident goofball know was bad enough, but he’d never hear the end of it if word spread around the rest of the mind palace.

However, Virgil didn’t have much time to sit on it, as all comprehensive thoughts evaporated from his head as soon as Patton started to graze his fingernails up and down the underside of his left bicep.

“Nonono-nohoho!” He pleaded, curling his arms around his head, not unlike a baby hedgehog. “Pat! Pahahat! Lemme gohoho!”

Patton laughed. “Oh, I’m afraid it’s too late for you now, stormcloud. I’ve got you trapped, and you’re mine forever!~” He booped his nose gently before moving to the other arm, his lips curling up into a playful smirk. “Plus, I couldn’t possibly let you go before finding your worst spot.” His fingers slowed to a halt. Virgil felt a shiver run down his spine.

“And I’ve got a feeling I know exactly where it is…”

Virgil immediately broke down into nervous babbling, wriggling and giggling desperately as Patton trailed his fingers down the length of his body- stopping whenever he found a particularly ticklish spot to give it some attention- before he arrived at his middle. Slowly, dragging out the process as much as he could, he lifted Virgil’s shirt, the soft material brushing against his skin and lighting up every nerve in his torso, sending the poor dark side into fits of anxious giggles.

Patton tittered amusedly. “Well then, it looks like I guessed right, huh, Vee?” And with that, he used all five fingers of his free hand to form a claw, spidering across the sensitive skin of his stomach.

Virgil shrieked, bursting into loud laughter and kicking his legs out. Drained of his strength and hopelessly giddy, there was nothing left to do except lay there and take it as Patton’s tickly fingers crawled all over his belly, pinching and squeezing and scribbling every tiny, hidden spot until Virgil was sure he’d go insane. It was completely unbearable, and he never wanted it to stop.

“Gitchy-gitchy-goo! Tickle-tickle-tickle!” He cooed, scribbling at the skin beneath his bellybutton. “Gee, kiddo, I think you’ve got to be the most ticklish person on the planet!”

Virgil’s laughter dialled up even further, blushing so hard he could feel it in his ears. Oh, God, not the teasing! He was pretty sure whatever was left of his brain had now melted entirely, leaving him a loopy, flustered mess.

He scrambled around to try and pull together a suitably snarky comeback, when Patton began to scratch at the sides of his stomach and he finally, finally lost it.

“Nahahaha! Stop! Stohohahap!”

Patton gradually slowed down, eventually stopping and pressing the palm of his hand firmly into Virgil’s abdomen, rubbing away the phantom touches that lingered on his sensitive skin. His head lolled to the side, resting against Patton’s hip as he gulped down air, hiccupy laughter bubbling up in between each breath.

Patton chuckled. “You alright there, giggles?” He ran his fingers through Virgil’s hair, mussed up from all of his wriggling.

Virgil, with the remains of a dazed grin still stuck on his face, nodded, nuzzling against the soothing touch. He let his eyes slip shut, the occasional, solitary giggle escaping. The moral side smiled warmly.

“I’m glad. You definitely needed that laugh.”

Leaning forward, Patton switched off his gaming console from where it had been abandoned on the floor, before carefully scooping him up into his arms to carry him back to his room for the snuggles he was promised. Just as he was about to close the door behind him, a quiet voice interrupted him.

“Thank you…” Mumbled Virgil, sleepily.

Patton chuckled. “You’re welcome, kiddo.”

#gahhhh i hope people like this #my writing #prompt writing #tickle #tickling #ts tickle #ts fanfiction #ts fanfic #ticklish!virgil #lee!virgil #ler!patton #moxiety #tss tickle

177 notes · View notes

hale-13 · 3 years

Text

Conditioned

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 16 - Touch Starved

“Can I take a shower?” Peter blurted out, shifting uncomfortably. He felt gross from the dried sweat and the bloody residue that was left on his scalp and around his hair line felt the intense need to get cleaned - broken arm be damned.

Words: 2084, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Helen Cho

TW: Literally None - Just Fluff

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“Well Peter, I see no reason why you should have to stay here any longer as long as you promise to actually rest and allow yourself to heal,” Helen said firmly but with a smile toward him and Peter nearly sagged with obvious relief.

“Oh thank god,” he said he’d, already struggling in his attempts to climb out of the MedBay bed he had been sentenced to since the day before with some help from Tony. He flinched a little as he tweaked his sore arms, moving the wrong way, but trying to keep his muscles as relaxed as possible to prevent any further damage. His recovery is going to be annoying enough as it is without making it worse.

In his most recent fight against the Shocker the night before, he had caught a direct hit on his right arm which had successfully and cleaning broken his radius and ulna in two. In his haste to get away and then catch himself on a poorly shot strand of webbing he had dislocated his left shoulder. The pain had been so stunning he had barely been able to finish webbing up Shocker and get away before the police showed up.

It probably didn’t do much to help the injuries when he had swung back to the Tower but he had been numb and delirious by that point so he probably wasn’t really thinking straight. He does remember Tony not being super impressed with him when he nearly passed out as soon as he landed.

“I’m serious about resting,” Dr. Cho warned him as she helped him settle his, still sore and recently reduced, arm into a sling. “You need to take it easy for at least another few days or you’ll risk re-injury and possibly surgery.”

“Oh that shouldn’t be a problem,” Tony said breezily. “I have no problem cuffing him to a bed if I have to.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whined, trying to stand and balance without using either of his arms – it was much harder than he thought it would be – and already trying to edge toward the door. Tony just quirked up an eyebrow at him.

“Your aunt, definitely against her better judgement and with an amazing amount of misplaced trust, is letting you stay here with me so you don’t get into any more trouble during your convalescence so if you could just work with me for a couple of days here that would be much appreciated,” he told Peter very pointedly with a final wave at Helen as he herded Peter toward the elevator at the end of the hall.

Peter just rolled his eyes at his mentors dramatics but allowed himself to be directed – to tell the absolute truth, his arms still hurt pretty badly and he wasn’t really looking forward to his oral painkillers (that made him sleepy and emotional) and his anti-inflammatories (that made him into a right bastard if he was being honest) and trying to convince Tony that he didn’t need either. He wasn’t super confident about his success rate with that. “Can I take a shower?” He blurted out, shifting uncomfortably. He felt gross from the dried sweat and the bloody residue that was left on his scalp and around his hair line.

“You know that you can’t get your cast wet,” Tony reminded him holding up a hand when Peter opened his mouth to interrupt. “I mean, I suppose I can wrap it in a bag or something if you really want to shower that bad.”

“Yes please,” Peter eagerly agreed. Ever since the Bite all of his senses had been more sensitive but none more so than his sense of smell and he wasn’t a particularly big fan of the fact that he could currently smell himself. It made his skin crawl and was completely disgusting.

“Alright then,” Tony nodded. “Shower first and then a movie marathon slash prescribed nap directly after. Do we have a deal then Mr. Parker?”

“Only if we can get pizza for dinner later,” Peter bartered as the elevator opened up on Tony’s floor of the compound. “With pineapple this time,” he continued with a wrinkled nose, “the olives you got last time were disgusting!”

“You have astonishingly terrible taste but yes fine. Pizza later.” Tony nodded, herding both of them into the kitchen with a single-minded determination. The Wal-Mart and cling wrap cast protection apparatus Mr. Stark rigged together left a fair amount to be desired in the looks department but was completely functional when it came to water-proofing which was good enough for Peter.

It took some skill to slip away from his mentor but Peter was soon slipping into his room, struggling to get out of the sling on his own and finally succeeding. It made him wince from the extra pain it caused but it didn’t overshadow the relief of doing it on his own. He knew his limits from previous dislocations and knew that it was crucial to not overdue it while the joint was healing or he risked the chance of re-injury and, as Dr. Cho had reminded him earlier, surgery.

With a grimace, Peter rested that arm across his stomach and used his bagged up right arm to pull his shirt over his head. He was barely able to manage it when it pulled at his sore muscles and broken bones. Maybe he should use a button down or zippered hoodie instead.

Thanks to FRIDAY (bless her seriously), the water of his shower was already running and warmed up to his preferred setting of skin melting and he was quick to turn his back into the spray and luxuriate under it for an extended time. The high pressured water felt amazing on his back and shoulders, loosening up the knots and clenched muscles and providing relief.

“You doing okay in there kid? You drown yet?” Tony asked, knocking on the door and indiscernible amount of time later and knocking Peter out of his stupor.

“I’m good!” Peter called back, hurriedly reaching out for his body wash and cloth painfully and cleaning himself up to the best of his – limited – ability. By the time he was ready to wash his hair and hairline he felt exhausted and achy despite the excellent water pressure and all the good work it and the heat had done to relieve the pain in his shoulder and back. “Fuck,” he cursed, trying to lift his arm above chest level and spectacularly failing, finding himself unable to without making his muscles seize.

Peter was pretty bendy due to his powers so he attempted a couple different contortions to reach his head before just flat out giving up, turning off the water and taking his towel off the heated towel rack installed in the bathroom (rich people – seriously). It took longer than Peter cared to admit, but he was able to dry and dress himself in sweats and a zippered hoodie. He was even able to shuck the bag off his cast with little struggle so he was feeling pretty decent when he ventured into the living room with his hair sopping wet and dripping onto his shoulders since he wasn’t able to adequately dry it. Whatever. It would dry on its own eventually.

“And what’s all this supposed to be?” Tony asked, glancing up from his phone and wrinkling his nose but not moving from where he was leaned against the counter in the kitchen. “Why are you dripping all over my floor?”

Peter fought off a blush and tried to hunch his shoulders, stopping when it hurt. “I couldn’t reach up to get my hair,” he grumbled, failing to completely push down his blush.

“I guess that explains all the blood still caked in there,” Tony hummed, leaning over to move the dampened curls around to look at the blood still matting some of his hair together and crusting up around his scalp. “Well that’s pretty easily remedied. Welcome to the salon Underoos,” Tony said, pulling over one of the barstools and setting it in front of the kitchen sink, gesturing for Peter to sit.

“Uh… what?” Peter questioned, brows furrowing in confusion.

“I’ll wash your hair for you,” Tony clarified, looking pointedly between Peter and the stool again. “Just sit down while I go and grab some things!” And, with that, he took off in the direction of the bedrooms and associated en suites.

Peter, still pretty confused but (mostly) trusting his mentor, sat down unsteadily on the stool just as Tony came back around the corner with an armful of towels, shampoo and conditioner bottles along with a wide-toothed comb and an expensive looking hair dryer. He triumphantly arranged everything on the counter next to the deep sink and wrapped one of the towels around Peter’s neck. “Lean back buddy,” Tony said, using a finger to push on the center of Peter’s forehead until he gave in and let himself be pushed back to lean back with his head in the sink.

Doing his best to ignore the weirdness of it all (weirdness was pretty common around Tony Stark after all), Peter closed his eyes and crossed his arms across his stomach as the water turned on. He tensed up a little when he felt fingers start dragging through his hair but was quick to relax and release the tension in his body under the careful massage of his mentor’s hands through his hair and the warm water cascading across his scalp. He let out a little hum of contentment.

Tony let out a soft chuckle, squirting a healthy dollop of the shampoo into his hands and lathering it up before applying it to Peter’s hair, working through the snarls and tangles with care and scrubbing the leftover blood out of the curls. Peter went nearly boneless under his ministrations and Tony would definitely be lying if he said he didn’t milk the washing and conditioning portion at least a little bit. He knew that Peter had to be feeling pretty miserable and it settled something buried deep inside him to provide just a little extra comfort.

All too soon, though, he had rinsed out the last of the conditioner leaving Peter’s hair clean and dripping as he turned off the water. Peter made no move to get up or to open his eyes, breathing deeply and seemingly on the very verge of sleep, so Tony grabbed one of the towels and started to wring the extra water out of the kid’s hair, running the towel through it cautiously. “Just need you to sit up for a second here kiddo okay? Then you can nap, scout’s honor.”

Peter grunted and grumbled but did slit his eyes open and let Tony help him sit up, swaying back and forth and little on the stool and Tony ran the towel through his hair a couple more times to really get rid of the water as much as possible. He dropped the towel on the counter in exchange for the comb and the hair dryer. He ran the comb through the mess a few times before starting the hair dryer up. Peter practically melted as the warmed air fluffed up his curls. It didn’t take long to dry at all and, by the time he was done, Peter was listing forward nearly into Tony’s chest.

“Couch or bed buddy?” Tony asked with a fond smile, running his hands through Peter’s warmed and clean hair.

“Couch,” Peter muttered, leaning into his petting and making Tony’s chest warm up. This kid… god. He ended up supporting most of Peter’s weight but was able to quickly get him lying face down on the supple cushions with his head pillowed on one of the throw pillows resting on Tony’s lap, the ratty fleece blanket Tony kept draped over they back of the couch draped over him and a heating pad resting across his healing shoulder.

“Let’s start a Star Wars marathon FRI. Volume at thirty percent,” FRIDAY was quiet as she dimmed the lights and started the movie, the familiar logo and music making Peter relax even further into the couch, completely gone. As the opening theme ended and the camera panned to the shots of Leia’s ship, he felt Mr. Stark’s hand rest on his back, digging into the knotted muscles of his back.

It maybe wasn’t ideal to mess up his arms so much but, Peter thought, he couldn’t think of a better way to spend his recovery.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump16 #Prompt: Touch Starved #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

31 notes · View notes

bibliocratic · 4 years

Text

Only a little late!

Written for the prompts: AU and Touch for AspecMartinWeek

Ace Jon / Ace Martin, AU – Daemons, post 159.

They are lying dozy and lazing on the settee when Jon clears his throat and apologises.

Martin's thoughts have been like the unheeded tumbling of water through a brook. He hasn't spoken, he's sure, for a long while, not confident that he's fully awake. Jon's tucked neatly against Martin's graceless outstretch of limbs, mumbling whatever comes to mind against his throat. His breath is hot, mildly damp, condensing Martin's skin like he's fogging up a window.

There is the curiously new, near-dazed feeling that Martin is basking in like the shallow waters of some island beach. Every tension unhooked from him like an unburdened yoke, of having said everything that he has always wanted to say. Digging out the gristle of small deceits from his stumbling mouth was a stop-judder-start of a conversation, and it's been a painful, physical release to bring them up. Martin's held his hands over his mouth and the words have spilled out anyway, scraping his throat on the way up, and Jon had rubbed his back and listened as every emotion he forced down came back in nauseous waves.

It's been exhausting, feeling so much all at once. Martin's snapped and snarled and sobbed and slept a lot. And now he has the blessed relief to lie, feeling like he's dug up all the weeds of his fears, the soil of him loosened enough to allow something better to bloom.

Jon knows Martin loves him. Vast-welled, bone-down-deep. Jon knows that love will never be physical, and had still cradled him and declared him beloved, confessed that it was a form of expression he'd never sought either. Jon reframed question after question so they barely resembled enquiries at all, and Martin laid down all the cards of himself with a trustfulness he is having to practise again.

“Hm?” Martin questions sluggish. He opens a squinting, disgruntled eye, discomforted by the radiance of the room, and sees Jon gnawing on his bottom lip. He is managing to give off the impression of both staring intensely at Martin and attempting to avoid his gaze entirely.

“I'm sorry,” Jon repeats. His words are steady enough, but Emer is fluttering hither-and-thither over his head like an anxious coronet. Landing on his shoulder, antennae bobbing, crawling flustered over to his other shoulder before returning airborne in an overactive bluster of motion.

Martin has always liked watching Emer. The flash of gossamer-white wings circling Jon's head or sat on his wrist like an overly-extravagant watch while he read statements.

“Stop looking,” he used to hiss at the moving lump under his shirt, poking many orb-like eyes over his collar to stare even when Martin stopped. “It's rude.”

“What're you sorry for?” Martin asks. The question comes out squashed, half-sighed. His arm encircling Jon's shoulder, he strokes the skin of his upper arm in a light reassurance.

Jon's forehead is establishing trenches as he deepens the lines on his brow. Emer lands and whispers harsh, insistent words into his ear, but he shakes his head like shedding water, and she goes back to hovering.

“I should have asked,” Jon says finally. “I'd never.... you were always so private about him, so I mean, at first I wasn't sure he was even yours, but then – when you, when you went with Peter, and I – he was so small, and I thought he was h-half-dead and Emer wouldn't leave him. S-so I picked him up and I carried him. And I'm sorry.”

It takes a few moments for Jon's garbling to reach understanding.

“I'd kind of assumed you must have,” Martin replies slowly. “I'm the – I'm the one who left him behind.”

At the hollow of Martin's throat, he can feel the crouched and scratchy weight, still unfamiliar to him. He brings up his hand, uses a finger to stroke the short, bristling fur down his rounded abdomen. He stops, leaving his hand nearby, close but undemanding. A second later, delayed, two probing legs tap affectionately and tiredly onto the back of Martin's hand, before withdrawing again.

He was never so steady before. He used to crawl, scramble, quiver and jump, always in motion under the cover of Martin's shirts, the camouflage of his bramble-coiled hair. If he got excited, he'd jump from Martin's shoulder to ear to get his attention, chatter and chirp animatedly. Most of Martin's life, he's rarely strayed a foot from his side.

Martin doesn't feel him now. Not like it was before. There's no solid anchoring when he concentrates. Like a weak signal, a light seen through fog, a previously taut string scraped threadbare.

Peter had suggested a knife. Had even held one out to Martin with a chummy, encouraging smile. Telling him how clean it could be to slice through.

“It won't even kill you,” he had said. “Best part of it.”

“It'll hurt though,” Martin had replied dully, jaw set, as the spider quivered against his throat.

“Oh, certainly,” Peter had replied, admiring the sheen of the blade. “But you've already given away so much, Martin, what's a little more in the grand scheme of things, hm?”

Martin had refused, and Peter had sighed, pocketing the knife again, responded:

“Pity. You'll have to leave him anyway. It would be so much easier to make the separation quicker for the both of you.”

Aron hadn't said anything when Martin scooped him off his neck, setting him down on top of the tape recorder. He'd stared, resigned but with still enough expectation in him to feel betrayed.

It hadn't made the rending, punch-breathed stretching of their distance hurt less.

It had stopped hurting after a while, like everything else had.

Jon must have carried him all the way into the Lonely and out, Martin thinks, stroking Aron again. Maybe longer. The days, they've not been as clear as Martin would like. It's been as treading through murky water a lot of the time. He's not even sure when he woke up blearily, cosseted by the tight bundle of blankets Jon had barricaded him with, and felt Aron nestled in his hair like the old days.

“You couldn't have asked anyway,” Martin continues. “It's not like, well, not like I was around to say it was ok, was I?”

Jon makes a grunt of agreement, but it's one of those distracted sounds he makes when he's taken something in but not really listened.

“When you got out though,” he says, seeming, if anything, even more shame-faced. “When we got here, you didn't – you didn't even ask about him. He'd be at the other side of the house and you didn't blink at how far that was, he-he'd climb onto you and try and get your attention and you wouldn't flinch. I don't think you even knew he was there. And then Emer talked to him, wouldn't move from his side, and then – it-it was the second night, guess you don't remember but you were – you were struggling to come back to yourself. And he – he crawled onto me, and I didn't – I didn't push him away.”

“I'm not mad at you, Jon,” Martin says. “'s like you said. I wasn't – I wasn't in the right place. You kept him safe, how could I be mad?”

Jon nods stiffly. Looks at Aron. Martin likes the way Jon looks at him, carefully, like something might have changed while he wasn't looking.

“I just... thought I should apologise,” he says, more lamely than before. “It's not right, to go around touching other people's.... Anyway. I won't – won't do it again.”

Aron's chelicerae twitch against Martin's adam's apple.

“What's your thoughts on all this then?” Martin says, directing it lowly at Aron.

He's not expecting a response. Their conversations have been stilted, working through the gap Martin ripped between them. Those last few months, they'd mostly fought. Peter Lukas' arrival had found Aron sullen and petty, argumentative and frightened, and Martin had ignored him or snapped back in kind. Aron had stopped speaking to him long before Lukas dragged him into the Lonely, and it's a slow cautious revival, to find out how to talk to each other again.

Aron unfolds his legs carefully, creeps unobtrusively up to the side of Martin's face to lurk near his ear. Even as a bigger example of his species, he's still about the length of Martin's thumb. He flexes the stubby pedipalps under his eyes like he's kneading something.

“He's the best decision you've made in a long time,” he says resolutely to Martin. “He loved me even when you thought you couldn't.”

Martin's mouth is raw from saying sorry but he murmurs it again. Aron's front legs tap him like a reassurance.

“Would you like to?” Martin turns to Jon, who is militantly trying not to listen to their conversation. Emer is circling the ceiling as though to further compound the gesture of privacy. “Touch him, mean – intentionally this time?”

When Martin was younger and working everything out, he'd diligently done his research on the ways he thought he was failing. He'd watched a lot of films, read a lot of books. Romantic stuff, filled with swelling, stirring scores, or purple-prose dramatic declarations of passion. It's quite a common trope in a lot of these; the couples confessing their tormented adoration, their daemons touching, tail in tail or rough-housing in play. Then one half of the couple will reach out, suddenly tender, tangle their fingers in the fur of the other's daemon or scrape along their scales. The other will gasp like they've been shocked, their body rocking with the aftermath of it, before they follow with shaking hands. Martin would replay those moments of intimate connection, fantasising about how someone might hold his own bristled and secretive soul.

It inevitably leads to sex. And Martin would switch it off, then, feeling nonplussed and uncomfortable and wondering if that part was necessary.

It doesn't matter to Martin if Jon doesn't want to, if he never touches Aron again. Jon's already carried his soul so many miles.

It's important to him that Jon knows he can. That Martin wants him to, that Martin trusts him with Aron more than he trusts himself.

Jon's face goes a dark spasm of oxblood red.

“It's – I mean – I'd – course I'd – that's a lot though, are you sure – ?”

Emer chooses that moment to make some quick fed-up comment to Jon before decisively fluttering down and landing on Martin's nose.

Jon gives a squeaking, mildly scandalised gasp. So does Martin, more at the shock.

It doesn't feel like how he expected it might.

There's no rush, no swelling violins or heightened poetry.

“Hey,” he whispers to the white-winged moth. Emer preens, giving a show-off little flap before closing her wings against her back.

“She's beautiful,” he says to Jon sincerely.

Jon's holding his breath like he's trying not to disturb the moment.

“How – how do you feel?” He asks tentatively, his words slightly strangled.

“Warm,” Martin says. There's a steady coil of heat in his chest that matches the warmth of their close-knit afternoon. He feels beheld in the surest of light, cherished and reverential, the same feeling he gets whenever Jon says he loves him.

“Like you expected?”

Martin told Jon about the films he'd watched, the books he'd read, the expressions and sensations he'd thought would make him happier. Jon had listened in the blanketing dark of the evening, and admitted the same in kind.

“I mean, I still don't feel much of an urge to suddenly rip your clothes off, if that's what you're asking.”

Jon's lips hook up in a smile, releasing some of his nervous tension.

“How disappointing,” he intones, and Martin, going a little cross-eyed staring at the speckling spots of black over the fuzz coating Emer's body, laughs.

He reaches up, his hands gone a little shivery, glances over at Jon.

“Can I...?” he asks.

Jon gives a jerking motion, looking like a rather demented nodding dog in his poorly disguised eagerness.

“Er – y-eah – that would be – I-I'd like that.”

Martin strokes a blunt nail from her thorax down.

“Oh,” Jon says, sounding more than a little awestruck. If possible, he sinks even more limbless against Martin. “That's.... that's lovely.”

Martin strokes Emer for a while, rhythmically rubbing the fur with a precise concentrated effort. Jon hums, looking dazed and pleased.

He wonders if it'll feel the same with Jon touching Aron. If Martin will be able to tell, if the sensation will be muted or altered in some way.

Aron, impatient and with apparently less decorum about the whole thing, gives a restless huff and decides to find out himself by jumping onto Jon.

Jon, jolted from his near-soporific state, rather valiantly does not shriek or flail the way he might if an actual spider flung itself onto him. He jerks but makes a serious effort to hold himself ramrod still.

“Stop it,” Martin warns.

“You are absolutely no fun,” Aron answers back playfully as he skitters down to where Jon's hands are. Jon if anything holds himself even more still.

Aron reaches his wrist and taps the skin there, waiting. Slowly, Jon cups his hands together, and Aron clambers delicately onto his palms. Jon's face is making another one of those wowed expressions. Martin feels another pulse of that settling warmth, not as dulled as before, strengthening as Jon rubs a self-conscious finger down Aron's abdomen.

Martin feels Emer flutter up and settle against his hair as he hums and closes his eyes, his soul held in the safest hands he knows.

#AspecMartinWeek #tma #the magnus archives #daemons au #Martin's daemon is a jumping spider #Jon's daemon is a white ermine moth #martin blackwood #ace!martin #jonmartin #I have a lot of headcanons about Martin's daemon and they need to go SOMEWHERE

496 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years

Text

Witness : 6

The Day After

moodboard created by @chuuulip

Character(s): dark!Bucky, later dark!Steve, too

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. Some violence as well at the beginning. It goes without (and with) that this is 18+.

Summary: The reader finds it hard to adjust after her first night with Bucky.

Notes: I am reposting this fic here. It was originally on ao3 but now it’s on tumblr too! If you read, I love feedback and would love any comments you have. And if you can, please share! Anyhow, enjoy :)

You weren’t sure of the time when Bucky left you. You didn’t move as his weight left the bed for the last time. Didn’t look to see the time. You couldn’t even recall what he had said when he left. Had he said anything? You were too shattered to listen. You just lay on the bed, sprawled in the position he had last broken you in, breathing but nothing more. You lingered on the other option. Maybe death was better than this. Feeling so violated, languishing in your debasement. You couldn’t see that the void beyond could offer any such self-loathing. If you told him you had changed your mind, would he kill you now?After the hours he had spent relishing in your torment, you knew it was too late for that. He would use you until you outlived your usefulness. He had said as much upon your first real meeting.

Slowly, you moved one leg, then the other, and crawled across the bed and onto the floor. Your knees shook as you stood but you kept yourself upright. Your ass was sore, thighs too, your core thrumming from the abuse. You stared at the blankets, tangled across the mattress, your stomach recoiled. You turned and stumbled, reaching out desperately for balance as you lumbered into the washroom. Your guts spilled into the sink, mostly bile. You turned on the faucet and washed it away. You let yourself slump to the tile, leaning against the side of clawfoot tub. Your breath picked up but you couldn’t cry. Not anymore. It was a peculiar sensation. You felt numb yet agonized. It was a pain you couldn’t quite grasp. You hung your head and sat until the frosted glass lightened, signalling that day was close.

You sat in the shower, scrubbing at your skin, slowly at first but then your need to cleanse yourself grew frantic. You emerged with raw flesh and dressed in a pair off baggy sweatpants and an aged sweater with holes in the cuffs. You dumped the clothing from your hamper and ripped the sheets and blankets from atop your bed, shoving them deep within the tall basket. You sat on the machine in the common laundry room as it shook with swirl of your bed clothing. Your fingers bent over the edge of the white metal, the subtle tumbling almost calming. You changed the load over and repeated your vigil.

You tossed the bedding down the garbage chute when they were done.

The sun was fully risen when you returned to your apartment, refusing to enter the bedroom and acknowledge your barren mattress. Your phone vibrated, drawing your attention as you carefully set up a pot of coffee to brew. You waited to fill your mug before you dug the phone from your purse, the screen lighting up as another message arrived. ‘You up for a sleepover?’ Allie followed the invitation with a winky emoji. You didn’t know how to answer. You definitely didn’t want to sleep in your own bed but you were afraid that Bucky would return that night and think you fled.

Your phone shook again, this time an unknown number. You opened the window and read, the fear creeping up your neck like spider legs. ‘In case you think of trying to run again’. It was easy to guess who had sent the text, easier with the photos that followed. Images more chilling than the scene in the parking garage. Pictures of your mother in front of her house, watering her flowers, accompanied by a wall of text including her name, birth date, social security number...everything about her.

‘Sorry, I can’t,’ You replied to Allie. You were pitiful. Too afraid to have a life so that you can sit and await your bane. A call came through, unknown number. You pressed answer as your heart raced. “Y/N,” Bucky’s voice greeted but you couldn’t speak. “Come on, what did I say about answering me.”

“What do you want?” You rasped, walking over to your window, looking out along the skyline. Could he see you then?

“You can go to the sleepover. I won’t be over tonight.” You could hear the smirk in his voice.

“W-what?” You sputtered, trying to search him out. “You can see my texts?”

“I see everything. I told you. Now, go ahead and have some fun. You deserve it after last night.” You were sickened by his tone. You reached up and drew the curtains shut. “I’m out of town right now but I’ll be back on Tuesday. This time I expect you to be on time.”

“I have to work,” You lied.

“Not that late. 10-6. Not a bad shift. Enough time after to have some fun.” Your hand was trembling uncontrollably. “I expect you’ll be home before seven.”

“Y-yes,” You stuttered, your throat constricting.

“Well, I should let you go. I’m a bit tied up at the moment,” He was signing off as if this was a perfectly casual conversation. “Oh, and one thing before I go, Y/N. Don’t try to lie to me again. When I return, you will be punished for breaking the rules. No passes this time. Understood?”

You choked, “Yes,” You whispered into the speaker, “Yes, I understand.”

“Good.” He was smirking, you could hear it. “Have fun at your sleepover.” The line went dead and you pulled your phone away from your ear. You scrolled through your contacts, returning to your conversation with Allie. ‘Actually, a sleepover sounds great.’

You crossed your arms as you waited for Allie to answer her damn buzzer. The speaker crackled and you heard her rustling in the background. “Y/N?” This always happened. She was always in the middle of something else when you turned up. You would have laughed if your body would have allowed it.

“Yeah, it’s me,” You called back, “Come on. Let me in. I’m soaked.” It had rained again but you hadn’t really noticed until you entered the lobby. The door rang and you pulled on it as it unlocked. You stood in front of the elevator, waiting for it to descend. You were jealous of Allie’s building; it was new enough that its amenities worked. At your building, you couldn’t trust the elevator. The old cage door and the several residents who reported hours spent waiting to be freed from its grips by maintenance. With your luck, you didn’t tempt fate.

It was a smooth ride up and you waited once more before Allie’s door. She slid free the chain free and let you in. Her hair was wrapped in a towel and her face green with an herbal smelling mask. “Just in time,” She chimed as she welcomed you in. “Shit, Y/N, you look fucking ragged. Good thing I have an extra mask.”

I don’t think a mask will do the trick, you thought as your eyebrows twitched. “Ha, yeah,” You laughed halfheartedly, “I brought wine.”

“You look like you need it,” She smiled but her eyes caught yours and she stopped. Usually she was hard to shut up. She’d keep going enough for the both of you so you never needed to worry about lively conversation. “Are you okay?”

You shook your head, trying to free yourself from the chains which only grew tighter around your limbs. “Fine,” You lied, forcing a bigger smile. She hesitated but backed off, allowing you the fib. She was always understanding. Whatever you needed, she would give. If that meant space, she’d give you a mile, but when the time came she was right by your side.

“Let me uncork that wine,” She took the large bottle from you, weighing it as the golden nectar swished against the glass, “Wow, you went all out.”

“Last time you drank it all,” You kidded. Still the smile was not real. You were relieved to be away from your apartment, to have Allie nearby, but you just couldn’t feel...normal. You hung your jacket and slipped out of your boots, following her down the hallway. Her apartment always amused you as it looked like Barbie herself could live here. Allie was a great host. She filled the largest wine glasses and set them on the low coffee table.

“Go rinse your face and I’ll put the mask on.” You did as she said, splashing your face and returning to her, closing your eyes as she smoothed the thick mask over your skin. “Ha, let me get my phone.” She stood as she finished, washing her hand in the kitchen sink and retrieving her phone as she sat back down. “I’m going to send this to everyone. You look so funny.”

“You’re one to talk,” You rolled your eyes. Her own mask was dried and starting to flake. She looked like a swamp monster.

“Shit, I gotta get this off!” She jumped up again and raced to the bathroom. When she came back she was giggling and touching her rosy cheeks, the rest of her face just as red.

“How long is this suppose to be on?” You asked anxiously.

“Ten minutes. But I may have left mine on a little longer,” She grinned, baring her teeth awkwardly.

“Right, I’m just going to take mine off now.” You passed her and swiftly cleaned your face as you felt tingling along your forehead. You were thankfully soft and without shine, your skin much brighter than before.

“So,” Allie handed you your wine as you say, “What are we going to watch tonight? Or do you wanna play a game? I got the new Mario.”

“Hmm? So many options,” You leaned back, sipping deep from your wine. “You choose. I’ll do whatever.” Whatever could distract you from the impending doom which stood over you so constantly. You drank again from you wine, setting down the glass with only a mouthful left.

“Take it easy, Y/N,” Allie looked up as she switched on her console, “We have all night and only one bottle.”

“Won’t be that long a night if I drink enough,” You muffled a belch into your palm and she laughed.

“I guess that’s one way of looking at it,” She sat beside you on the couch and handed you a controller, “But I think you’ll need your wits for this game. I might just kick your ass.”

#dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes #dark bucky #dark bucky barnes #dark!fic #au #mcu #marvel #witness #series #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader

499 notes · View notes

ase-trollplays · 7 years

Text

-- liberatedRaptor [LR] began pestering tapeFace [TF] --

LR: why tape tho

TF: Because my voice hurts people. :c

TF: Taping my mouth stops me from hurting people by accident :D

LR: oh thats actually kinda sad

TF: It's not that bad once you get used to it. :) I never liked the sound of my voice anyways.

TF: So! Why don't we introduce ourselves! :D

TF: My name's Cacoph

LR: im Wynter

TF: :O Nice!

TF: It's good to meet you, Wynter :D

TF: So, how's your night going? :)

LR: ah all things considered id say its pretty good

LR: ive been walking since i got up tho which was hours ago

LR: im a little tired :v

TF: Yeah, I bet. D: I hope you're close to where ever it is you're walking to.

LR: still a few nights off but HEY i wont make progress if i dont work hard so

LR: i just keep looking forward to seeing my friends again

TF: Good luck! I'm sure they're all looking forward to seeing you again, too!

TF: I hope whatever separated you from them wasn't anything too awful or serious. :c

LR: eh

LR: so question

LR: if you cant speak because of your voice being dangerous

LR: do you sign? :O

TF: Yes I do! Though most of the time I end up using a white board.

TF: Not many people bother to learn sign language. :/

TF: I'm assuming you have, though :O

LR: i know sign!! :O ugh yeah i hate it, no one knows it so im always like "wtf"

TF: Oh, I know! DX I wish learning to sign was included in basic schoolfeeding like learning Alternian.

TF: Out of curiosity, what made you decide to learn sign language?

LR: uhhh its a long story that basically ends in "im mute"

TF: Wow, I've never come across a fellow mutie :o

TF: This calls for (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ～『✧~*SPECIAL EMOTES*~✧』

TF: Granted, I would have started using those eventually anyways. (◕ω◕✿)

TF: I lost track of the website I copy them from for a bit. (●︿●;;)

LR: thats cute wtf

LR: im lazy and never use things like that even though theyre adorable

TF: Thank you! (◠ω◠✿) I'm always worried they make me seem obnoxious or something, but they're just so much more fun and expressive! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

LR: im a firm believer that if someone finds you obnoxious then theyre just missing out

LR: be yaself

TF: Exactly! (ﾉ◠ヮ◠)ﾉ Who has time for that kind of negativity? Not this mime!

LR: YOURE A MIME

LR: oh my god

TF: Is that a good "oh my god" or a bad "oh my god"? (●﹏●✿)

LR: a good one lol

TF: (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ Great! I was worried for a second.

TF: Not many people enjoy mimes. (″･ิ_･ิ) I guess I remind them too much of the clowns.

LR: i mean i guess i could understand that

LR: but mimes are usually harmless so like

TF: It really sucks. ┐(‘～`；)┌ But what can you do other than keep on keeping on, right? (´･ω･`)

LR: yeah! thats a good way to look at it

LR: like

LR: fuck them

LR: lol

LR: you seem pretty cool either way

TF: ∩(◕//ω//◕)∩ Thanks!

TF: You seem pretty cool, too (✿◠ヮ◠)

LR: cool? im ice cold B)

LR: YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH

-- tapeFace [TF] plays a sick ass guitar riff B3 --

TF: Also, can I just say I love your text color? (⊙△⊙✿) I'm a sucker for super bright pastels!

LR: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA thanks ^^ its really beautiful huh? it sounds like im trying to toot my own horn or something but just

LR: i could fuckin stare at it all night

LR: so like do you for reals stand outside all night and just mime at people

LR: what u do

TF: I actually work as a janitor at a library. (◕︿◕✿) It's not very fun, but miming on street corners doesn't keep me fed and sheltered.

TF: But on my nights off, you can find me in the park being a miming dork to my heart's content (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

LR: being a janitor sounds terrible RIP

TF: It is, but sometimes I get to have a little fun. ԅ(≖ω≖ԅ)

TF: The library I work at has a real problem with people doing the frick frack behind the bookshelves or under tables.

LR: Oh what the hell,

TF: My boss pays me extra to expose anyone I find.

TF: As mean as it is, I get a laugh out of ruining the mood for some people. (n゜ω゜n)

TF: Their expression are priceless when they realize they've been caught

TF: Though some of them get very angry and try to kill me. (⊙︿⊙✿)

LR: not surprised in the least

LR: but like...... why a library

LR: why would they fuck in a library

LR: BOOKS GET ME SO HOT

TF: Libraries have to be one of the unsexiest places, yet at least twice a month

TF: THERE THEY GO, HUMPING IN THE GEOGRAPHY SECTION

LR: JUST SLAM A BOOK CLOSED ON MY DICK JUST FUCKING DO IT

TF: The only thing worse than breaking up couples is people who bring in food and hide their food trash because then we get ANTS. (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻

TF: I CAN'T TYPE LOUD ENOUGH ABOUT HOW MUCH I HATE ANTS.

TF: Just looking at one makes my skin crawl! {{p´Д｀q}}

LR: ugh ants are such a gross hassle

LR: especially trying to figure out where they come from??

LR: how the fuck did they get in

TF: I don't know but they need to STOP ( ≧Д≦)

TF: They're the absolute worst and I hate having to get rid of them! They're so little and they get everywhere, and they have the nerve to bite!

TF: And it's hard to be sure you got all of them because they're so small and they completely disappear on carpet (┳Д┳)

LR: plus the leave that gross chemical trail for other ants to follow

LR: eugh

TF: ((brb))

TF: UUUUuuuugh, literally everything about them is awful (╬ Ò﹏Ó)

LR: id say i hate spiders more tbh

TF: I honestly don't mind them too much (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) the small ones are adorable

TF: Jumping spiders give me a fright, though (●︿●✿) I don't mess with those.

LR: all spiders terrify me

LR: its dumb

LR: even the harmless ones

LR: they just got too many legs.................

TF: Eugh, I can understand that. (●﹏●✿) Centipedes creep me out for the same reason.

LR: fffffffffffffffUCK those things

LR: fuck all things with more than four legs

TF: Some things with more than four legs are so cute though! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ Like ladybugs and butterflies and praying mantises

LR: one of those things is not like the other

TF: One of those things just doesn't belong? /(●△●✿)\

TF: I think praying mantises have an underappreciated cuteness to them. (´◡ω◡`) And it's so funny watching them chop at things (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ

LR: i watched a video of one give birth to a terrible parasite that drove it to seek out water and drown itself

TF: (⊙︿⊙) ...

TF: (´＿｀。) They can't always be cute

LR: its a darn shame too

TF: That poor thing. （；￣д￣） Who would even film that? It sounds awful

LR: apparently its common

LR: hairworms?

TF: Yikes. (◕﹏◕)

TF: That kind of make me think of those flies that infect bees.

TF: I hope those never adapt to infect grubs or something. (⊙﹏⊙)

LR: THAT

LR: IS TERRIFYING

TF: I KNOW RIGHT??

TF: I MEAN WE'RE BASICALLY SUPER EVOLVED BUGS

LR: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

TF: (⊙∩⊙✿) I immediately regret this line of thought. I made a terrible mistake

LR: i regret your line of thought too

LR: i am

LR: scarred for life

TF: THEN HOW ABOUT A NICE UNSCARRING SUBJECT? (ﾉ⊙ヮ⊙)ﾉ

TF: Do you have any quadrants you're looking forward to seeing?

LR: YAS

LR: i miss my mate and my moirail

LR: and some fucker who is sorta my kismesis but like

LR: its complicated?

LR: noncommittal "eh?" sound

TF: (◕△◕)Oh wow, you have so much going on.

TF: What's your sorta-but-not-really kismesis like?

LR: hes a dick but also i guess hes attractive? i think? im not actually sure

LR: i dont really feel that way about people so its hard to tell

LR: i guess he looks good

LR: BUT YEAH were just

LR: dicks to each other all the time

TF: Sounds like fun (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

TF: What about your matesprit and your moirail?

LR: oh my god so my matesprit is literally the coolest person in the fucking universe (no offense to you Cacoph cuz youre up there) and shes cute and she bakes a lot and shes good at it and she has her OWN BAKERY (which i work at) and she memes on me all the time and we just have so much in common

LR: she makes my heart do the backflip things

TF: (ㄒoㄒ) Oh my god, that's so sweet! You sound like the cutest couple

LR: yeah except i never told her i was going anywhere and its been two weeks i think so shes probably angry as fuck

LR: shes gonna rip my face off when i come back

TF: WELP

TF: It was nice knowing you

TF: Your memory will live on forever in this chatlog

LR: here lies Wynter: their mate fucking murdered them with a glare

TF: Killed before their time, they will be missed. (◡︿◡,✿)

TF: Did you at least tell your moirail?

LR: yeah

TF: Good, so you won't be double dead once they see you again. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ

TF: I really hope you can smooth things over with your matesprit once you see her again. (◕︿◕) It's really gonna suck if you lose her.

LR: YEAH IM PRETTY SURE ID JUST

LR: DIE

LR: ON THE SPOT

TF: PLEASE DON'T DIE ヽ(´□��。)ﾉ WE ONLY JUST MET

LR: RIP,,,,

LR: two weeks is the longest ive gone without video games

LR: im dying

TF: What kind of video games do you play? (◕△◕✿)

LR: anything i can get my soulless little hands on

TF: That's a lot of games probably (✿◕△◕)~★

TF: I mostly just play casual things like Stardew Valley, Minecraft, and Lusus Crossing

LR: i do all of those things

LR: an also COD and Halo and Overwatch

TF: I tried playing COD, but the online players were so rude and negative. (≖︿≖✿) I doubt a single one of them was older than six.

TF: I haven't tried the other games you mentioned, though

LR: you should try :O Overwatch is super fun

TF: Really (◕△◕✿) What's it like? I see memes and fanart all the time on bubblr, but does it really live up to the hype?

LR: its grossly addictive

LR: and you get matched with people of similar skill so when you first start out you probably wont run into the gross types that play COD because theyre just starting out as well

TF: That sounds great (◕ω◕✿) It'll be nice not to have wrigglers screaming at me to git gud just because I haven't poured my entire existence into the game

TF: Does it run better on hisktop, or should I get it for the game system? (◕△◕✿)

LR: i play it on console but i believe theres a bigger playbase on husktop

LR: i would suggest only getting it on husktop if you have an external mouse

TF: Alright then, husktop it is. (◕‿◕✿)

TF: Eugh, that emote didn't come out well (◕﹏◕✿)

LR: o vo

TF: ⊙v⊙

LR: oh god

TF: ಠ_ಠ I'm suddenly very bad at emotes.

TF: why this

LR: cant always be good at it

LR: what about you, you got any quads youre gogo for?

TF: No, sadly not. (◡︿◡✿) I've had crushes, but they never amounted to anything

TF: On a whim, I signed up for a matchmaking thing just for curiosity's sake, and I got matched with a highblood. ヽ(*・ω・)ﾉ

LR: oh shit highbloods dawg

TF: I'm actually pretty nervous. Looking over his profile, he seems really grumpy and serious. (●﹏●✿)

LR: oh shit x2

LR: good luck

TF: Thanks, I'm gonna need it. ヽ(°ロ°)ﾉ

TF: I had a lot of fun chatting with you! (◕ω◕✿) Unfortunately, I need to get going.

LR: oh sure

LR: lemme know how ya date goes!

TF: Will do, friendo! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ Good luck making it back to your friends and quadmates!

-- tapeFace [TF] ceased pestering liberatedRaptor [LR] --

#pesterlogs #tapeface #stellarsolarian #the children get along 8dd friendship achieved #hear no evil see no evil

0 notes