#the worst thing was the unsolicited advice.

[rares-posts]

Dictating other people's fandom experience will never come in style. Stop trying lmaooo.

#do what makes you happy #don't spoil other people's fun with unsolicited advice #or virtue signaling which is worst #like if the thing is harmless who cares

[fawnpires]

HOW TO DISAPPEAR. — CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE.

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ synopsis: after a failed attempt at a date, you unexpectedly find yourself in the hands of comfort of your dormmate, (also known as your captain.)

꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: bits of angst, age difference, comfort sex, body worship, praise kink, soft dom!price, vaginal fingering, size difference, size kink, just a whole lot of filth, grinding, overstimulation, daddy kink, missionary position, reader is described as feminine (descriptions of feminine clothes, anatomy.)

Provided with an interval of short respite, you find yourself in a situation; one that you would've never expected to end up in, much in similarity to a fly tangled in a spider's web. You in contrast to the fly, you're meet-up date the spider. As weird as the analogy was, it was the best description to fit whatever you were in. Drifted mid-thigh dress, Mary-Jane platformed heels, and an elegant touch to your appearance — a noticeable separation between your standard uniform attire and skin constantly caked in dirt and some drying blood originated from a concluded expedition. You'd been granted permission to be let off base for the night, just for this single opportunity.

A few miles away from base, in some settled town, there you stood in front of an entrance to a restaurant. Lip of your bottom lip chewed from your top row of teeth, the stinging cold of the wind blowing directly at your face each time you watched either sides of the sidewalk for the man. Sparks of anticipation raged at your chest in hopes for him to arrive.

Fifteen minutes, then thirty, then a hour. A second passing of that first hour.

You leaned up against the tile of the building, slumped and at a loss of confidence of him showing up. Perhaps it was the unsolicited consequences of your actions, having been warned by your peers days prior. Cautionary pieces of advice on how the guy could be a complete fraud — you having been fallen victim like the many other girls he had in the centers of his palms, tearing their hopes down and slaughtering their hearts apart. Naivety had got the best to you for this — immediate regret flooding.

A majority of guys were assholes. That was that, nothing more. Nothing practical, and no explanations to further expand into the subject matter. They possessed the kind of crudity, a sense of vulgarness that was nothing but mere torture — burying their teeth into people most sensitive to vulnerability, dismantling of their emotions. Warning signs came at you all at once and you do what you do best; be entirely oblivious to it, look past it and push on with your romanticized scenarios of the worst.

You had a terrible habit of doing that — being unsophisticated to new things. You loathed it, and wished you could overcome it but somehow; you just never do, never learn from your own tragedies. And it had just happened again on this particular night, one full of hope and keenness, now drained out and wrung of it. On the surface, you’re a solely normal girl. But if someone were to really reach down and observe your mentality in this moment, oh, how corrupt they’ll view you as. Corrupted. Heartbroken.

A deeper chew into your lip distracts you. From the tears that are right about to drip from your glossy eyes, that is. Another distraction is the bone of your thumb sliding across the screen of your mobile, alternating between multiple kinds of screens — waiting for a singular apology, some kind of notice from the man. The sight was humiliating to be in position, to you, at least; slumping at the wall of some restaurant, on the brink of the tears just because of one guy who wouldn’t give his presence to you. Fucking humiliating, you think, peering at the void of screen — sauntering away from under the restaurant’s porch and onto the sidewalk.

Chime.

Through a glassy vision, you examine the illuminated screen; white and blaring with a single slab of a message punctured right in the center. You're quick to press an index finger to the message, an eagerness — not too hopeful, not too built-up — risen to your chest. Right, don't get that eagerness up. If you squint through the pooling tears, it's not a formatted text, but a single photo attachment right in place of the chatroom (blurry resolution, a presumed accidental send right to you).

While you look more into the attachment, it just garners more and more of your attention. Nothing of the real world is real to you. Only that specific file.

You feel a swell of more humiliation rush to your face, bleeding of a scorching warmth while more tears just threaten to fall down your already-stained cheeks. None of it was a pleasure to see — a girl in the image pressed up against him — shoved right to your face. Jealousy wasn't the correct terminology, but provoked? That definitely was. Processing the image, a new message forms right underneath it — as if more of your reality couldn't come crumbling down within this night.

Wrong person, didn't mean to send.

His message makes you delirious, nearly driven to the borderline of hysteria — because, fuck, was he a jackass.

Found another girl, much prettier than you. You're nothing but an easy whore, easy to please, I never wanted to meet up with your slut ass anyways.

The final message of his shreds your heart to pieces, a pile of shattered fragments while the text replays in the back of your head; easy whore, slut ass, amateur insults you've heard frequently — but it clings to you so easily, weighing you down like a pathetic mass that is near-impossible to rid of. With a combination of pathetic weight, degrading names, and your heart burst into portions — you could only help yourself to cry; silently sob into the heel of your palms while you speed walk up the slope of the sidewalk. Sweaty, ruined, and teary-eyed — who knew you were so easy to break with a couple of shaming messages and a stood-up date?

By the time you've practically hiked up a few couple of roads and hills, the pain of the route wasn't the only thing that was causing a repeated ache in yourself — a reminder to never wear heels to a faraway date. Mascara ran down in gray-ish streaks with your pristine tears, the sniffling of your nose amid the quietude of the nearing midnight. The structure of base comes into view, a few windows of light plastered onto the colossal build; it's an abnormally comforting sight, one that you've grown used to — you could consider it home, somehow, in a strange way.

Carefully, quietly, you enter through the roofed front entrance and curve the usual course to the third floor — where your shared room was located. The halls were quiet, dimly lit with a disgustingly bright light of a tinted yellow. Some rookies were outside their doors chatting, greeting you as you somberly walked through the halls with a depressing greet back to them; through the sorrow, you still had conjured up formality. Weakly, you push on the solid matter of your dormitory room and close it behind you — the hallway light no longer spilling on the insides, shrouding you in a darkness that can only be eliminated with a glimpse of moonlight peeking through the curtains right between you and Price's mattress.

Staggering over to the edge of your own bed, you slouch down and tore your platforms off, legs to your chest while your face pressed to the patches of your knees. Aware that your captain had been knocked cold in a deep slumber a few feet away from you — you give an attempt to muffle your cries that were increasing in volume, some even gliding through the attempts and into the atmosphere. Just as you were about to give up as a whole to even try to lower your noises of misery; a lamp clicks on, filling the room with a burst of a glow, Price is positioned in a half-laid figure — muscle-tight white t-shirt, visible gray sweatpants under the thinning of his blanket, a mess of his darkened brunette hair, and his thick beard aligning the strong outline of his jaw.

He squints, then widens his eyes up to the sight, elevating more of himself up to where he sat on the edge of his bed — strong legs dangling off the cliff of the mattress.

"Christ, kid," His voice raspy, as if it ran across gravel, "What time did you get here?"

"A few minutes ago." you reply, still teared.

A smidge of concern is what he indulges himself in; the concern of your circumstances, and oddly enough — your own wellbeing. His eyebrows crook downwards in consideration, hoisting his athletic build off his bed, and he wanders over right to the own foam of your mattress. The foam right next to you slumps, heavily and in weight, his eyes delayed right set on you before they settle on his lap where his knuckles fold in a form.

"Thought you would be home much later. Tomorrow," He utters, thumbs twiddling in circles. "- And apologies if that's a bit intrusive. But-" he interrupts himself, sure that the topic would be too uncomfortable to speak on with a sudden upbringing, changing up. "You're crying, you're home early, so somethin' must've happened."

It was a polite nag — and it was unusual for your superior to show such sympathy right to you. Eased, you touch up on with his eye contact. He's not afraid of the embarrassment of staring, unlike you; damning yourself for being so meek. And you instead focus on the small wrinkles that touch at the skin around his cobalt irises with white, the stubble of his heavy beard, and the straight line of his pressed lips.

"I don't want to..." you trail off, impassive. "You know, put too much on you. It's way too late anyways, past midnight."

"Enlighten me." he assures, leaning to close more gap of space.

On his word and permission, your nails dig into the flesh of your exposed thighs under the skirt. It was sweet of him to offer a session of consolation, you thought — even if the slightest mention of the sensitive-touched subject was sufficient to your heart recycling that intolerable ache of shattering. But you gave into the man anyways, pouring your all right into him.

"Guy was a complete asshole, nothing more." You started off with a cruel remark. "Stood me up at that place we were supposed to meet-up at... you paused to take a chew of your bottom lip to prevent the tears, then finish; "...then he called me a whole load of nicknames — slut, whore — after he sent me a picture of him at a bar, with another girl."

His eyebrows no longer furrow, but slant in a condolence. The large palm of his hand rests at your back, patting at the cloth, while you couldn't help but bring yourself to embed your head into the white of his shirt — leaning yourself into him, both arms of muscle clamping around you and holding you tight. Tears inaudibly discolor the white cloth into a lighter gray, throat closing in on itself as it gradually grew harder to breathe.

"Sounds like a fuckin' slag to me," He melts into the embrace of your arms wrapping around his torso, tugging at his shirt. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I really am."

Sweetheart. Your heart throbs out of the ache, in a sheepish flattery at the term.

"John?" You ask. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

You pull yourself away from him, but keep your arms wrapped at his torso and your head at his shoulder blade. "Why are you being so nice to me?" the question of yours drags further on. "- never seen you this sympathetic to the rest of the rookies."

"Rookie? You aren't no rookie, kid." He said, taking your hands in his and keeping your wrists imprisoned in fists. "I can promise you that, you're considered one of the elite." he confesses, "And whatever that bastard told you is entirely wrong. He doesn't know you, really know you — he doesn't know you like I do."

Tension bred between you and him. With this input tension, he almost seemed like a whole new hollow of a person. Peculiar man. His words had an undertone of possessiveness to them — you didn't know if it had intended, or it had just came out in a way that you took as wrong; but it was wedged right in there, it had to be. In the juncture, he wasn't your superior, your ordering captain of an intimidating identity and wielded of firearms — but a man. A real, authentic, man clustered into a realistic wheel of pure emotions that you've grown a strange bond towards; like a quickly-developed bond out of the warfare.

He's a distraction. A pleasant distraction. Him and the conversation steers you away from your provisional depression, deteriorating it down to the backgrounds of your head. And you love it — every single minute that it consumes; and you love the way one of his hands palm at your thighs and brush up-and-down at the skin. Your hands in which encircle at his torso now rest at the front of hist chest, balling up the thinning fabric of his shirt, a breath hitching at his touch while you lean back by a few inches as both palms are now resting at your naked thighs.

One of his rested hands come to cradle the back of your head, pulling you in to feel his heavy breaths on the skin of your face. You alternate between his drowsy eyes of full lids and silk lips that bare only a minimum view of teeth; before you know it, those pairs of lipped silk on your own — finding purchase in clutching his shirt harder, more compulsion. His remaining hand at your thigh snakes to your waist during the kiss, manhandling you onto his lap. Your legs dangle off the sides, hands cupping at his face and pressing fingers into the scratch of his beard.

No longer a distraction he was but ashamed. Wanting to break off those plush lips of yours; resign off his position as captain, never to catch you in his sights again. But he just couldn't, devoted to entire being and after months of eyeing you around the barracks and missions — he had you right where he wanted you, pretty little thing right on his lap, the curve of your neck bent to slope your head down to press your lips to his.

Nothing wrong about it in these areas of pleasure, at least in his own set of minds.

He admires your anatomy through half-lid lenses; how your shut lashes curled to the upper section of your eye, the soft nudge of your nose to his, the exclusive shape of your face. His cradling hand favors almost the entire expanse of your head, locks intertwined between the slits of his thick fingers. Smacks of lips and grinding, a stir of unadulterated ecstasy, currents of shocks running along your spine — you worship everything about it, because it's a kind of a one-time thing, so sparse — quickly paced, (Although from now on, it might be something more of a complete thing with him).

"Never told me how good you could taste, darling," he rasps between kisses, "- and to believe you've been hidin' this from me all these months."

A few pants puff from your lips to his. "Wanted to, but didn't know if you wanted it."

"If I knew it felt like this, then I'd damned myself for not giving it a shot."

"I've wanted you for long." your words drag into a whine.

"Yeah? How long have you, honey?" he inquires, kissing along your jaw to give some breathing space in the mean time. "Want to hear you say it for me, come on."

You bite your lip, tilting your head back to grant more access for his lips to implant themselves on your flesh. "Even when I was still messaging that guy," you gasp on your words when he bites at your neck, tongue lapping at the mark. "I couldn't help but think of you. Pretended it was you telling me all of those dirtiest things, calling me your sweetheart, your girl..."

Your revelation stuns him back, kissing a particular patch of skin harsher when the words choke out from you — your hips grinding rougher into his crotch, hands on his chest tugging at his shirt, back formed in an arch.

"You never really wanted that man, didn't you?" he asks.

"No... no," you heave with your thighs squeezing together. "I guess I was just lonely, desperate to have someone fill the space where you should've been."

"Oh, you'll have me," he withdraws slowly, hands rested at each of your hips while a tensed eye contact returned, "Don't you worry that pretty little head of yours."

The next scene, his fingers trail down to your thighs once more — only this time they venture further, caressing the inner sections of your thighs from underneath the flow of your skirt. A whimper stifles in your throat; how long he’s waited to hear those noises. Those pretty, personal noises of yours.

His thumb rests at your clothed clit through your panties, a shock running up your spine at the contact. Your hands link around his neck, legs on-instinct spreading wider while on his lap. The thumb at your clit begins to rub small circles — and being no longer able to confine any noises or movements, your back arches in an impossible curl while you slant your head backwards and allow more of those pretty noises to tear from your throat. A feverish sensibility runs to your face like blood through veins, the rest of that heat flowing off of right into the surrounding air — nostrils continually crowded with the aroma of sex and his masculine scents of spiced cologne and puffed cigars where you tucked your head at the dip of his neck; face pressed into the side of his.

Thick fingers skate past the waistband of your panties, a gasp at the cold fingertips settling on your folds; moving ministrations collecting in rounds at your founded clit, middle and index finger prodding at your cunt — slamming into the sweet abyss of your cunt with a final maneuver; one that you've fabricated scenarios about in a wave of indignity established.

"John-" the whine of his name was cut-off when those fingers of his began to pump up-and-out of you. Your body grows frail, limp on his lap with only his one hand on your hip supporting you while the other was occupied at your cunt. "Feels s'good..."

"Yeah, doll?" he tilts his head to get a better look at your face of pleasured contortions, "I assure it'll be much better when I have you on my cock."

Your head tilts backwards using nothing but the air as a leverage, mouth agape; a range of sounds breaking free of the raw barriers of your throat. The concept of a ‘better’ sensation had caused your body to writhe under this every touch, a non-infectious fever messes at your head as your body does all it can do as of now; submit to him as if he were still under the title of ‘Captain’ out on the fields of war, putting you right under his controlled commands.

Price angles his head to where the point of his nose pokes at the heated flesh of your cheek, lips ghosting over the structure of your jaw. He pins ghost kisses over your cheek, then your jaw, flooding you over with an affection while his fingers worked their ways inside your cunt. The contact has a sting to it, almost like a prick of a needle — a burning, elating sensation against you that died down to a more soothed feeling.

The addition of two fingers thrusted up inside of you and a thumb rubbing in quick motions at your swollen clit matured a coil in your lower abdomen; sensitive and swirling in a dragged-out pleasure that was dying to be released of its own prison where it stood in place. Your mind was blank — full-on buzzed static and a memory like a cleaned slate; entirely drunk on wherever he chose to touch you, whether it was a small grasp of your waist or a rough motion to your the throb located right between your thighs.

Your skin had been wholly flushed of sweat and caused the material of your dress to stick to you, a pre-arousal starting to leak around the length of his fingers. Your chest heaved with each hefty breath, eventually diluting to shorter breaths that were practiced in shorter durations. The tips of his fingers never failed to press at that soft spot of sensitivity, a low moan or whine played each time he did press up at it.

You gather some composure to form words, stuttered and whines but perceivable enough to recognize as the spoken language.

“John- I’m gonna cum, feels s’good,” you whine.

He stares, languid. “I’m not stopping you reaching your own pleasure baby,” he whispers, continuing to ghost his lips against the bow of your jaw and the warmth of your cheek.

His permission was the maximum to send you over that long-awaited cliff of ecstasy; a glowing, flashing beam of white depicting of your eyesight. Your legs had extended themselves more in width at the overwhelming wave of rapture which brushes over your; back arched in an impossible hooked curve, nails digging through his shirt and leaving crescents into skin behind. A surge of your arousal bursts around his fingers, that still proceed to thrust into your cunt despite your orgasm already at its peak.

Your eyes twitch at his fingers through your orgasm, your fingers wrapping at the wrist of his moving hand. “S’too much, daddy, can’t do more…”

“Daddy, huh?” he questions, even shocked himself at the sudden term you use for him, “Never knew you were into that kind of shit, sweetheart,” his last sense of morality slips away, a carnage urge running through the path of his head. “But I gotta do this, get you all ready for my cock.”

He gives you a couple more of short, quickened thrusts into your cunt before he slides his drenched fingers out of you — a whine from your lips at the loss of contact that once filled you, kept you full and at ease. The hand rested at your hip travels to your back, easily handling you off his lap and gently tossing you back-facing the mattress. His hand of drenched fingers are slowly pulled in with the use of your fingers wrapped at the wrist, taking the digits into your mouth and lapping at your own personal taste.

“Christ,” he breathes, taking admiration in the way he stares at you while your tongue wraps at his fingers, “Fuckin’ minx.”

The clutch you have on his hand loosens up after you lap up the final remains of your taste on the pads of his fingers — now only coated in a thin layer of saliva. Price can only manage a gruff chuckle, eyeing his fingers before he can position himself between the space of your spread thighs; that had extended out for him without the need of a single order given to you.

You practically knew what he would’ve wanted of you in this situation; spread out those legs for him, exposing your all just for him.

He takes the time to quickly tug the white of his shirt over his head, an exhibition of a sculpted chest littered with some hair; glistened with sweat and glossed over in some shine. At this, your bottom lip tugs at your teeth and you raise an arm up to each strap of your dress — pulling the light-weighted item down your shoulder and down to your knees where your legs assisted with kicking the rest of it off. The both of you sat there, half-naked; a bra, panties, sweatpants, and boxers the only forms of shelters that was wedged in between from the final stage of being bare and intimate.

His fingers next work at the waistband of his sweatpants and rag it down along with his boxers — in some way, it was animalistic, like he was in some desperate need to get everything off in order to finally be inside of you, (Which was exactly that). You peel your panties, doused of a previous arousal, down your thighs and discard them onto the floor to be forgotten of. Focusing, you rested your head on a more elevated surface on the pillow for a better perspective — the perspective of his cock that hovered over your stomach; larger than average, a few prominent veins that ran from his base to the dulled head, and the pre-cum that glazed over the slit. A fist pumps at his cock a few times.

The sight was erotic — the absolute condition of the situation erotic. Pornographic, even; the modest swaying of your hips, the flat head of himself now rested at your inner thighs, and a spitting image of a man straight from a seventies adult film at your own personal use — something about this was so utterly artistic and devoted. Your chest grows heavy with an excitement, numbed of intense heat. The bleary-lidded aspect of his eyes only can help to cherish over you like a sacred entity; an angel sent from heaven for his own keep.

"Can't believe that arsehole, lovie," he vocalizes while running the rough of his hands up your hips, taking compliment to the way your supple flesh dents and forms to his touch. "You're absolutely gorgeous, such a pretty lil' lady."

"Please," you whimper, flat palms digging into the fitted sheet which your clammy body lays under. "Can't wait any longer, daddy..."

The nickname on your pretty lips again pitches him off the last bits of patience, the hold your hips tighter as his hips ram against yours — a rapid, precise movement. The sensation of his cock filling your tender cunt up after months of indulging in the same day-dream had your back arching over the mattress, head absorbed in the fabric of the pillow, legs reinforced around his waist. The few sets of thrusts are slow and devoted, due to your tightness and essentially preparing you for more to come.

"You poor thing," he breathes out, slamming his cock into your wanting walls, "You've longed of this, haven't you? Must've been achin' so bad for my cock in your pretty pussy."

You're deprived of your words — any consciousness of your body — and only can help yourself to nod, admitting to his query.

Your saccharine moans and additional whines that he hauls from you are sublime to his ears; ones that he, shamefully, has speculated while inspecting you each time you would return back to your shared room — in addition to his times of isolation when nobody was around and off to their combat drills, his fist fucking around his cock with his head thrown back to the tile of the shower, grunting and envisioning your swollen lips taking his cock in like a divine sacrament. His eyes drift to your chest — a grunt tearing from his throat each time your breasts jolted with each slam of your hips.

He shadows his body over your own, chest of hair pressing to the softer mounds of your breasts as his lips press to almost every spots of your face.

"Could he ever do this?" he questions against your face, head rested in the on your shoulder while the leaned position he holds himself in causes his cock to pound into you more aggressively and deeper. "Could that prick ever fuck you like this, baby? Like a real man?"

"N- No!" you stutter, pressing your face to his neck and digging your nails to the flexible muscles of his naked back. Your legs stand out in the air and twitch every so often. "He couldn't... only you can."

"Mmm," he hums, pounding into your sweet cunt like a drill-hammer. "That's right, doll. I'll be the only man to treat you like this, to pull those beautiful noises that you hide from me."

Drool begins to collect at a corner of your mouth as he converts your brain to a mush of mess, body compliant and gone completely frail to the way he pounds you into the mattress. His hands slowly move from your hips to the hardened walls behind your bed, distancing himself up by a few inches as he pursues with more thrusts brimming of carnality. Relevant creaks of the mattress and the shared commotion of solid grunts and pitched moans reverberated at the slim, smothered walls that had grew moist overtime in the airspace of sex.

The head of his cock kisses at your cervix, each protruding vein branding itself in the clenched walls of your cunt. Your back sprouts an ache in the arched posture you holds yourself in — one hand coming down to your stomach and pressing on the area you feel his cock stretches you out from.

A broken gasp abandons your lips, arms stabilized up at your head and trembling. "John, mmph—" you get out, "S'too much, can't handle a lot more..."

"I know, darlin'," he said, "But all you gotta do is lay here all pretty and let me fuck you, simple as it sounds. Can you do that for me, pretty?"

You squeal when he gives a particular harder thrust into you. "I dunno—"

"C'mon, pretty thing, you can do it," Price said, breath full of cigar smoke, "Make me proud, angel."

Tears — not of sadness, but the sensation of being cherished washing over you and hitting you like a brick — paint your shot-opened eyes, only a silent nod agreeing to his words. He smiles, leaning to give you a kiss on your forehead before positioning himself back to your gleaming entrance; large hands strong on both sides of your hips, his upper-half slumped over you, your lower-half elevated and rested around his waist. The next collection of thrusts are fast, laced with precision as you feel yourself grow weaker, whines leaving your mouth with his more often occurring groans. Your inner-thighs grow soaked, body filthy of sweat and the remnants of your former orgasm on your skin that he caused.

Your entrance is slick, glistened with your arousal that had just started to form up. The noises of skin-on-skin escalating, and the strength he drills into you becoming overwhelming. With your smaller frame in comparison to his much larger, bulky build; you were bound to be left sore and aching after this. Your head has gone stupefied in every single corner — drunk of his cock and how it never fails to inch your closer to the final stage of pleasure that has you seeing heaven and blinded visions of white. A familiar coil in your stomach has more pressure added onto it with his flat palm still resting on it, slightly weighing down on the sticky layer of skin. You're beneath under him once again, much like how you did first on his lap, but more amorous.

The bulbous girth of his cock reaches barbaric speeds, providing you with no breaks in between — your desperate whines and pleads out to him cut short, delivered in incomprehensible babbles. Your legs are desensitized; back offered off of the bed as the two of his hands move to clutch your waist in a humane nature as if you were some doll, his hips paused right to yours and his cock nestled in the depths of you. Your fingers run up and down his back in brisk movements, nails slashing the tattered skin of declined battle scars. Warmth spurts right through your walls and washes over your insides in tints of white.

For a second time, the constructed coil in you loses itself, inspiring your cunt to spill while motionless at his cock and douse his rested thighs in your arousal. He slouches over you, plunging his frame down to rest against you. His chest meets right to yours; the soft, plush flesh of your breasts contrary to his more vigorous torso of hair furnishing the domain. The present force once at your delicate cunt is absent, pulled out, a final low whimper given rise to at the loss. Your nails remove themselves from the violent burial they give to his back, compressing your palms and stiffening your arms into him that was an embrace.

His head that rests at your shoulder turns to your face of a fucked-out expression, a chuckle from his mouth at the sight as his lips press sloppy kisses to your neck and face; a hum from your mouth at the softened contact of his beard scratching at your face. Whispers of praise and repeated cooes dive to your ears — quite inaudible since you were clearly still numb from sex. Sex that you played-out with your Captain, your superior. In a moralistic classification, such a relationship with a superior figure was inappropriate; putting you and Price at the risk of being ejected from both your positions, but it didn't really matter as of now.

As long as he devoted himself to you with his all, and you did the same for him, there was no wrongs. He was the one in command after all, supplied with a great amount of power over the Task Force.

He peppers your face in the traces of his lips. "You doin' better now, dolly?"

"Mmhm, yeah..."

"Much better than him, isn't that right?"

You give him a dopey smile. "Way better."

Price brings his hands to your hair, petting at the strands and locking your face in the scent of himself while he never falters to bring a kiss to whichever part of your face. "Yeah, I know that, sweet girl. Much better."

#. ˚ ʚ — ꒰ john price. ꒱ #captain john price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x female reader #john price x female reader #captain price smut #captain john price smut #john price smut #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 fanfic #oneshot #female reader #.୨୧ fawnpires

[bonefall]

BB!Honeyfern -> Honeysnake

A girl who's gonna be stealing a little more time in BB.

[ID: The Better Bones version of Honeyfern. She is a spiky, golden, blue-eyed cat with a brown mask and stripes. Her torso, paws, and 'boots' are creamy. She is being bitten by an adder, and prepares to bite back]

Clanmew Name: Mlashiff, Mlasis (Mla = Honey + Shiff = Frond, the leaf of a fern) (Mla = Honey + Sis = Serpent, generic term for snakes)

Alignment: ThunderClan

Relations: Parents - Sorreltail, Brackenfur Siblings - Molepaw, Cinderheart, Poppyfrost Ex-Mate - Berrynose Apprentice - Briarlight

Honeyfern stands tall as the strongest, most ambitious kitten in the Brackenfour litter. Through BB!Po3, she is a rising star in ThunderClan, and Hollypaw's rival. Honeyfern's ferocity was only matched by her compassion; in early BB!OotS, she doesn't hesitate to lay her life on the line to attack an adder in defense of Briarkit.

After fighting for several days against one of the worst injuries Clan cats know of, Honeyfern survives, and is bestowed the Honor Title of Honeysnake before even getting her first apprentice.

(One of the first completely uncontroversial choices that Bramblestar makes!)

But, the painful ordeal causes Honeysnake to realize things about her boyfriend, Berrynose. Traits that had once been endearing were suddenly not so cute. Boldness comes across as selfishness. Protectiveness becomes controlling behavior. His 'sense of humor' means he doesn't take things seriously.

If only it could have been so simple to just leave him. No, she never would have guessed that the week she left Berrynose, he would immediately become interested in her sister. Poppyfrost!! What are you doing?! GIRL

With her uncle Thornclaw as deputy and far too busy for an apprentice anyway, it's obvious who Briarkit's mentor must be. The brave cat who saved her life became her guide and best friend, staying by her side through every hardship until her fateful death during the Battle of the True Eclipse (BOTTE).

LOTS more under the cut!

Honeysnake's personality is firm, responsible, and occasionally overly proud of herself. At the same time, she is driven by kindness more than anything else, and would break her own back to lessen the burden on her clanmates. She takes after her dad, Brackenfur, more than any of her siblings!

Because she massively values her own strength and her helpfulness, she can be goaded into overexerting herself and bossing around other cats. She doesn't mean to be pushy, but her heart is so large that she sometimes fails to realize that she's only made things worse. Big sister energy!

She must learn to balance this; a flaw is often a value in excess.

When she was an apprentice, her personality could really clash with Cinderpaw's.

Cinderpaw is very emotional, to the point of instability. Honeypaw couldn't understand that Cinder had to learn to work it out on her own, and sometimes inserted herself into her problems

This would make them both upset, as it wouldn't work and then Honeypaw would scold Cinderpaw for not taking her unsolicited advice.

In spite of all this, they love each other and got closer when they got older. It's ironic that Honey and Poppy would eventually be the ones fighting-- they NEVER fought as kids!

She fell in love with Berrynose after he developed a crush on her. Honey hadn't really thought much about romance before then, but she fell hard.

Berrynose was bold and exciting. She was always the one chasing after other people, finding ways to help everyone except herself. To BE pursued instead felt flattering, even freeing. He could be REALLY mean, yeah... but that was endearing, for a time. It felt like honesty, and it was refreshing that he would just say the things she would hold back to be polite, or diplomatic.

They were getting serious before the snake, which is now shuffled to happen in the first book of BB!OotS

The energy in ThunderClan had been... off, for a while. Since Hollyleaf had revealed the secret of her parentage and vanished, uncle Thornclaw had replaced Squirrelflight as deputy, and Leafpool was demoted as Cleric.

The couple had been discussing kittens and such, something uplifting so things could start to heal and move on.

In hindsight, they were normal adult discussions. In Honeysnake's reflections, something is ironic about how mature Berrynose had been just before the incident. Like he really was growing up, for a while.

Was he truly getting better? Or was that just a side of him she stopped being able to see in the new light? She'll never know.

The fight with the adder is burned into her mind, in extreme detail.

She remembers being cuddled next to Berrynose from the second level of the camp. She remembers the way her stomach dropped when she realized, from her vantage point, that a branch-shaped object under the wall was slithering. How she screamed for Briarkit to get back and bound across the quarry faster than she'd ever moved before.

The snake bit her first, and then she bit it back.

Venom from an adder burns. It quickly spread up her paw and through her arm, searing her veins like fire. She crumpled into a screaming heap next to her dead foe, sending the entire camp into a panic.

Jayfeather, already overwhelmed through being a new Cleric working alone after Leafpool's demotion, having recently been publicly disowned, and still mourning his sister, had to spring into action

And the very first crack that Honey noticed on her mate was how Berrynose threatened Jayfeather. "You'd better save her, if you don't I'LL kill you!"

Jayf didn't even dignify it with a response. She was glad he didn't. She didn't want Jay doing anything but helping her not have burning blood.

An adder bite is one of the deadliest, most painful, difficult injuries to treat across all four Clans. She required round-the-clock care and was in constant pain, for days, without guarantee she would survive.

And Berrynose was unhelpful, to say the least. Even going so far as to wrinkle his nose when Jay chewed up a mouthful of nettle for Honeyfern's treatments.

What she once found funny and endearing wasn't so cute when he couldn't be serious when she wanted him to be.

Leafpool, ex-Cleric, started stepping in to help Jayfeather in the den... against Bramblestar's demotion. Jay had never treated such a serious injury before, the rest of the Clan didn't stop needing treatment

The Clan was already a bit split on the idea of Leafpool not being a Cleric anymore. She's Leafpool Moonpool. She made mistakes-- but what else are the Queen's Rights even for?

Has she not already been punished? And what about Honeyfern, their clanmate, who needed her help right now?

And Bramblestar would NEVER prevent Leafpool from giving an injured cat from getting the proper treatment they need..........

But, of course, Berrynose was more loyal to his mentor than almost anything else. He had concerns about an unholy, codebreaking ex-Cleric attempting to heal his mate, and what it would mean for Bramble to rescind an earlier command.

Honeyfern, obviously, didn't care if StarClan themselves had come down to say Leafpool Bad. She wanted to not suffer and die.

And after monumental effort on the part of two trained cats, the entire Clan doing their part to support her, and Honeyfern's indomitable will to survive, the burning cooled to embers and the pain subsided.

She survived the bite of an adder, killing the beast in the process. An achievement that was so impressive that ThunderClan concluded she MUST be truly blessed.

Bramblestar is stingy when it comes to Honor Titles, but for this? He could not ignore it. The Clan needed a morale boost. She had survived the insurmountable. Everyone had come together over this situation, in a way that they hadn't in many moons.

So, as soon as she could stand for a ceremony, he decreed before their ancestors that the venom had been an anointment (thornclaw came up with that line). From now on, she would be known as Honeysnake, in honor of her survival.

It's rare that cats who are so young receive such Honor Titles, and it immediately boosted her up in status.

Berrynose was jealous of this. Not in a way where he'd say so openly, but in the way he would downplay her Title, not celebrate her achievements, or use it to deflect in conversations.

The breaking point was when the newest crop of apprentices was assigned, and Bramblestar decided that Honeysnake was absolutely ready for her first apprentice.

(Millie's three kits, despite being a little older than Dove and Ivy, were slightly delayed in their apprenticeship so they could all be apprenticed at once)

Hazeltail and Mousewhisker had proven themselves strong and competent, ready for their first apprentices. Mousewhisker was given Bumblepaw, Hazeltail receives Blossompaw.

To make sure there weren't too many young mentors, Birchfall was given Dovepaw, and Brightheart received Ivypaw.

And, lastly, to commemorate her strength and honor how she'd saved this child, Honeysnake was given Briarpaw.

...leaving Berrynose as the only cat of his litter without an apprentice! While Bramblestar, HIS mentor, was leader!!

But instead of being upset with Bramblestar, he felt Honeysnake had taken what he'd been owed.

Maybe some other time, Honey would have tried to comfort him, and make him feel better about it all

But she was DONE. That was ENOUGH coddling! SHE was the one who had gone through all of that, killed an adder and saved Briarpaw, and now he feels so entitled to an apprentice that he's upset with HIS MATE?

Poppyfrost, meanwhile, had been watching the ceremony of the apprentices with a forlorn gaze... and was about to get sucked in.

Without getting into Poppyfrost too much here, her key traits are Curiosity and Avoidance. Setting boundaries has always been difficult for her, or saying no to people. So when Berrynose turned his sights on her following his breakup with her sister...

Poppyfrost felt good. She felt desirable, for the first time since she'd given birth to Jayfeather's secret children. She hadn't shared with anyone how low she'd felt for the past 6 months, and it suddenly felt like there was a light in her life.

From Honeysnake's perspective, though, Berrynose found a whole new way to get into her life through Poppyfrost. Poppy started taking his side, or at the very least, not supporting her sister. Honey couldn't get away from Berry without avoiding Poppy, too. So the fights continued.

But, the most important thing in Honey's life quickly became her apprentice.

Briarpaw was attentive and enthusiastic, a bright little ball of light and hope. Honeysnake had a lot to teach her and she listened eagerly

But Honeysnake couldn't save her when the tree came crashing down.

Briarpaw lost control of her back legs, and it was immediately, widely accepted she would not be able to become a warrior.

As Jayfeather spoke with Littlecloud about how to treat her and give her a good quality of life, picking up the "notes" for Wildfur's old mobility device, Millie started becoming very controlling of her daughter.

At first, Honeysnake tried to give the family space... she didn't know what to do, if it was right to get involved or not.

After all, Millie is Briarpaw's mother. She just wants what's best for her, and Honeysnake wasn't sure how much Briarpaw could do now either. She loves her apprentice, so she didn't want to hurt her, or ruin her family by accident.

But then she started to realize how miserable Briarpaw was becoming. She was always such a joyful kid, so excited to get out there and try everything. A radiant little fireball, eager to fight for her Clan.

Now, she was silent, just letting her mother speak for her, only ever piping up to comfort her own parent.

Her quietness wasn't coming from her injury-- it was coming from how Millie was making her feel like her life was over. Like it would have been better if she died, since it was hurting her mom so much to "see her like this."

One day something hit Honeysnake, like a revelation. "I never stopped being her mentor. It's STILL my job to be there for her!!"

She couldn't completely stop Millie from making Briarlight feel awful. She couldn't prevent Blossompaw from misplacing her anger on her sister. She couldn't make Graystripe do his job as a dad to help his kids.

But Honey could be there for Briarpaw. She could be a safe place to talk, a friend and a mentor, and just get her away from Millie for a few hours a day.

And she was even wise enough now to realize that arguing with Millie directly would only make things worse for the young cat. Everything was for Briarpaw, what SHE needed. How to help her.

Together with Jayfeather, they'd even planned out how to schedule things so that Briarpaw could speak for herself without Millie interjecting.

For Briarpaw, it meant everything. There were people in her corner.

Though she couldn't pass an assessment in the usual way, Bramblestar still allowed Briarlight to get her full name. After all, she, like her mentor, had survived the unthinkable.

Honeysnake had never been so proud of anything in her whole life.

And at the end, just before the Battle of the True Eclipse when the Dark Forest was going to attack, they had a final conversation. Watching the moon inch closer to the sun, and knowing it may be the last time they ever spoke.

Briarlight said something she'd been holding back for a long time. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the apprentice you deserved..."

It made Honeysnake's belly lurch. After all they'd been through, to hear she was still holding onto a piece of what Millie made her believe was painful. "What...? I didn't save you to make a warrior. I did it because you have a life to live. Brili, I'm your mentor. I'm supposed to deserve you."

It turned out to be exactly what they suspected, the last words they'd ever speak to each other. Honeysnake fought ferociously for the Clans in the BOTTE, reunited with her old rival Hollyleaf and putting her quarrels aside. She meets her fate halfway through the night, in the bloody Second Wave.

Her death fills ThunderClan with sorrow. She's deeply mourned by everyone; her mother, sisters, friends, nespring, Clanmates. But most of all, Briarlight holds her memory close to fill her with strength in the coming years.

Honeysnake's spirit is invoked for fulfilling one's full potential, and making hard, painful choices to reach it. As the generations go on, she's associated with the shed skin of snakes and beetles, and the 'necessity' of putting oneself in danger to help others.

OTHER TRIVIA

SPIKY. I decided to give her Brackenfur's colors with Sorreltail's texture. She's the most intensely-colored of her siblings, BRIGHT golden, hence the name.

She's also got Sorreltail's torso marking going on, and her fuzzy 'dividers.' She got the boots from Brackenfur though.

In BB, she has Sweetness Tolerance! Ironically enough, she is able to taste and enjoy honey... and boy does she like her sauces.

Her favorite food is honey-glazed bacon, meat strips cut from the belly of a boar. A rare treat but a delicious one. She likes to eat the whole thing like a noodle, chewing it upwards and not using her paws at all.

As a kit, Brackenfur used to tell her to mind her manners. She had a bad habit of eating things without using her paws, because she likes sauce but not getting it on her beans.

She had her eyes on deputyship from a young age. She wanted to be just like her dad.

Losing him was rough. It was even harder when Bramblestar took power just a few months later, she felt like she should have been seeing her dad making the announcements...

But, she stayed strong, especially for her siblings who seemed to be taking it even worse.

Canon doesn't mention what sort of snake bit her, but BB takes place in northern England and the only venomous snakes there are ADDERS babey!!

I drew a girl adder on purpose because something felt very funny about this. here I go pitting two bad bitches against each other. diversity win! The wild animal that tries to eat a baby is a girl!

ADDERFACT: A female Vipera Berus is brown, a male is black and white, but their color can vary immensely.

Bramblestar is a terrible namer. Honeysnake, Mlasis, is a fine name, but he chose the generic term for all serpents (sis) instead of an adder specifically (sipya). In his head it sounded more honorable.

But! It's not the worst!

"Honeyfern" was given by Firestar, and intended to be a nod to her rivalry with Hollyleaf! Hollyleaf's suffix referred to the leaves of most trees, and Honeyfern's to the leaves of ferns.

Both them were named after Brackenfur, who they both looked up to. Brackens are a type of fern, and Firestar wanted to invoke a plant for the names of both cats.

Because Honeyfern was named first and also Brackenfur's child, she got the word for fern leaves.

Of course *Holly*leaf was already named after a plant... but no one ever said Firestar was a FANTASTIC namer either, after all, he's the genius behind "Brambleclaw."

Honeysnake's relationship with Poppyfrost was stable at the time of her death, with her two young nespring having been born... but if it was ever going to "improve," who knows.

but they were cordial. At the very least. She would have been involved in the lives of Mole and Cherry.

Unfortunately there's always a lot left unsaid when someone dies so young. She had a whole life in front of her, cut short because of Tigerclaw's ambition.

#tw snake #tw snake bite #VIOLENCE #Adder bite #adder #BB!Honeyfern #Honeysnake Shuffle #Honeysnake #Better Bones AU #tw pain #tw medical discussion #tw ableism

[kikyan]

Yandere Pomefiore Headcanons

TW/CW: Dark Content up ahead!! Yandere content specifically!! Themes will include but not be limited to, yandere, possessiveness, violence towards reader or characters, manipulation, mentions of stalking, obsession, etc. (I think that should be it but unless I'm missing something please do let me know!!) Please proceed with caution!!

DISCLAIMER: These are my interpretations of his/her/their persona and none of these is 100% accurate. I don't condone any of these actions in real life and all of this is purely fictional and should be taken as such! Underage characters will ONLY be given SFW headcanons, please respect this decision!

Banner made by @herestrish please don't steal my bestie worked hard on it and I love them so much :((

Vil Schoenheit

Beautiful Vil indeed, Vil is one of the characters who I feel relate to the most. His desire to be the fairest is rooted in the ideology that he has to work twice as hard for the praise that comes at no cost for Niege. Vil’s S/O would be someone who can see past that, maybe someone who can see the ‘ugliest’ parts of him but still want to be with him. Someone that can accept Vil for himself. With that said, he’s a manipulative, possessive, and overprotective yandere. 

It needs to be said that Vil is probably the most reliable housewarden here. I feel like he’s the type you should go to for advice because he tells it to you straight. He doesn’t sweeten his tone or downplay the situation to spare your feelings, he’s direct. The best way I can describe Vil and Neige is that Neige is cute, and Vil is hot. Niege is the cutesy persona, the kind and charismatic main character that you can’t help but root for in every situation. He’s literally the one who beats the villain with the power of friendship. Vil is a sophisticated and respected individual, the one who worked hard to get what they have, because of this. . .he’s often made to play the role of a villain. The one who is blinded by greed and stops at nothing to prevent the MC from getting what they want. That’s the role he plays. His S/O would be someone who sees past that, long story short someone who can respect and love Vil for himself rather than some silly persona he’s been pushed to play. Someone who can see Vil in the worst light but accepts him. You see the ugly but rather than shy away from it you learn to embrace it. 

I don’t want to say that he’s manipulative to the extent that Jamil might be, but he’s good with words. Pomefiore is a dorm that radiates beauty, not just physical appearance but how one carries themselves. This makes sense when in book 5 he talks to the others about skincare and even reminds Epel that ballet isn’t exactly a gendered sport. Beauty is how someone carries themselves, what they reveal when facing a tough situation, and how they view themselves and others, that’s beauty. If his S/O ever had a doubt, they would seek Vil’s opinion first. Of course, he knows more and his opinion is highly valued. His manipulation isn’t too complex but it follows the ideology that if a stranger gave an unsolicited opinion you won’t pay too much attention. Still, if a trusted friend gave it, you’d be inclined to trust them more. Under his guidance, Vil will slowly alter your mindset as well as your opinions of others. He’s Vil, he has a keen eye for these things after all. Vil says things straightforwardly so you know he’s being honest, that’s gotta count for something! So while it’s not a big thing at the moment, his words start to weave themselves into your conscious decisions. He’s not someone you would doubt, much less disobey. 

He’s quite possessive. In the way Jamil doesn’t want to give his S/O up, he can’t stand the idea of someone taking you away from him! Vil is quite infatuated with you, you see. The one thing he wants is standing right in front of him, he’s not letting his opportunity go by. He’ll start by conviving you to spend time with him. You’re failing your potions class? Vil can offer to help but it won’t come for free! The occasional fashion advice or skin care opinion, always offering to teach you the ropes and how to accessorize. Granted if you don’t ask for it nor actively seek it, he’ll never push his opinions onto you. If you do however ask for his advice, he’ll make a tight schedule that takes up your time and includes himself in the mix. Would he isolate you from others? No, but he would drop some side comments that might make you reconsider who you should be hanging around with. The choice is yours but he’s quite persuasive. He would never let Neige know of you, he can’t risk you becoming a fan or choosing Niege over himself. He just can’t let that happen. This ties in with his over-protectiveness, he’s by no means a pushover. With fame comes risk and Vil is more than qualified and prepared to ensure your safety. In the event that he does go public with your relationship (which he will), some crazed fan might send something to you! 

Overall, there are no traits that I can use to define how dangerous Vil can be as a yandere. Vil would probably force you to go through some rigorous training, anything that proves your loyalty to him. I think it’s what he values the most. Loyalty to him. Once you prove you can be trusted, Vil might start to expose bits and pieces of himself to you but don’t get your hopes up. Does Vil want to be worshiped? Yes, but he wants you to love him. It has to be you, nobody else can suffice. Nobody else sees Vil the way you see him and that’s what he wants. He wants your eyes to be on him, He’s in the spotlight and you’re the only member of the audience that he yearns for. Don’t let your gaze wander, keep your eyes focused on him. While it’s your attention and affection that he yearns for, he by no means will resort to groveling. He has too much pride (though maybe in extreme feelings and conditions, he may but unlikely at the moment) and I feel like it contradicts his ideology of working to earn. If it’s your affection he wants he’ll work hard and strive to gain. Do I think he may have a moment where he slips up? Yes, like in book 5, that wasn’t supposed to happen but it did. He had the idea of beating Niege at a dance competition but towards the end almost took his ass out. I feel like it starts to be futile, normal means of gaining your affection aren’t working, or keeping your love he may stoop down to using potions. Designed as ‘sharing’ snacks and drinks, he may slip in a potion that will make you agree or idolize Vil to a certain extent. He by no means will buy your love or use cheap tactics to earn it, but he may fall into a fear that you may leave him resulting in a potion to keep your love. 

Also, I realized that with these headcanons I don’t exactly highlight something that makes them unique, but I will start doing that with the remaining characters! Vil, what makes him unique is that he’s as suffocating as the poisons he makes. He’ll slowly start making his way into your life and cloud your senses. Anything and everything you do is for Vil. The air you breathe is for Vil. He demands absolute loyalty (as I’ve repeated countless times but I can’t organize for shit) and that loyalty is slowly woven into your routine. You use his skin care, you style your clothes a certain way because Vil told you. You style and accessorize yourself according to his recommendations because Vil is right. You act the way Vil would appreciate (in your eyes because I'm a huge believer they will love you for being you), and you are dedicated to him. The most unique thing about this is that it’s all according to Vil’s design. He managed to flip the table and make YOU seek him out rather than him doing all the hard work. 

These headcanons probably don’t do him justice but on the scale, he’d be an 8/10. It’s Vil, he would never show such unsightly behavior and I think that is where people would fall for it. If anything I think pomefiore is a dorm that can show multiple faces. They hold themselves to such a standard that at first glance, they could never do that! He excels at potions and poisons so he is quite a danger to others and his S/O. His manipulation is hidden under the guise that Vil is only helping you out. It’s Vil, sure some of the things he says might sound rude but he’s just being honest. His reputation does help him conceal his true behavior. His love is suffocating and overpowering. Surely you can learn to accept this ugly Vil as you would the beautiful Vil.  Not to mention, he’s clouding your mind to the point all you can think about is him (managed to save these headcanons because I thought the song Aishite X3 (I’m typing all that out) and how I personally feel Vil would relate to it on some form.

After editing these headcanons I came to the horrifying truth that this sounds like Nate and Cassie’s relationship in euphoria. . . shit. Oh! Before I forget, on the rope-chain-saw scale I think he would be chain. He isn’t one to restrict you physically, but he would restrict with you magic and potions. As I mentioned before, he’d try to manipulate you to turn the tables around, it would be you seeking him rather than him seeking you which would put him on the rope scale. Since he has a possibility of using magic to keep you obedient (rather than make you because he still wants you to make that choice) he would be placed on the chain, you can win back freedom (basically he has no use for the potions at this point) as long as you continue to prove your devotion to him! Okay, this time FOR SURE I’m done! 

Rook Hunt

This man scares me, he’s horrifying. In canon, he’s probably just a bit off-putting and he’ll be nice to you but as a yandere? That being said, Rook is manipulative, possessive, obsessive, and sadistic. Let’s get into it!

The biggest thing with Rook is that we need to see his reference material, he’s a hunter. That predator and prey dynamic is quite strong as we’ve seen in the beanfest event, he likes the thrill. Normally I’d say to run but he enjoys the thrill of that so start walking slowly. Let’s talk about his S/O, I try not to put too many traits because I truly like to believe that they prefer the personality of their S/O as opposed to anything specific but he’d be interested in his S/O. Their way of thinking and the way they carry themselves. We know he loves beauty and has no problem voicing his admiration, but when it comes to his S/O, his comments increase a lot. He loves the way you dress, the way you carry yourself, the way you write your name, and the way you speak, if you have any anxious ticks they don’t go unnoticed and he loves them as well. He’s very observant of any and all things you do, it’s scary. He’s like Kalim who sees the beauty and the good things, he just communicates them differently. To be honest, right now, Rook would make you love things about yourself that you hate or never knew about. As a yandere, that doesn’t change but his love increases by a lot. Tying this in with his obsessive trait, he knows everything. When you leave class with Grim, his eyes are on you. When you take a test and scratch your head, look confused (stuff you do basically), etc, he’s watching. He takes in any and all information possible. Things that are routine to you, he analyzes and takes great interest. Like a hunter studies his prey, he studies you just as well. Maybe at first, it was just something he does, but then it started to become extreme. If you take walks around Ramshackle and you feel eyes on you, it might be him. He doesn’t do anything other than stalk but that doesn’t make it any better. His eyes are ALWAYS on you. Taking in EVERYTHING. He’s extremely obsessive if you couldn’t tell.

Manipulative and this is also where I want to include his ‘unique’ trait. He will NEVER trust you. I’m like jumping a couple of steps but this will all make sense, promise. His manipulation isn’t like the others where they isolate you and try to make it seem like you only have them. It also isn’t something based on authority where they say, “I’m this so you should trust me” or where they use their fame to get you to comply (AKA blackmail). No, Rook takes on a different route. He’s a hunter and he’s always setting up bait but his reasoning isn’t always to prove your loyalty and love, it’s because he finds it fun. Like the Leech twins, you’ll have to be constantly on edge with him. It’s all about observing you. If you read yandere fanfiction, I’m sure you’ve seen prompts that involve the yandere placing the darling (you) in a situation where they can escape, but it’s secretly a test. With Rook, you’ll NEVER know it’s a test. You could stay put for three hours and Rook comes back saying he was busy. You realize then, you could have gotten help but you didn’t. Sometimes, he’ll leave you for 15 minutes and the moment you turn around to run, he’s there. You’ll either have to try to escape at every opportunity or stay put at every opportunity. He could send you on an errand, running papers to a teacher. Out of the fear that he’s watching even though logically he wouldn’t be in the office, you don’t say anything. You realize too late that it was a perfect opportunity to flee from him. This ties in with his unique trait.

He will NEVER trust you. In fanfiction when the darling has been ‘loyal’ (basically playing into their hands waiting to get the upper hand and flee) for some time ranging from a couple of months to years and the yandere assumes that they’ve finally given in. Yeah no, that’s not happening with Rook. You could be together for 10+ years and with 8 children, but he’ll NEVER assume you’ve given in. He’ll play the role and display signs that make it seem that he has but rest assured he hasn’t. He can be the perfect husband, and doting father, and just be a textbook family. You think you’ve planned well, surely after all these years he would believe your charade but no, Rook still keeps an eye on you. Not to mention, he has an army of 8 kids. He probably taught them to recognize signs and to snitch on you. Imagine you’re planning on leaving him but taking the kids and you tell them the plan but all these fuckers turned on you. Yeah, trust is something that comes hard with Rook (if you ever gain it), but this also ties in with the rope-chain-saw scale. He’d be rope. He enjoys the thrill of the hunt and I don’t see him as someone who tires of it. He’ll have some restrictions but overall, he wants you to be as free as possible. You won’t have any extreme restrictions or anything holding you back other than your fear of him. Funny enough, this brings me to my second point, he’s sadistic.

He doesn’t mean to harm you physically, but mentally he loves it. Physically, maybe but it’s not that common. He’ll find your scared expression beautiful and exciting, it shows how much you’re afraid of him. Of course, he wants your love and honestly, in a non-yandere setting, he’d be the perfect boyfriend. As a yandere, he THRIVES off the idea that he’s the biggest threat in your eyes. It’s the thrill of the hunt that makes that catch so much sweeter. Despite all the opportunities of escape (test or not), you don’t take them because of that fear. Any and all bait (escape or not because it’s mostly used to track your reactions) is meant to cause mental anguish. If you do bite he may inflict some physical pain but it’s not something that happens often. In the commissioned fic I wrote, you ran and Rook used an arrow to stop you. Yeah, he’ll do that again. He’ll treat you very well after (medical sense) but he’s not above harming you temporarily. I didn’t put him on the scale as saw, because he doesn’t want to take away your ability to run. Back to the original point, the mental anguish he causes is so much worse. It’s the way he will pamper you, loves you, gives you gifts, and speaks sweet words that make you melt away in a blissful state. You seem to forget that his eyes are closed on to you, he sets up traps that you may or may not recognize until after he appears to give you praise or punishment based on the result. You can’t read him and you can’t predict his intention so you live in fear. That’s what sadistic Rook loves, he’s the cause of your pain and fear.

Wrapping these headcanons, Rook gets an 11/10 on the yandere scale. I wanted to say 10/10 because he’s a danger but because he’ll never trust you he gets an 11/10. Escape really isn’t an option (unless you want to end it all but even then your snitch children might step in). He’s possessive like most, if not ALL yanderes. You’re his, trust me others will regret messing with you. I don’t think Rook would isolate you so he’s not possessive in that sense (like some of the yanderes) but he still wants you to be his and his alone. I don’t think he’d brand you (this brings up a tiny point how despite what you think he sees you as an equal and not as a pet because the mental anguish he causes is what leads you to make that dynamic) but if pushed to the point, he may and find beauty in something of his on your skin. He’s dangerous because he causes an INSANE amount of mental anguish (cater levels) but he can also be physical if need be. He’s always watching and his love is like an anchor, constantly weighing you down and making it hard to breathe. All eyes on you as he sees everything and anything, not to mention his unique magic? Yeah no, escape has and will never be an option. Honestly, I feel like maybe (since this isn’t canon and a yandere headcanon) the whole Pomefiore dorm might be in on it. I see Rook trusting Epel and Vil with you or knowing about you. They might even be the unsuspecting bait that Rook plants. If you thought one pair of highly trained hunting eyes was bad enough, imagine a dorm full of eyes that are trained to see people in the spotlight.

Epel Felmier

So starting right off the bat I’m gonna say what his unique trait is. It’s his appearance. Book 5 was about Vil trying to get Epel to see that his cute face was something he could use to his advantage rather than a disadvantage. So, he’s going to take what Vil taught him and put it to good use. Overall characteristics would include manipulative and overprotective, with a hint of possessiveness.

Finding a way to tie in his unique trait with these characteristics is simple but let’s get into it! Manipulating you and others is quite easy for Epel. Though he doesn’t like being seen as some dainty and petite individually, he’s more than content using it to get you and others to listen to him. You would probably lower your guard a lot more with Epel because it’s Epel. At first glance, I think most of us could push him away if things ever got physical. Which is why Epel doesn’t seem like a danger at first. Epel's gentle and soft-spoken nature is something so refreshing to be around with (especially after hanging out with Ace and Deuce) and is usually quite calming. Epel is sweet and caring, always minding his manners which are suited for someone in Pomefiore. He doesn’t need to do any extra work because you feel comfortable around him talking about your personal life. When something occurs, you may ask Epel for his advice or maybe just to listen (which he’s always down for). It’s different from the others because sometimes Ace happens to say things so bluntly and Deuce, while having good intentions, says things that just don’t work. Epel is a soft-spoken person who offers advice in a tone that doesn’t mean to criticize or look down upon. Finding ways to effectively get his point across without the need of hurting your feelings. You trust Epel so much and while he appreciates this, he knows it stems from his appearance.

I can see him slightly being annoyed by this at first until he starts to slip up. Imagine your surprise when Epel is single-handly arguing and fighting the students who made fun of you. Imagine your surprise when the sweet boy starts to act out, saying things you didn’t expect to leave his mouth and just starts acting different. It’s total whiplash. Once he’s gotten your trust and you start to reconsider, his appearance comes to the rescue when you start accusing Epel of things he’s done. Honestly, I can see Vil and Rook stepping in if things get serious but most of the time his good looks do the talking. What do you mean Epel scared you? He grabbed your wrist and left a nasty bruise? That doesn’t sound like the Epel I know. Did he say all those mean things to you? Are you sure? Epel doesn’t speak like that! Suddenly, he’s making everyone turn against you for speaking out against him. How scary is Epel?

I want to include overprotectiveness and possessiveness together because they go hand in hand. Epel loves you and he’d fight for your honor! It’s quite cute, brave, and courageous to see someone of a small stature standing up against the bad guys. He was raised on the principle of treating everyone with respect and you’re no different! His possessiveness ties in when others try to steal you away from him. No doubt looking down on him because of his size and he needs to show them who’s boss! Well, he sounds tame, so what’s the big issue? Ladies and gentleman, it’s a power dynamic scale we have going on. See Epel is so used to being seen as someone small and petite and while he appears that way to his darling, he has the ability to remind them who is in charge. Though I don’t see Epel as being someone to get physical with you off the bat, there are times when he sees it as his last resort (and by last I mean he tried one other option and gave up). Considering he has a short temper, it’s more often than not. He can be like Ace who says some mean things and basically degrades you but no point in telling anyone because it’s not like anyone would believe sweet Epel would say that. He can pose a threat and when all else fails, start resulting to hitting you to keep you tied to him but again no use saying anything because who would believe you? Granted, there is only so much he can hide behind leading me to a small point, I think Vil and Rook would encourage his behavior.

Vil would dislike the way he’s so rough with you but he did gain your trust with that pretty face of his. Rook would find it amusing. Honestly, he’d feel the same when he thinks you shouldn’t be too rough with your darling, but Epel is a stubborn one who doesn’t accept defeat. In the rope-chain-saw scale, he’d be split between rope and chain. Honestly, like Rook, you start to grow a fear of Epel. While most of the time he’s his usual self (the one you came to love), saying the wrong thing could set him off and spell disaster for you. It’s like walking on eggshells for your safety. So at some point, Epel has no need for too many restrictions but Vil encourages him not to slip up. Not to get too cocky and assume he’ll always be at the top because an unssuspecting person came come and steal you away. It’s as if they’re trying to make him worse than he already is, resulting in the border between chain and rope. Depending on what happens and how he feels, he made add too many restrictions and he’s always inconsistent with them, but most of the time he’s a rope. Doesn’t feel the need to keep you caged and away when you already know the consequences that await you.

Epel overall isn’t too dangerous, maybe a 6/10? His behaviors can start to get predictable but do be careful with that face. He may even stage a situation where you’re the one hurting precious Epel and onlookers judge you. How could you come to hurt someone like Epel? Surely he didn’t pose too much of a threat. Though, while he physically is strong and has a quite short temper, his behaviors can become routine and easy to follow. He’s really only a danger more than Deuce because he would have the help of Vil and Rook. I’m sure that over time you could turn the tables on him and either fight back or paint him to be the villain he is. He’s truly like the poisoned apple, beautiful and tempting on the outside but rotten to the core.

#yandere vil schoenheit #yandere vil x reader #yandere rook hunt x reader #yandere rook hunt #yandere rook x reader #yandere epel felmier #yandere epel x reader #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere #yandere x y/n #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere headcannons #yandere imagines #kikyan

[panandinpain0]

Help the second you wrote about a twin I was thinking male!mcgonagall!reader (or any I’m just a too-gay-to-function dude) x draco

then draco showed up

so bye bye draco (unless) (maybe reader makes him less of an asshole) (I can fix him trope?) (but like confronting him for being weird to his sister and forcing character development) (yk who I am) (what I am) (why I am) (acty do you bc that would be nice to know) (I should stop now) (ok done)

Unsolicited Advice

Excited to see Draco's character development after this 🤭

@@@

Requested by: @mailmango

Draco Malfoy x Male!Hufflepuff!McGonagall!Reader

--

Wow, (Y/N) really should not have taken potions again this year. Granted, he had taken it last year… and failed. And it was a required class- but he should have requested an alternative. Rolling his eyes, (Y/N) wiped at the smudged ink on the side of his hand.

A book was dropped on the floor just a few feet away, startling (Y/N) out of his frustration. Draco Malfoy’s gaze darted around to see if anyone had noticed him drop the book he was holding, cheeks lightly flushed from what (Y/N) could only assume was embarrassment.

Quickly picking up the book, Draco found an empty table nearby and tried to suavely saunter over to it, but it looked more like a poor attempt to recover from his previous accident. As he watched Draco sit and pull out his things to study, (Y/N) recalled what his twin sister, Sweetpea, as their parents had fondly nicknamed her, had told him about Draco bothering her.

He wasn’t about to go out of his way to scold or intimidate Malfoy, but seeing as he was right here… He knew his sister could handle herself and would ask him for help if she wanted to, but this was the perfect opportunity to tell Draco what was what. (Y/N) considered the consequences this action would have as he put away his things. Whether he went through with it or not he needed a break from studying.

Silently nodding his head, (Y/N) decided to confront Malfoy.

Even if he wasn’t harassing his sister, Malfoy needed a wakeup call. At least, that was (Y/N)’s reasoning.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder (Y/N) approached Draco, who was surprisingly alone. Where were his lackey’s?

(Y/N) cleared his throat to catch Malfoy’s attention, “Malfoy?”

Draco looked him up and down before scoffing, returning his gaze to the book on the table in front of him.

This thoroughly ticked (Y/N) off, leading to him slamming the book Draco was reading shut. The nerve of this punk! He only raised an eyebrow as Draco objected.

“You can take a few moments to listen to what I have to say,” (Y/N) shot back in response to Draco’s, ‘Hey!’.

“And who are you, exactly?” Draco’s glare deepend as he leaned back in his seat with crossed arms, looking up at (Y/N).

“(Y/N) McGonagall.”

The only recognition (Y/N) received was a petty blink, but he took that as enough and continued.

“My sister was telling me you were bothering her-”

“I wasn’t bothering her, I was flirting with her, and if Potter hadn’t-”

(Y/N) leaned forward with a look that could kill, and Draco decided (completely on his own) that it was time to shut up.

“Harassment and flirting are not the same things, especially when she’s actively asking you to leave her alone,” (Y/N)’s words dripped with poison and Draco’s eyes widened. “The worst part is that it's not just my sister- it’s other girls too. And if you’re not bothering people you’re bullying them.” Draco noticed the way (Y/N)’s brows creased with anger, eyes aflame with the passion he had for this issue. It took him aback.

It wasn’t like this was the first time someone had told him this, but a complete stranger- and a Hufflepuff no doubt- standing up to him took him by surprise. Draco inspected his face further but he didn’t recall doing anything to this guy- they’d never even met. The only thing he knew was that his sister was the Hufflepuff girl he’d been asking out and they were both McGonagall’s.

“Nothing to say to that?” (Y/N) shook his head at Draco expectantly after not receiving any response, straightening his stance. With a sigh he continued, “Just leave my sister alone. Maybe if you were nicer to people you’d have more friends that aren’t afraid of you- or should I say afraid of your father?” (Y/N) rolled his eyes and took a step back from the table.

Draco seemed to snap out of his trance and regained his glare. “What do you know anyways? I have just enough friends and I never asked you for advice.”

Shaking his head, (Y/N) knocked gently on the table, “Well, if you change your mind come and find me.”

Draco watched him walk away, glare falling as he thought about what (Y/N) had said. Aside from the fact that he was extremely out of line, he was kind of attractive… not that Draco would ever think of a boy like that.

…

Draco sat with a slumped posture, picking at his dinner, fork moving a pea across his plate slowly.

“Catch it!”

Goyle snorted in response to Crabbe’s shout, opening his mouth to catch a grape Crabbe was about to throw over Draco’s head.

Reaching up to snatch Crabbe’s wrist, Draco glared up at him. “If you throw one more grape I will hex you.” The venom in his voice had Crabbe shrinking in his hold, putting down the grape and eating his dinner after Draco let him go. Goyle followed his actions.

Usually Draco would dismiss the guilt he felt after making Crabbe and Goyle feel bad, but after (Y/N) talked to him today he couldn’t.

Maybe the Hufflepuff had a point, Draco thought as he glared down at his food, not that he would ever admit it out loud.

--

Et Voila! I hope you enjoyed and I really like doing the whole branching off thing with the same universe of characters and (Y/N)'s.

-Author Max <3

#fanfiction #x reader #writer #fluff #x he/him reader #x male!reader #fandoms #harry potter #x male reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy x male!reader #draco x male!reader

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hey again Sex Witch!

Thank you so much for your help! I’m the gay guy from the other day whose ask re: sexual attraction you’d answered. You really got to the heart of the matter, and I truly appreciate that.

This might sound silly but… Are you sure it’s really not weird, gross or… otherwise wrong of me to just randomly initiate a conversation with someone in a bar like that? I’m sorry - even if the worst that could happen in theory is just a few awkward seconds, a part of me still thinks that an unsolicited “hey I like your necklace” Is too… forward. lol even if there’s a guy in a jockstrap gyrating two yards away.

Again, sorry for the weird asks. And thank you for all your help!!!

hello again, anon! I'm very glad to hear that I could tap into something resonant for you. doing this kind of work without being able to have a proper one-on-one convo means I sometimes I sometimes have to guess at exactly what the best advice for someone will be, but luckily I've been doing this long enough that I've gotten to be a pretty good guesser :)

I'm 100% certain that it's not weird, and certainly not gross, to approach someone that way, as long as what you're saying is appropriate for the context. for instance, I'd broadly advise against walking up to someone who's, say, sitting in a coffee shop minding their own business and opening with "you have a gorgeous mouth, I want to see my dick in it." there are absolutely people out there that it would work on, sure, but you shouldn't assume that, because the potential to guess wrong and become an instant sex pest are wayyyy too high.

but even that's not wrong in every setting! that guy gyrating in a jockstrap probably wouldn't mind someone being a bit sexually forward; indeed, there's a very good chance that he's doing what he's doing specifically to encourage that.

but there's also a HUGE world of other, much less risque ways to open up a conversation. let's talk about your example with a necklace, and complimenting details about someone's appearance in general:

"hey, I really like [aspect of person's appearance.]" many people (wisely) recommend sticking to things that people pick and have control over - for instance, makeup, piercings, jewelry, tattoos, hairstyles, and clothing, rather than focusing on specific facial features or body parts. there are also a lot of ways to take that one further if you want to go for a more substantial conversation, including the following:

"I like that tattoo/piercing, did you get that done around here?" or "I like that [article of clothing], where did you get it?" gives them the option to provide as much or as little information as they like, potentially tell personal stories you can respond to, etc.

alternatively, if there's an identifiable common interest in their outfit: "hey, is that [thing] a reference to [whatever]? I love [whatever]!" great, now you can talk about d&d/comics/a movie/a band/an anime/literally whatever for as long as you want as a way to get to know each other

or, alternatively: "hey, that looks really cool. is it from something?" again, gives them plenty of options about how much they want to respond, which you can play off accordingly, and honestly? letting people explain a thing to you can be VERY fun, not to mention people LOOOOOVE having an excuse to talk about shit they like.

also, hey, if someone is just wearing an outfit that's really fun overall? something that they clearly took effort putting together to look nice? man, they WANT you to compliment that. they want you to compliment that so bad.

"but Makenzie how do you know?" because I dress like a loud-ass fruit 7 days a week. and I'm not doing specifically because I want people to compliment me, duh, I'm doing it because it's fun, but it's nice when people say something kind about my outfit! it's nice to be noticed! the other day I wore a pair of bright pink overalls and a student passing by me stopped to say that seeing them made her happy because pink is her favorite color! that's a great interaction, nothing unpleasant about it! I've also recently dyed my hair a shade of yellow that can be best described as "highlighter," and a LOT of people have been stopping me wherever I go to let me know how much they like it. that's nice! feels good! I also wear a lot of huge earrings, especially when I'm working at events where I get to meet prospective students for the university where I work, because it gives nervous teenagers something easy to start a conversation with! they say "I like your lego mermaid Batman earrings" and I say "thank you, I wear them so gay people will talk to me!" and then they get to say "whoa, I'M gay!" and then we're off to the races.

obviously it's presumptuous to assume people are dressing to be alluring to you specifically, but there are also very few people in the world who will be upset at being told that their hair looks nice and their outfit is cool and you think their tattoos are awesome.

people are also generally pretty stoked to hear something like "you're a really good dancer!" or "that food/drink looks good, what did you order?" or "sorry, but did I hear you talking about x? I love x! what did you think of xyz?"

statistically most people love to think that they have good taste and hate being the one to make a first move, so if you do both of those things you're already off to a GREAT start.

also, another fun reminder: even if complimenting that necklace doesn't lead to a romantic or sexual connection every time, it does serve as good practice for talking to people and makes you someone who gives compliments easily - and hopefully someone who's good at receiving them back, because many people love to repay a compliment immediately in kind! and it's never bad to be known as somebody who's generous with saying nice things :)

just give it a try; I promise you'll like it once you see how warmly people can respond to even casual praise!

#sex edventures 2023

[shybunnie20]

Bff!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader x Bff!Dustin Henderson

★My Masterlist

Summary: The last thing you want is to bring your friends down with you, so you decide against telling them how much you've been struggling. They find out in the worst way imaginable.

Author's Note: Thank you for another request, Anon! This is the darkest fic I've written thus far. It was cathartic to channel some of my personal experiences and I hope that reading it provides similar relief.

Not suitable for sensitive readers! Extreme angst with a bittersweet ending. No use of Y/N. Inspired by the song Sara - We Three. Be sure to reblog, follow, and show some love ♡

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: MDNI 18+! Depression and anxiety, self-harm (cutting), panic attacks, suicidal ideation and attempt (overdose), substance abuse, Eddie being a crybaby, includes swearing.

Do not proceed if the warnings are triggering for you. Read Down & to the Left instead, it has a similar theme but it's far less intense.

There are people in this world who have the luxury of not knowing what it’s like to experience mental illness. From the outside looking in, depression is nothing more than being exceptionally sad. Unsolicited advice comes with such naivety. A myriad of superficial solutions to the multidimensional hardship that isn’t so easily soaked away by a candle-lit bubble bath or intensive exercise.

You’ve been dubbed as moody, complicated, and sensitive. These surface-level generalizations indicate that your friends wouldn’t understand what you’re going through. At this rate, it’s not worth trying to explain the corrosion eating away at your cheeks. Therefore, you continue the everlasting game of bloody knuckles and you have yet to say “mercy.” With one foot in the grave, you daydream about what your funeral will be like. Does anyone even care enough to know what your favorite flower is for the floral arrangements?

Draping a sheet over your bedroom window is essential because it makes it trickier for your demons to find you. Instead of them ripping you apart limb by limb, you dissolve into your blankets in the dark. The quietude instills a false sense of security that you hold near and dear. It’s lonesome, but you don’t want another person’s presence. Numbness is the company that you ache for. Christ, what you wouldn’t give for it to swallow you whole.

In art mediums, blue is considered the color of sadness, but it isn’t for you. With a blade as your brush, the crimson drawn to the surface of your skin is the paint. The picture you’ve created is less than pleasant but it’s certainly eye-catching. Looking in the mirror feels like seeing your scars on the wall of an art gallery, a mocking image of everything you’ve failed to be. You avoid your reflection at all costs, the full-length mirror in your bathroom is without exception.

Perhaps you’re a sucker for devastation because frankly, smiling feels unnatural. Any flicker of happiness feels repulsive and out of place. You’ve accepted that it’s not an emotion you’re meant to experience. At one point you’d felt envious of the carefree spirits who live vibrantly, but that’s not the life you’re meant to live. As if assembled with faulty parts, you’ve always felt defective.

You haven’t been going through this unaccompanied though. Dustin and Eddie have always had your back. You couldn’t ask for more reasonable best friends. Considering that you don’t open up to just anyone, it’s comforting that you can confide in these two dorks. The panic attacks have been occurring for a while now and the boys figured out how to effectively help you through them. Dustin has gotten especially adept at detecting the symptoms before you’ve noticed them yourself.

However, their awareness doesn’t go beyond your experience with anxiety. You’d think they could piece together the rest considering how often they come over to tidy up your place and make sure you’re taking care of yourself. But at the end of the day, they’re simple creatures. Even though it’s right under their noses, they don’t realize the gravity of what you’re dealing with. You refuse to drag them into the darkness with you. They’re so full of love and light, they don’t deserve exposure to emotional turmoil of this degree.

You didn’t think you could be any more exhausted but another demanding day at work has proven otherwise. More than anything you want to lay in bed to drift away from the agony.

After dropping your keys while aiming to stick them in the lock, you scoop them up and successfully open the front door.

“Surprise!” 

You convincingly mirror the expression on the beaming faces of Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, and Robin while simultaneously noticing the bundles of balloons and the handmade banner. “Oh, wow. You guys, this is- amazing.” You’re startled by the sound of a party horn crinkling as Dustin bounces out of his hiding place. He insisted on hiding even though no one else did.

“Y’Little shit.” You chuckle and wrap your arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a side hug. “You’re the mastermind behind this, huh?” 

Dustin tries to dodge the attempt you make at tussling his coffee-colored ringlets but fails miserably. “I couldn’t let my party planning skills go to waste. It turned out pretty great if I do say so myself.” His eyes twinkle with a sense of achievement while they search yours for approval.

“Everything looks great, Dusty Bun. Thank you.” Your arm is still draped around his shoulder, so you give him a squeeze. He cringes at the use of his pet name as you make your way across the room to greet the remainder of your guests.

Nancy is perched on Jonathan’s lap while Robin is on the opposite end of the couch, which leaves the middle cushion available for you. As much as you don’t want to be this close in proximity to anyone right now, your body is far too sore to stand for much longer. Steve pours everyone’s beverages of choice and has Dustin deliver them from the kitchen. It takes a minute for you to find the ideal spot between your friends where your thighs aren’t touching theirs.

You drown out the lively chit-chat and music by descending into yourself. Birthdays don’t mean shit anymore. They’re simply a reminder that you just spent another 364 days pretending that you’re fine. Your preoccupation with death is always breathing hotly down your neck.

Just as your throat tightens and your eyes are on the verge of watering, the front door swings open. While balancing a carton of candles and a stack of paper plates on top of a pink bakery box, Eddie attempts to shake frizzy curls out of his face. He’s slightly winded from hustling in the hopes of making it back before you did. When his eyes meet yours, the expression of tizzy deflates. “Son of a bitch. I missed it?”

Dustin snorts mockingly while motioning to you. “Obviously, dude. She beat you by a couple of minutes.”

“God dammit!” Eddie throws his head back with a groan. “I was really looking forward to yelling ‘surprise.’ I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Eddie’s pout curls into a grin when he catches the eye roll you give in response to his belatedness. He quickly dresses the cake with candles and lights them with his trusty Zippo. Even with the pep in his step, he manages to approach you slowly enough that all of the candles remain lit.

Steve kills the lights and your friends begin to sing “Happy Birthday.” Not only is Dustin intentionally off-key but he’s ad-libbing through the whole song as well.

For as long as you can remember, you’ve been uncomfortable during the duration of the tune. Rather unsure of what to do with yourself while being serenaded. Are you supposed to be singing along? Where should you be looking? Luckily your counterfeit smile is realistic enough that it’s not obvious how uncomfortable you are right now.

Eddie crouches at your feet while balancing the cake over your knees. He grins sweetly, his honey-colored irises reflecting the swaying flames atop the multicolored candles. “Okay, baby doll. Time to make your wish and make it a good one.” He winks with a nod.

The room is hushed save for the record player continuing to spin a faint melody. You can feel everyone’s eyes boring into you and it makes you want to peel your skin off. All of your friends are buzzing with merriment but you can only think about the unorthodox method of relief you’re desperately craving. What’s your birthday wish? It’s for this to be over already.

You blow out the candles with a shallow breath and the tightness in your throat exacerbates as the dark room swells with clapping and whooping before Steve turns the lights back on. Those few seconds allow you to rid your cheeks of the tears that escaped before anyone can notice.

The last thing on your mind right now is eating cake but you force yourself to do so in order to play the part of being the birthday girl. Everyone is having a blast celebrating your existence while clueless as to how badly you want to die. Even though you’re surrounded by people who love you, it doesn’t quell the provocation from within. You can’t picture anything past this birthday and you’d be content with it being the last one.

To be honest, you’ve never been very good at coping. It’s become impossible to ignore the need to etch into the plush of your thigh. You’re not going to be able to get through the remainder of this party if you don’t get it out of your system. After politely excusing yourself, the pounding in your head thunders and you slip away to your bedroom.

Once you’ve closed the door, you hastily shimmy your pants off and plop yourself at the foot of the bed. A blade is drawn from the top drawer of your nightstand and with a fierce inhale you sink the straight edge into the existing lines to deeply reopen them. Your teeth chew the inside of your lip and a dull ache shoots through your body. This is it, this is how you’re supposed to feel. You’re not meant to feel content, you’re destined to self-destruct. The countdown ticks on, though you don’t know precisely how much time you have left before you finally beg for mercy.

You’re brought out of your thoughts by Eddie’s zestful voice before the door opens. “Are you ready to tear into your presents? We’re-” With his mouth slightly agape, Eddie’s eyes lock onto the blood dripping down the curvature of your calf.

Well, the cat’s out of the bag. You intended to lock the door but failed to do so in your rash state of mind. You try to think of an excuse as if there’s a rational way to dismiss the damaging act. Your thinned forcefield evaporates and tears flood your vision once more. It’s awfully convenient because you can no longer see Eddie’s crestfallen mug.

Without further hesitation, Eddie closes the door behind him. He’s shaking from head to toe, eyes lingering on the bloodied razor blade still pinched between your fingers. He approaches cautiously, removes it from your hold, and places it in his jacket pocket. Out of sight out of mind. Eddie slides onto the bed behind you with his legs stretched alongside yours. After snaking his arms around your shoulders, he gently guides you backward against his chest.

He’s rigid for the first few seconds, but the sound of your wailing reminds him that his intention is to be a haven right now. You cling to him, fingernails digging into his forearms that are folded across your sternum. Eddie squeezes his eyes closed so tightly that the insides of his eyelids are splashed with tingling colors.

Every fighting gasp for air that you take between the silent screams causes panging in his chest as if atomic bombs are going off. He can’t afford to be distracted by his profuse concern because his priority is bringing you down from your heightened state. His mind is racing and yet it feels so blank at the same time. The blood transfers from your bare leg onto his jeans.

Of your friends in the living room, Dustin is the only one who hears the muffled commotion. He strolls down the hall to investigate. “Hey, guyyyys. The super awesome party I threw is out here.”

Eddie is quick to respond before the doorknob turns. “Don’t come in!” He knows Dustin will let himself in just as he had done moments ago. Eddie doesn’t want you to feel even more mortified by Dustin seeing you like this. “She’s not feeling well. Just uh- have everybody go home.”

“Did she hurl or something?” Dustin presses his ear against the door to try and determine what’s happening on the other side. You seemed fine a couple of minutes ago, how sick could you possibly be?

“Dude, please. Tell them she’s too tired for all the socializing tonight.” Eddie shushes you calmingly while you swallow your whimpers to avoid giving yourself away. “And you’ll need to catch a ride from Steve.”

Dustin doesn’t understand why he doesn’t get to stay and comfort you, he’s your best friend too. He cares about you just as much as Eddie, he would even argue that he loves you more than Eddie does. Regardless, he doesn’t bother arguing because judging by the tone of Eddie’s instruction, it’s not up for debate. He rallies your other pals to gather the accumulated trash on their way out. Dustin feels that his effort in making your birthday special was overlooked. He spent weeks planning out your party with the objective of impressing you.

Once the front door slams shut, your mental breakdown resumes in full force. Eddie scoops you up into his lap and rocks you gently. With your head bowed, your hair catches the tears plummeting from Eddie’s eyes. By the time you’ve stopped hyperventilating, your voice is coarse like sandpaper from screaming through the tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.” You whine exasperatedly. Your nasal passage is blocked, forcing you to breathe out of your mouth. It feels like your head is full of helium and the pressure is pushing against your eyes. It’s making it unbearable to keep them open.

Eddie rests his cheek on the crown of your head and exhales steadily to release the pent-up tension. He assumes that you’re apologizing for injuring yourself but that’s far from the truth. You’re not sorry for doing it, you’re just sorry he saw it. Eddie refuses to let go regardless of the pins and needles swarming his legs.

The two of you sit in silence, the only noises being your sniffles and labored breathing. Once the pattern has returned to normal and he feels confident that you can drink safely, Eddie gets to his feet to leave the room. He stops in his tracks when you tug at his hand in protest. You’re visibly troubled by being unattended.

“Sit tight, sweetheart. I’ll be back in two shakes.” Eddie pets your hair and you reluctantly release his hand from your own.

Upon his return, he’s gathered a glass of water, a wet cloth, and your first aid kit. Your arms are far too feeble to support the weight of the glass, so Eddie tips it attentively as you drink. “Thank you,” You say breathily between sips.

Eddie wipes dribbled water from your chin with a subtle hum. After placing the cup aside, he kneels at the edge of the bed. He looks up at you for permission and you nod weakly, wincing when he uses the warm cloth to rid your leg of the dried blood. The site is visibly inflamed so he’s being as gentle as he can. Once the wound is clean, Eddie applies antibiotic ointment and a bandage. Lastly, he presses a barely-there kiss to the site in order to help make it feel better.

He spares you much back and forth, so as to not overwhelm you. “Arms up.”

Ever so compliant, you raise your arms. Eddie pulls your shirt off and tosses it in the hamper. Prior to this evening, being half-naked in front of him would’ve been awkward. Although, having been pantsless up until now, you could give a shit. Being caught doing what you were was more undignified than wearing one less article of clothing would be.

“That’s goin’ too,” he motions to your bra, turning away from you to dig through your dresser.

While you’re tugging off the garment, Eddie runs his palm over the folded pajamas to see which ones are the softest and will in turn be the most pacifying. He pulls out a band tee that he hadn’t realized you’d swiped from him and the corner of his mouth quirks up but he can’t form a full grin.

You take the shirt from his extended reach and pull it over your head. “Okay.” You utter raspily as the cue that you’re decent and he can turn around.

Eddie hands you a tissue because he can hear that you’re only breathing through your mouth. You blow your nose harshly, far too spent to care about how gross it sounds. After clearing your airway with a few tissues, Eddie discards them and then uses the clean side of the wet cloth to wipe the remaining mess from under your nose. “There we go. That’s much better, isn’t it?”

With a sheepish nod, you scoot backward on the bed and lay down gradually, your muscles like stiffening cement. Eddie tucks you under the covers and as soon as your head makes contact with the pillow, your eyes fall closed and don’t reopen.

Minutes after you succumb to exhaustion, Eddie cries quietly to himself. For hours, he lays here watching you sleep and strokes your tear-stained cheek with the pad of his thumb. His eyes remain open, unwilling to rest because he’s fearful that something bad will happen if he dozes off. Eddie needs to guard you, even if that means he has to protect you from yourself. Losing you would be the worst thing that could happen to him.

Despite trying, he can’t get the image out of his head. The scattered scars that surrounded your fresh wound are burned into his memory. This wasn’t a one-time thing. Whatever is going on with you is unmistakably severe enough that you’re hiding it from him and have been for a while.

How is he going to tell Dustin? Maybe he'll leave it at the fact that you’re having a difficult time and omit the part about you hurting yourself. It would positively crush him if he found out. Besides, Eddie doesn’t want to jeopardize everything by violating your trust.

You made Eddie promise not to tell a soul what happened that day, including Dustin. He agreed on the terms that you’d inform him when you need help from thereon out. You wish you could keep your word but that’s easier said than done. How are you supposed to vocalize the wretched things your brain tells you? It’s a language only you can comprehend, it’s meant to torment you specifically. 

You’re not stupid, you know how much that evening shook him up. To put Eddie’s heart at ease you’ve gotten better at feigning that everything is peachy keen. Not dissimilarly, Eddie is playing pretend too. He acts as though he doesn’t see you differently knowing what he does now. Obviously, you don’t want to discuss it so he continues to act like it never happened.

Eddie thinks about it every day and he’s had an abundance of nightmares that replay like an echo. He can’t move past it because not only is he concerned that you’re still hurting yourself, but you’re also refusing to let him in. You’re effectively shutting out the person you’ve told everything. Certainly, if he tried to talk to you about it, you’d remove yourself from his life entirely.

To his credit, he’s right on the money. Not only that, but your state of well-being has worsened. The daydreaming is more vivid and you ponder what the least painful way to go would be. Existing already hurts so much, you want to feel at peace when you rest.

It has surpassed psychological pain nowadays. The entirety of your body is overrun with fatigue. You just want to be free from it all. It’s like a home invasion where anxiety and depression ransack your mind in search of valuables. Anxiety leaves no stone unturned while depression covers your mouth and presses a gun to your temple.

Dustin and Eddie are still your best friends, but you’ve met someone new. Their name is Ativan and god, they’re a treat. Although prescribed as needed for your panic attacks, they offer you access to a realm of serenity that you can’t reach without them.

At the end of every grueling day, the first thing you do when you get home is swig down a tablet. By the time you’ve changed out of your work clothes and crawled into bed, you’re seeping into the dimension that connects this world to another. It feels dense but it isn’t warm or cold and it doesn’t hug nor choke you. It simply carries you away from worthlessness and inadequacy.

At the thirty-minute mark, your brain has melted to slush. Your surroundings smudge together, erasing any previously discernable objects. It’s best to be in bed because with how uncoordinated and sluggish it makes you, you become one with whatever surface you end up on.

The day Eddie caught you, you learned that he truly thinks the world of you. But when it comes down to it, you need to be more secretive in order to shield not only him but Dustin too. You hate that Eddie checks in on you from time to time. You don’t hate that he cares enough to ask, it’s that it pains you to lie every time he does.

Ideally, if you withdraw from your friends subtly enough, no one will feel majorly impacted when you decide to call it quits. People say that suicide is selfish but that’s not entirely true. If anything it’s inherently selfless because you believe that you’re freeing your loved ones of the burden that you perceive yourself as.

Today is another one of those days where you can’t be bothered to get out of bed. You missed your shift at work in its entirety by having slept for 14 hours straight. It doesn’t matter. You’d much rather lie here to rot, so you did. Asleep or awake, all you can think about is that feeling of pure ease. A state beyond numbness and unconsciousness. Rather, it’s nothingness. That’s where you want to be.

You’re hanging on by a thread worn too thin. The apathy bites at your toes and gnaws its way up your body. Tears well in your eyes and drip onto your pillowcase. You feel nauseated and woozy. Living day after day has slashed you to the point of being able to see through yourself. Your headstone is half engraved, only missing today’s date.

While choking on the reasons why you should give up, there’s no flavor of justification for continuing to live. You subconsciously rip open tallied scabs on your wrist from last night’s bloodletting. The bedsheets run red, blood smearing across your skin. You can’t feel it, it’s not enough. The ringing demand is painfully loud. You have to make it stop.

The brittleness of your lungs causes you to claw for a rickety breath. Spit drips down your chin as your burnt-out throat fails to produce a scream. You clutch the sheets with bloodied fingers. Gotta make it stop. After rolling off of the mattress, your palms hit the floor before you can get to your feet.

You use the wall to brace yourself as you stagger to the bathroom. The medicine cabinet is torn open and rattling fills the small room as bottles fall into the basin below. The thunder in your brain overrides your senses, impairing your ability to see and hear. Your hips press against the sink to keep yourself vertical while you search the cabinet. 

With the desired bottles in hand, you pop the caps and they bounce when they hit the floor. You dump the contents into your palm, balling your fist to ensure that you don’t drop any. You don’t care how many are left, it just needs to be enough. With a few gulps of booze from the bottle tucked beside the bathtub, you throw back the handful of tablets and swallow thickly. The sensation of the bitter liquid searing your throat is tranquilizing in itself, ensuring that solace is soon to come.

Due to your stomach being empty, the shift hits like a whirlwind. You sit on the cold floor with your back against the side of the tub. The tears stop, your heart rate slows, and an unfamiliar warmth washes over you. Finally, the urge is satiated. As the full-body trembling ceases and the earth stops turning, your eyelids seal as you melt in the stillness.

Your phone rings twice only moments after you’ve taken the pills. Ten minutes later your front door opens and slams shut.

Dustin toes off his sneakers, eyeing Eddie while he does the same. “If she’s working late shouldn’t we just wait for her to get home? I don’t think she'll appreciate us being here unsupervised.”

Eddie shakes the spare house key he snagged from its hiding place. “She won’t even know we were here. We’re just gonna dig around real quick. My lighter has got to be here ‘cause I’ve looked everywhere.” He ties his hair back with a rubber band and shucks off his denim jacket.

“There’s no way you looked everywhere.” Dustin remarks, earning an annoyed look from Eddie.

“Yeah, no shit. That’s why we’re here, genius.” Eddie commences the hunt by lifting couch cushions and tossing around the decorative pillows.

Dustin fake scours for a beat before heading toward the hall.

“Where are you going?” Eddie dramatically shakes out a throw blanket as if it’ll make his Zippo appear like a magic trick. 

“Bathroom.”

“Seriously? I told you not to drink a whole can of pop.”

“Well, I did.” Dustin crosses his arms defensively. “And if I hold it any longer I'll spontaneously combust. Do you wanna have to clean that up?”

“Gross, no thanks.” Eddie tosses the blanket back on the couch, neglecting to refold it. “Just hurry up and don’t touch anything.”

“Why would I?” Dustin squints.

Eddie mirrors the teen’s prickly body language. “Uh, ‘cause you’re nosey as hell.” He states matter-of-factly.

“Am not,” Dustin calls out as he pivots down the hall. He stops in the doorway to the bathroom, met with the sight of you slumped on your side. “Eddie…”

“What? Found it?” Eddie cocks his head at Dustin’s statue-like stance. He approaches and peeks into the bathroom, then abruptly brushes past Dustin to get to you. Eddie’s knees bruise from the sheer force at which they smack the porcelain tile. He guides you to sit upright but your unsupported head rolls forward. “Nononono shit shit shit!”

When he scoops you up into his arms, he feels the subtle warmth of your skin against his own. Still alive. Thrust into panic mode, Eddie repeatedly taps your cheek to elicit a reaction but to no avail. Tears pour from his eyes as he secures your head to his heaving chest. “Go call for help!”

Dustin doesn’t flinch, his mouth hanging open and eyes unblinking. Utterly frozen in carbonite as he witnesses his best friend dying on the bathroom floor.

“NOW!” Eddie booms pressingly.

Dustin dashes away to dial 911. In the meantime, Eddie cradles you and sobs. “We’re here, sweetheart. We’re here now.”

After all this time, the way you’ve been feeling has finally broken the surface. Your emotions are now presented in their rawest form, revealing how broken you’ve been feeling.

“Hurry, Dustin!” Eddie beseeches through a wet cough. The tears cascade from his cheeks onto your limp body, soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “Just hold on for me, okay?” His voice cracks, “Please don’t go.” The knot in his stomach is taut while he focuses on the jagged passing of air through your nostrils.

He kisses your temple and nuzzles his blotchy cheek in its wake. “Please, god. Please please please… don’t take her from us.” Eddie is doing his damndest to keep you from slipping away by stimulating you with his voice and touch. A faint rattle spills from your throat, your brain is convinced that you’re floating but you’re sinking fast. “Dustin!”

On cue, he reappears in the doorway with puffy bloodshot eyes and a wet sheen trailing from his nose, pooling in his Cupid’s bow. “They’re on the way.”

“We gotta keep her warm,” Eddie sniffles with glossily desperate eyes. Dustin gets on his knees and complies. The two of them cocoon you in their body heat until the paramedics arrive.

The boys are forced out of the bathroom and they stand in the living room to stay out of the way. Dustin is enveloped in Eddie’s trembling arms. He buries his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck to dampen the sound of his unbridled blubbering.

Eddie shields him from looking as you’re wheeled out of the bathroom on the gurney. He has to be strong for Dustin because you couldn’t say the same for yourself.

Dustin grabs fistfuls of Eddie's shirt and tugs so hard that the seams snap. “She’s gonna be okay, right?” He rasps with a saturated cry.

“Yeah-” Eddie refuses to think for even a second that it’ll just be the two of them from now on. You’re a part of the unit, it’s meant to stay that way. He tightens his embrace, holding Dustin impossibly closer. ”She’s stronger than both of us combined. She’s gonna pull through this, I know it.” 

Author's Note Cont.: Eddie and Dustin are so proud of you for trying your best every day, even when it doesn’t feel like you have much to show for it.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated! ♡

★My Masterlist

★Ko-fi ♡

tags: @protecteddiemunson4vr @nj01

#eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things 4 #eddie munson fics #eddie munson x you #joseph quinn #fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddiemunson #stranger things #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things eddie #st4 eddie #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson hurt/comfort #bff!Eddie Munson #dustin henderson #dustin henderson x reader #dustin henderson x fem!reader #dustin henderson angst #bff!Dustin Henderson

[drarryspecificrecsdaily]

2023.07.17

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. So I was thinking... by Pigeon Poser [E, 8k]

►During 8th year, Draco and Harry are roommates. One night, Harry forgets his silencing charm when masturbating, and is very embarrassed when Draco calls him out on it. Draco explains it's not a big deal, that he and the other boys in Slytherin got up to a lot worse. Harry is very interested in trying new things. It escalates quickly.

2. You're it for me. series by greyblazar [M, 6k, 2 works]

►Harry proposes - sort of... // Harry and Draco trade family rings.

---

Fest/Exchange

1. Boundaries by SleepyElephant [G, 4k]

►Harry has been dealing with undiagnosed chronic symptoms since the war. Hermione won’t stop giving unsolicited advice. With support, Harry finally sets a boundary with her. ★ Drarry Disability Fest 2023 | @drarrydisabilityfest

2. Burst of Love by Anonymous [E, 3k]

►The year after the War is both the worst and best one in Harry and Draco's lives. Draco somehow becomes one of the most requested influencer on Instagram, Harry is finally free and discovers he has quite...a passion inside himself. We all know how this is going to end. ★ HD Wireless 2023 | @hd-wireless

3. Rich Friend by Anonymous [E, 18k]

►As far as Harry can tell, Draco Malfoy is still rich as hell. He’s just not a wizard anymore. Featuring: Draco Malfoy trying to make it as a Muggle pop star, Harry Potter as our confused and horny hero, bad driving, good music, and the mysterious magic of falling for someone. ★ HD Wireless 2023 | @hd-wireless

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fic rec #harry potter #draco malfoy #daily list #2023 #2023.07

[dolce-tenebra-toscana]

La Squadra's pet peeves or, as we say in italy, the reason why they are " un gatto attaccato ai coglioni "

Risotto ✂️: gives unsolicited advices/recomnendations..

Ok Risotto's heart is not in a bad place let's be clear...but his experience in the mob apparently gave him the right to always know what's best for you, even when you didn't f*cking asked in the first place!! It could be about paying rent on time or even just a fashion choice...our tall goth will speak his mind with an annoying and " know it all " voice.

Prosciutto 🍖: always criticize everything you might like..

Prosciutto is a perfectionist and a man who has no time for silliness in his life, so if you enjoy an activity he may find childish, useless or not interesting at all in his eyes...he'll destroy it with an annoyed face while smoking a cigarette. You enjoy painting? You are not even famous why bother! Are you into baking? You know that the gas bill was over the roof last month, was it you? In the end you'll avoid spend time doing your thing at the lair, especially if he's around.

Formaggio 🧀: he always touches you when talking...

This man CANNOT keep his hands to himself ( in a sussy way or not ) he just doesn't realise that some people may don't like being touched during conversations or in general. He is a very extroverted and touchy person and in his mind ALL people like physical contact!! Right? Right...? Don't bother explain this to him, he'll straight up ignore you

Melone 🍈: passive-aggressiveness..

Melone won't NEVER tell you directly why he is mad at you in the first place, he avoids conflict as much as possible but that doesn't mean he won't gaslight you to make you apologize, and trust me he'll do it even when HE's the one clearly in the wrong. Be prepared for a lot of side eyeing, sighs, huffs and sarcastic comments..is going to be a loooooong week

Illuso 🔎: leaves hair in the sink/drain/shower

Ok Illuso's hair care routine is already annoying..but when is YOUR turn to shower and the bathroom looks like if Kayako from the grudge decided to shave her head out of spite, you can feel your blood boil. Illuso's hair is everywhere and there's no way he'll pick it up!! You can ask gently, shout, beg..he will laugh and ignore you; so you better be ready to pick a digusting wet noodle ball out of the drain every two days...

Ghiaccio 🧊: grammar police

You think the Venezia thing was his worst? Boi you are wrong!! He will angrily correct your every sentence if he hear a mispronounced word, verb or even yell stuff like " IT'S A METAPHORICAL EXPRESSION D*OCANE!! DON'T YOU F*CKING DARE USE IT LITERALLY IN A SENTENCE " you better be prepared at being yelled at in public, or just have a whole lot of patience with this blue gremlin

#jojo part 5 #la squadra #la squadra headcanons #jjba risotto #jjba prosciutto #jjba melone #jjba ghiaccio #jjba illuso #jjba formaggio #benny writes

[rares-posts]

Dictating other people's fandom experience will never come in style. Stop trying lmaooo.

#do what makes you happy #don't spoil other people's fun with unsolicited advice #or virtue signaling which is worst #like if the thing is harmless who cares

[kagoutiss]

Absolutely love the idea of Ganondorf actually genuinely trying to give advice, but he's just The Worst (affectionate). He's just awful and he's so babygirl about it

yeah!! tbh i think even in canon he is capable of feeling genuine love/care/sentimentality, if him having his swords engraved with the names of his mothers is any indication, or trying to care for tetra to some extent while she’s being held captive, but his life also just hasn’t been conducive to the kind of person who can communicate those things in a constructive way? and at best sometimes it comes out in the form of unsolicited advice, because he’s very self-centered and tends to project his own experiences onto other people. despite being otherwise really good at reading/interpreting other people’s emotions. if that makes any sense, lol

especially when he’s younger tho, i feel like he would have a tricky time parsing the difference between love & hatred? and keep conflating the two? so he ends up being kind of antagonistic to people he loves, and also has a tendency to try and make people despise him because he’s way more comfortable with being hated than being loved? and has this weird thing where he thinks gestures of genuine affection are inherently deceptive somehow? this is all just my personal feelings about him but yeah. im cracking his skull open like a walnut and poking around in there

#ask #txt #ganondorf #he can be horrible and also feel love. and be bad at it and horrible about it #that’s what i think

[feverdreamsanddelusions]

8

inspo

[tw whumper turned whumpee, dehumanisation, guns]

"Woah! Alright, no need to get so hostile." Whumper took a step back when Caretaker took one forward, eyeing them warily. They were... well, quite intimidating.

"Really?" At best, Whumpee looked indifferent to their plight. At worst, Whumper could swear they saw the same animosity in their eyes as Caretaker's, just a bit more well-hidden. "The last time we saw each other, you were working for and with people who were out to get me. Don't tell me you got laid off."

"Can you call off your guard dog before asking me questions? It's fucking distracting."

There was a long, tense moment of Whumpee not reacting and Caretaker continuing to stare them down, possibly just waiting for the greenlight to pounce. Whumper couldn't help but notice the way they clenched and unclenched their fist, itching to do some damage.

"I'm gonna give you some unsolicited advice in exchange for your unwanted visit," Whumpee began slowly. "If you're looking to make friends, maybe try to hold off on the dog comments. There's no telling how one might take it."

Whumper swallowed, their eyes darting between the two of them rapidly. They had no idea whether they were supposed to pay attention to Caretaker's every move, or ignore them and focus on the one seemingly giving the orders.

"That being said, Caretaker, stop scaring the guest."

Caretaker took a step back, and Whumper let out a relieved sigh despite themself. They even dropped the death glare, which they greatly appreciated. "Fucking hell. That's much better."

"Don't look too comfortable." Whumpee put a hand on their waist, casually pushing one side of their jacket aside to reveal the handle of a gun. "I do a lot of things out of spite, you know. It's a flaw of mine."

#whump #whump drabble #whumper turned whumpee #dehumanisation #guns #res writes

[zodiactalks]

Most JUDGMENTAL Signs of the Zodiac

We all have firmly rooted opinions and beliefs of how the world should be and how people should react like. These opinions are informed by things such as experience, education, culture, faith, etc.

When someone we know does something, we all judge them based on our own experiences. It's just part of life.

While some people will keep their opinions to themselves and move on, others will fixate on it and will turn the whole situation into a thing.

They'll bring it up repeatedly, they'll make it other people's business and they'll be unable to let it go.

Those are the kinds of people we consider judgmental, and the following 4 zodiac signs are the most judgmental of them all.

#1. Cancer

Cancers are known for being sensitive and caring souls that pay a lot of attention to what their loved ones are doing.

Unfortunately, both their sensitivity and caring attitude can make them judgmental of what other people are doing.

Their caring side makes them judgmental because they want the best for their loved ones, but "the best" is based on what Cancer thinks is best, rather than what their loved ones want.

While Cancer might feel like they're being supportive and caring, it's not uncommon for those on the receiving end to perceive the whole situation as a lack of acceptance.

As for the sensitivity, Cancers often assume that the world is out to get them, and while they're great at giving unwanted advice when they receive it, they do it in the worst way possible.

Cancers aren't afraid of dishing out judgment because they feel is for the best, but when someone does it to them, they feel like they're being persecuted.

Hypocritical much?

#2. Virgo

Virgos, live to be judgmental.

As one of the most observant and –let's face it– obsessive Zodiac signs out there, Virgos tends to be very nitpicky and overly critical, which often leads to all kinds of unfavorable judgments.

While this wouldn't be as bad if they kept those judgments to themselves, Virgos are also incredibly honest, and more often than not they'll share their opinions with others.

Every once in a while, this will lead to a positive resolution, but since Virgos don't really ask for permission before dishing out their judgment, more often than not it will end in a confrontation.

People don't like to be constantly reminded that they're not good enough, and while that may not be Virgo's intention, it's definitely how most people take unsolicited advice.

This should come as no surprise, as Virgos react terribly when people try to give them unsolicited advice, yet for some mysterious reason, it rarely stops them from doing the same to others.

If that wasn't enough, Virgos are also downright obsessive with things, so not only will they nitpick about things, they'll also nag about it, all while feeling that they're in the right the whole time.

#3. Libra

You'd think that, as a sign that abhors confrontation and drama, Libra would be one of the least judgmental signs in the Zodiac, but the reality is very different.

Libras are passionate about things such as justice and equality, and they often consider their own approach to life as The Best One.

Their developed conscience and sense of justice can be admirable, sure, but it also gives them a holier-than-thou attitude that, if left unchecked, few people will stomach.

Whether they say something or not, Libras are always judging what other people say and do and comparing it against what they think is righteous.

They'll fixate on things such as a person's eating or shopping habits, and since they usually prefer to avoid confrontations, they'll stew on their feelings more and more until, eventually, it all spills over.

If there's anyone capable of extrapolating hate crimes from a stranger's restaurant order, that someone is almost definitely a Libra.

#4. Capricorn

Capricorns are loners who prefer to keep their head down and focus on their own work, but they're also control freaks who want others to work just as efficiently and with as much dedication as them.

They might not pay a lot of attention to what others are doing, but when they do pay attention, they'll obsess over everything the other person is doing wrong.

The more they pay attention to what someone is doing, the more they'll fixate on the other person's "mistakes" and while they may or may not say something about it, they will most certainly resent it.

If you've ever met someone who dislikes someone else because of trivial things such as "how they chew" or "their handwriting," chances are that person is a Capricorn.

Luckily, Capricorns don't actually pay that much attention to what other people are doing, since they prefer to focus on their own work, but if you're a Capricorn reading this, keep this in mind.

The way you do things may work for you, but it might not work for other people. We all lead different lives, and it's absurd to expect your way to work every single time for every single person.

#Zodiac #Zodiac Signs #ZodiacFacts #astrology #astrology signs #Aquarius #Aries #Cancer #Capricorn #leo #libra #Sagittarius #Pisces #taurus #scorpio #Gemini #virgo

[claypigeonpottery]

Heyyyyy~ I'm just... So in love with all the work you do, they're all so precious and beautiful I'm in tears. Thank you so for what you do, can't wait to buy something you made soon :D

If it's okei, can you please tell the story of how you got into this and how did you progress from being babie artist to now growing artist and how long you've been doing this for? What's your top 3 fav works you've done? Did you eat good food today, if not please dooo. Thenks

thank you! that's very sweet x3 I'm excited to get more stuff fired and up on Etsy, hopefully before the end of June

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choose three favourites of my work? oh, that is a difficult question.

one thing I really didn't like about my art when I was younger was that it was all very static. it was people sitting or standing, it was still life paintings. one of the things I'm really proud of in my work now is the sense of capturing a moment instead of someone posing, and/or giving a sense of movement

these two are just the opposite of static and I love them for that

and then there's this mug. the design is great, the details are great and I had so much fun carving it. it was honestly just delightful and I wish I'd kept it. I don't say that very often.

all sold

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I'm putting the rest of this under a cut because I'm going to ramble

I started drawing because I was making silly comics about me and my friends in grade school and through high school (I assigned them all fursonas because I was a really cool 15 year old lol)

I got a little more serious about art in high school, but I never thought it'd be something I'd make money at.

when I was... in my early twenties? maybe 19 still? ah, memory issues, I went through a nine month art program, the 'Urban Canvas' project run by SCYAP (saskatoon community youth arts programming). the program is meant to support young artists, especially those with mental health or addiction issues. and it meant I got paid to draw and paint and create weird shit for 40 hours a week, for nine months. and then some (seven? eight?) years later I got to go through the program again which... honestly I'm so grateful I got to do that. (and SCYAP still supports me, they give me a table at their craft show every year and helped me with my first solo gallery show)

these are some of the pieces I made during my time at SCYAP:

and two very rare pictures of me, posing with two of my master studies. the left from when I was 20ish, and the right when I was... 27ish? (man I'm still proud of that Gentileschi copy)

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it was after SCYAP when I started thinking that I could actually make money as an artist. so I painted more than a dozen murals, drew a 20-some page full colour comic, painted pet portraits, and sold my own paintings. commissions were more reliable than selling my own work for a long time lol

as for how I got into pottery, my mental health uh... haha. it took a nosedive about six years ago and during some of the worst of it, I was severely agoraphobic. my mom, who has always supported my art, offered to take me to pottery classes with her, in an attempt to get me leaving the house at least once a week. it did help (along with a lot of other things) and once I started exploring the surface decoration side of pottery, things really clicked for me

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tangent: one of the things that really drove me to progress as an artist was having something driving my work. whether it was preparing for a gallery show or making a bunch of holiday cards or making piles of fan art because I was obsessed. every time I made something, anything, I improved. so when I had a goal that made me create more, I improved faster.

my unsolicited advice: make that weird fan art. it's good for your art. (I was really into tf2 lol)

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I've tried tons of different mediums and I think it was a great way to help my style evolve.

when you're making art with a new medium, it might take awhile before you're making your own personal work. I, at least, find that I usually have to do some studies of other peoples' art and just try some basic creations before I do anything more personal. but once I'm ready to do MY stuff, I have a new repertoire to pull from. I wouldn't be the potter I am if I didn't have the experiences I got from other mediums

like acrylics (I did a lot of self portraits >.>)

paper flower making

watercolour

collage

cake decorating

(also oil paints, pastels, 3D wire art, crochet, linocut, stone carving, sewing, set painting and quilting. also my spouse and I like to make crafts together, like cutting-construction-paper, gluing-pompoms-and-googly-eyes crafts, because it's just fun to make stuff together)

I'm sure pottery isn't the last medium I'm gonna try. I'll probably get obsessed with carving tiny wooden figurines or making wax sculptures at some point. who knows!

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and now I'm in my mid-thirties, making art pretty much every day. I've been doing this since I was a teenager, so almost twenty years now.

I never imagined I'd be satisfied with my own art, that I could look at most of my pieces and not see how I could have done it better, but hey, here I am.

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wow that was rambly. the ADHD really comes out when I'm writing lol. and I did eat real food today! before having some freezies

thanks so much for your ask, hopefully I satisfied your curiosity

#art #ask #asks

[bi-bard]

Lovesick - Sonny Carisi Imagine (Law & Order: S.V.U)

Title: Lovesick

Pairing: Sonny Carisi X Reader

Word Count: 1,088 words

Warning(s):

Summary: Carisi offers (Y/n) some dating advice, which leads to Rollins offering (Y/n) an unrequested second opinion.

Author's Note: I'm a sucker for stupid shit like this.

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I had been disconnected all day.

I was doing the work, getting the job done, but my mind felt like it was on a different planet.

I only started coming back to Earth when a cup of coffee was placed on my desk. I looked up to see Sonny standing next to my desk.

"Looked like you needed it," he shrugged.

"Thanks," I muttered, grabbing the cup. "You're right. Like always."

"Are you alright?"

"Got stood up," I replied. "Again."

"Same guy?"

I nodded.

Sonny and I had been close for a while. He was supportive, verging on protective. I assumed it was a thing he did with everyone. He was the one that I trusted with everything. I never trusted anyone with everything.

"Can I offer some unsolicited advice," he asked.

I nodded. Why the hell not? What's the worst that could happen? I don't take the advice? I get upset at what he says? It's Sonny. I knew that he meant well.

"I think you should drop this guy," he said. "He's not worth the effort. I mean, doubt the dinner would even be worth it."

I chuckled. He was probably right.

"Tell you what, I have an idea," he explained.

"Oh, that's dangerous."

"That was uncalled for."

"Sorry," I held my hands up for a moment. "Alright, what's your idea?"

"Tonight, after work, come over and I'll make you the best dinner you've ever had," he suggested.

"Are you sure?"

"I'd rather make sure you're getting decent food than think about you waiting for that idiot to call again."

I grinned. "Alright, fine. Impress me, Carisi."

"Always do," he called as he stepped away from my desk.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," I replied.

I looked back to the file in front of me, placing the coffee cup back next to me.

"And (Y/n) lights up again."

I jumped when I heard Amanda's voice in my ear.

She smirked at me.

"What's that look for," I asked.

"You and Carisi," she replied. "It's cute. You two talk and now, look at you. Like nothing upset you at all."

I rolled my eyes.

"And watching Carisi try to hide how jealous he is, is very fun," she shrugged.

"Jealous," I raised an eyebrow. "Sonny's a friend. He's worried about me. Doesn't want me stuck with an ass."

"And he offers to one-up your potential date because he's a good friend?"

I just shrugged, looking at the file again.

"(Y/n), my dear, I'm telling you this as a friend," Amanda squatted next to my chair. I looked at her as she looked around the room quickly. "He looks at you like a lovesick teenager."

"Oh, shut up."

"He is in love with you, (Y/n)."

"You're wrong, Amanda."

"Mmhmm, sure I am."

I rolled my eyes again, waiting for her to finally stand and start walking away.

I didn't want to believe her. At all.

I wanted to believe that Sonny and I were just friends.

It was easier that way. No annoying details to complicate things. No matter how I felt about him or how he felt about me. It would all be okay if we ignored it.

I met Sonny at the door that night and we walked out together.

When we got to his place, he was rambling about whatever he planned on making. I was just grinning and nodding along. I leaned on the counter as he went about his business, offering to help. He refused.

It all just felt so natural. Like we had done this a thousand times before and would do it a thousand times after this. Like the pieces were falling into place whether I was ready for them to or not.

"Can I just say, it's nice to have you around again," he said after a little while. He was at the stove.

"It's nice to be around again," I replied. "You make very good company."

"I would hope so," he chuckled. "Be disappointed if you only came over for my cooking."

"Well..."

I dragged out the word for a few seconds before Sonny nudged me with his elbow.

I watched him for a moment. Outside of work mode. Relaxed and in control. It was nice. I took a deep breath.

"Y'know, Rollins and I had an interesting chat today," I brought up. I wanted it to be casual. I wanted him to be comfortable denying what she had told me. "After you invited me over."

"What about? If you don't mind me asking."

"Well... mostly you... us really," I shrugged, standing up straight.

"What's she so worried about us for?"

He seemed to try to play it casually too, but I saw him tense a bit.

"She thought you were jealous of me trying to date," I forced a chuckle. Like I wasn't trying to pry at his thoughts.

When he didn't respond, I took a deep breath and pushed a little more.

"She seems to think you have feelings for me."

He glanced at me for a moment before going back to the pan. I was hoping that he would immediately deny it. Then, we could pretend this was a joke and I hadn't just outed the fact that I clearly had feelings for him too. But the silence felt like another can of worms.

Silent confirmation.

The worst kind of confirmation, in my opinion. Because it pushed me to do things that I would typically be terrified of doing.

"Sonny."

He didn't speak. He didn't look up from the stove. He just clenched his jaw and focused on whatever he was doing.

"Look at me," I begged, reaching out to touch his forearm. "Please."

He finally relented, turning his head to face me. His jaw was still clenched. He looked embarrassed.

I leaned over and kissed him gently. Only a matter of seconds before I leaned back again. I grinned as I did, looking down at the floor for a moment.

"I... have feelings for you too," I said. "Just so you know."

"Good," he nodded. "Really good."

"I'd hope so."

There was a pause before Sonny spoke up again, "We are not telling Rollins that she is the reason this happened."

"Oh God, no, she'd never let us hear the end of it."

He chuckled as shook his head. I leaned forward and rested my head on his shoulder. I let my eyes close for a while.

Sonny was right.

This was much better than any other date I could've been dragged on that night.

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Author's Note: I personally ship Carisi and Rollins, but Rollins was the only person I saw being even kinda likely to do this, so I had to work with it.

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