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spacingstars · 2 months

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Sometimes, I find myself breaking down Kix’s character, turning over his traits, his patterns and behaviors… and more and more I find the personality construed by fandom for Kix to be so wildly jarring from what we do have of Kix.

Kix has, roughly, 17 minutes of screen time across the entirety of TCW, which, when compared to the likes of Fives and Rex, who clock much more screen time than most other clones, this doesn’t seem like a lot—but when you factor in most clones' screen time, we get a lot of Kix, and there’s a lot you can learn about him if you pay attention to the moments he does have on screen.

And to illustrate my point, and because I genuinely love Kix, I’m taking it upon myself to examine what we do have of Kix—both for my own purposes, creatively, and because I also happen to enjoy being neurotically intense about my favorite characters.

From “The Deserter” (S02:10) which is also Kix’s debut episode:

1. Kix speaks with a softer and gentler affliction in his voice compared to other clones (as seen with Jesse, who debuts alongside Kix and contrasts him in being more assertive.) I generally extrapolate this to be reflective of a softness that underscores Kix’s mannerisms. 2. When confronted by Suu, Kix doesn’t react with aggression of defensiveness (even if he’s also escorting an injured Rex and has a rifle pointed at him,) instead he opts to gently, and slowly, explain the situation, (in fact, Suu cuts him off and it is Jesse who has to explain, Jesse, who speaks quickly and in a more assertive manner than Kix did.) Kix’s tone is also likely influenced by caution. 3. The most notable scene in this episode that Kix appears in is when he’s tending to an injured Rex—I say notable because I think it informs much of how Kix treats his patients, even when they’re being uncooperative. Because in this scene, Kix is nothing but gentle an caring towards Rex, even when Rex tries to order Kix into letting him back into the fight despite the nerve damage he’s taken from the shot to his chest. When he pulls rank on Rex it is done so firmly, but kindly, and his face is one of sheepishness. If this scene shows anything, it’s that Kix is patient.

From Kix’s debut episode, what can be described about his character is that he’s much more reserved and gentle in comparison to the much more assertive personality of Jesse—from his mannerisms to the tone of his voice. He will be firm, but he is not unkind. He also shows patience towards his patient, even when said patient is, initially, being uncooperative.

From Umbara (S04:07 - S04:10) which is when Kix gets the most screen time:

1. The first moment of note Kix appears in is when he raises concerns to Rex about the pace Krell has had them marching at, that this pace is taking its toll on the men and they need to rest. Kix raises these concerns respectfully, secondly, Kix is doing his duty as a medic, which, is fundamental to his character, finally, Kix cares about those around him and he does what he can to ensure the welfare of these men. (And also, I think it’s quite telling that Kix doesn’t press the issue after Krell scolds them for it, as noted before, Kix does not have an assertive personality.) 2. When Kix is taking care of an injured clone he’s dragged into cover Kix retains his professionalism and keeps himself together even under stress. Kix comforts his patient instead, and I think it speaks of that gentleness I keep mentioning that Kix says, “You’re gonna be okay, buddy, this’ll ease the pain.” Kix is comforting, and he holds himself together under stress because he has his brothers to take care of. 3. I think it’s also notable that when Torrent is starting to express their distrust in Krell, though you can tell Kix is beginning to get frustrated with the treatment of the men (expressing that with Krell’s plan, casualties will be high,) his comments are not nearly has harsh as those of Tup or Jesse. Once again, Kix is shown to be more reserved, and I see it as him maintaining his professionalism in raising these concerns, even as he is beginning to grow frustrated with this poor treatment. 4. The note of Kix beginning to grow frustrated with the treatment of his brothers will be expanded upon throughout the Umbara arc; especially in light of Kix taking his frustration and horror out on the wildlife of Umbara for feeding on the corpses of his brothers. If I am to extrapolate, those dead clones serve as a reminder to Kix; a remainder that he, more and more, has been unable to properly care for all his injured brothers. These clones are a reminder to Kix of the brothers he could not save. This is the first crack within Kix, due to the stress of Umbara, and I have to emphasis, this is not Kix’s normal pattern of behavior. 5. Continuing the thread of Kix beginning to crack under the pressures of Umbara, there is a moment in Umbara where Kix is tending to an injured clone—one that’s in his arms, and this clone gets shot to death in Kix’s arms. This is directly Kix being unable to save a clone’s life despite being right there, because Umbara is that overwhelming—to such a degree that he’s forced to leave behind the injured in this moment, even if he can save them. And this is another crack in Kix’s composure, because he snaps at Rex, he drops his professionalism and his respect, and even resorts to barbed comments against Rex for ordering him from tending to the injured because Torrent needs Kix alive. This is not Kix’s normal behavior, this is Kix, stressed and crumbling under the weight of Umbara. 6. The last notable scene Kix appears in, and this is the moment where Kix finally breaks under Umbara’s pressure—it’s the moment where he starts haphazardly firing his blaster at the enemy. This is intended to be shocking—because this is not how Kix nominally acts, he’s in immense distress, and it takes Tup pulling him into cover to get him to calm down. Kix holds his composure for so long, and when he does break, he breaks hard. 7. To cap off the Umbara thoughts, though Kix does have more scenes, he is relegated to a background character for the most part—but, I can only imagine what was going through Kix’s head when he had, under the orders of Krell, fired upon other clones, it is completely counter to who he is, both as a person and as a medic, and I imagine it cuts deep—as it did for all clones involved in that moment, but for Kix… some of that hurt I imagine would be coming from how he’s meant to save his brothers lives, he’s the medic… and yet, in that moment, all he did was take theirs.

Umbara shows that Kix—who has been shown to be a respectful, kind, and helpful clone who just earnestly wants to do his duty in providing his brothers with the care he needs—is broken by an inability to help.

From the Chip arc (S06:01 - S06:04):

1. Not much to be said about some of Kix’s first appearances in this arc, as Kix is doing what he does as a medic (and expressing concern for Tup.) But the scene where Tup is in the infirmary, and Kix is confused about what’s wrong with Tup, I do think that Kix being willing to say that he can’t figure out what’s wrong, and that if they want answers, he’ll need to be sent back to Kamino, is indicative of Kix is aware of the limitations in his knowledge and is willing to humble himself. 2. This is more light-hearted scene (at first, anyway,) and is mostly conjecture on my part but I find it too amusing to leave out. That is the scene in which Kix is checking himself out in the mirror at 79’s. I do not think this is indicative of Kix being conceited about his looks—rather, I think it’s indicative of something else entirely in light of how he also talks in this scene. When he realizes someone else walks in, he talks with a deeper tone that I can only describe as Kix trying to present himself as being cool and mysterious. All the while he’s nonchalantly brushing his shoulders off. It’s so funny to me, especially when he realizes it’s Fives who just walked in, and immediately he tone switches to his typical inflection—and his mannerisms return to the typical ones we’ve seen of him. (Yes, I also think Kix had the haircut he does because he tries to present himself as cooler than he actually is, I imagine he grew embarrassed by this insistence given he grows it out later on—Kix is a dork, I said what I said.) 3. And yes, Kix immediately jumping to concern, before offering his help to Fives—even if his duty would insist that he turn Fives in because of the attempted assassination—I think, this is because Kix fixates on Fives’ distress, and he focuses on how to alleviate that stress, so even as it’s clear he’s confused by what Fives has gotten himself into, Kix still offers his help, and gives it freely in getting Fives in direct contact with Anakin and Rex at his behest. It’s a strong moment for his character, and his face when he asks what he can do to help… it’s so earnest. He’s loyal to his brothers.

And finally, there is the Echo arc of season 7, (S07:01 - S07:04):

1. When their gunship gets shot down, Kix is the first to notice that Cody was injured in the wreck and is trapped; I put this down to Kix being attentive and keeping track of the head count of the party he’s with, something done because he is the team medic and he is responsible for the well being of those around him first and foremost. 2. Then there is the scene at the campfire, which, firstly shows the bond Jesse and Kix have given the ease of banter between them and the comfort between them in their interactions. Secondly, I find it interesting how when Wrecker strangles Jesse, while Rex resorts to more direct action (trying to pull Wrecker by his collar,) Kix kind of just hovers, it’s a pretty… non-violent action when Rex and Jesse both jump to the defensive with the batch (Rex, even more directly, later on, when he actually punches Crosshair.) Similarly, even when Crosshair shoves Kix away, Kix shoves back before getting stuck in a headlock, and even after getting out of the headlock, at most he puts his hands on Crosshair to keep shoving him away. Generally, Kix is a lot less confrontational compared to either Jesse and Rex are in regards to the batch—which, circles around to my point of Kix not being as assertive, neither will he be overly aggressive towards allies. (This may be extrapolated as Kix refusing to take more direction action against another clone, given Umbara. But, that’s just extrapolation; a theory, a musing on motives.) 3. (Also yes I am aware that Kix makes jabs about the batch and I mostly construe this to be that Kix can be judgmental about others when he’s skeptical of them, I have my reasons as to why I’m not putting a lot of weight on this but it’s tied to a critique of the arc’s writing, which is not what this is about.)

In summation, Kix is shown, repeatedly, to be someone whose kind and helpful—what matters most to him is the care and well being of his brothers. He’s earnest in that care, and he’s got a softness that underscores a lot of his mannerisms and speech. He does his best to hold himself together for the sake of his brothers. He gets frustrated and breaks down in the face of mounting casualties and an inability to help his brothers. He’s respectful and professional in how he conducts himself as a medic, and even if he pulls rank, he’s firm but kind about it—he expresses patience in how he handles those under his care. Additionally, and in my own conjecture of his character, Kix tries to present himself as cooler than he actually is, suggesting a level of dorky insecurity to him. He’s also shown to lash out and make barbed comments when he’s incredibly stressed, and Kix carries judgment towards others when he’s skeptical of them.

What Kix is not is a hard ass medic whose sick of everyone’s shit, who berates and scolds his patients relentlessly—complaining about how they make his job harder. He is not quick to anger nor does he easily take his frustrations out on those around him—especially those under his care. He does not constantly throw his rank around to get those under his care to do what he wants.

It is a far cry from Kix’s character, and I think it’s a damn shame Kix’s actual character gets ignored in favor in fanon, because honestly, Kix as he is in canon is incredibly interesting—carrying a host of traits that can be explored and examined in their own right.

(Also, in quick references, I’ve narrowed down two videos that compiled Kix’s screen time across TCW, this one which clocks at ~14 minutes, and the second one with clocks in at ~17 minutes.)

#help I'm star wars posting #Clone Medic Kix #Star Wars #Fandom Stuff #Long Post #Space's Fandom Stuff #do I need a meta tag now #Space's Chatter #<- edit: I have a meta tag now lol #technically?#Fandom Salt #Fandom Nonsense

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killerpancakeburger · 3 months

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Bluebeard's wife

SUMMARY: On a visit to your boyfriend, you end up having to deal with a creep on base, but Soap and Ghost's methods of resolving your problem are... far more drastic than yours.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader (and BFF!Ghost)

TAGS: Dark content, Badass!Reader, Established relationship, Dark! a bit yandere! Soap, Dark! a bit yandere! Ghost.

WARNINGS: Canon violence, blood mention, sexual harassment, insults. Soap and Ghost are acting creepy but not towards Reader.

WORDS COUNT: 1,1k words.

A/N: Was thinking about how high the risks of sexual assault are in the military for women + about how much the Task Force could get away with (Soap's mohawk is NOT standard issue lol), but it turned out kinda dark. Not my usual kind of content. This is my first time writting those characters, pls be indulgent.

Your elbow connects with the man’s nose with a satisfying crack.

Immediately he howls, pressing his broken nose with one hand, blood dripping between his fingers.

“FUCK! What the fuck! You broke my nose, you crazy bitch!”

This. This is why you didn’t want to meet the Task Force on base. There was always one brainless fucker who didn’t get the memo that, no, despite having breasts, you weren’t here as a comfort woman.

The private is glaring at you with a hatred as deep as it is sudden, one that screams murder.

The only good side of the situation is, with how loud he’s being, you won’t even need to call for help. Already most of the soldiers nearby are staring at you, muttering among themselves. Not that you can’t beat this guy up on your own, but the military tends to frown upon civilians roughing up their members, you learned it at your expense quite early. On the other hand, soldiers settling accounts between each other was… well, not exactly authorized, but it was way less trouble for you.

He grabs you by the collar, his rage only exacerbated by your composure. The action stains your clothing with his blood. You mentally grimace. You’re no stranger to blood, but the idea of this repulsive individual’s bodily fluids being anywhere on your person is disgusting.

“Are you listening, you dumb bitch!? I’m gonna fucking kill-”

The venom-filled verbal onslaught stops dead as a hand takes hold of your assailant’s wrist.

“Now, now, at ease, soldier. Ya making a spectacle of yourself.”

The thickly accented voice of your boyfriend sends a wave of warmth in your chest.

Your harasser hesitates a second too long, so Soap makes the decision for him, tightening his grasp until the soldier winces, and finally takes the hint, letting you go and taking a few steps backward. Johnny immediately positions himself between the two of you, shielding you.

He’s been smiling the whole time, but it’s the kind of dangerous smile you wear when you’re about to give an asshole a righteous beating.

The private looks partially sheepish, but not defeated, indignation burning in his eyes. He lets loose a torrent of justifications and excuses, actively painting you as the villain, not caring if he contradicts himself in the process. You don’t pay attention to the details of his speech. It’s always the same “she was asking for it” kind of diatribe. The fact that he sincerely believes that there’s a chance that Soap will take his side instead of yours is laughable, but not surprising.

You wonder how long this will go on, until the private notices something next to you, and all blood seems to desert his face as his voice deserts his vocal cords.

You turn your head and, to no surprise to you, Ghost is there. He stands so close to you that your arms are almost touching. Clothed entirely in black, which brings out the white skull on his mask, his presence is as menacing as ever; all he needs to do is scowl at lesser soldiers to make them cower in fear. He doesn’t look back at you, but his support for you is so obvious through the rest of his behavior that he doesn’t need to.

Soap takes advantage of the newfound silence to turn to you.

“Ya good, yeah?” He asks, cradling your cheek tenderly, and stroking your cheekbone with his thumb.

The question is futile - if you were hurt, he would have noticed right away. But it’s still cute to see.

“Yeah. Not a scratch.” you smile.

“That’s my girl”, he smiles back. “So, what the bloody hell happened here?”

You glance at the private behind him. He’s shaking, and the look he sends you back is begging for mercy. Remembering the first words he addressed to you earlier, you realize you’re all out of mercy for today. Thus, with a sadistic little smile, you recount the events.

“This man came to me complaining that I was unfairly privileging Sergeant Mctavish and that he wanted his turn. Then when I explained that I wasn’t some kind of free-for-all buffet, he took it the wrong way and put his hands on me. That’s when I exploded his nose.”

By the time you finish your explanation, Soap’s expression has darkened considerably.

“I see.” is all that leaves his mouth. Anyone familiar with him would know that for him to start talking by monosyllables like Ghost, something must be very wrong.

Pivoting again, he faces the private and, as the latter opens his mouth to plead for forgiveness, punches him right in the face. Blood gushes, drops of it landing on his face. You mentally count until three, one for every blow, and when Soap still doesn’t stop punching, you frown, disturbed and worried by his conduct. He’s never been one to remain impassive in the face of injustice, easily riled-up even in critical situations and despite his superiors’ orders, but you’ve never seen him go this far.

You’re about to intervene when Ghost beats you to it, putting a hand on his sergeant’s shoulder. That’s right. Ghost, the voice of reason, the paragon of self-control, their cold-hearted leader, will fix everything.

However when you hear the next words that leave his mouth, it’s like the world tilted on its axis.

“Not out in the open, Johnny.”

The words are whispered low enough that only Soap and you would have heard. They send a cold shiver down your spine. Rattled and unsettled in a way that they never made you feel before, you contemplate the situation in silent incredulity.

“Aye, L.T.”, replies Soap with an abnormally monotonous tone.

Before you can ask what the fuck is happening, he proceeds to punch the soldier so hard in the stomach that the latter collapses without a sound, except for the muffled noise of someone winded. The scene makes you increasingly uncomfortable. You feel like Bluebeard's newest wife, having stumbled upon the one room you were forbidden from entering, having witnessed something you weren't supposed to see, and now you can never go back to how things were before.

You counted on Soap and Ghost’s intervention, sure, but you expected them to put an end to the fight, maybe intimidate the guy a little, and ultimately end things here. You didn’t expect… whatever this is.

Staring in shock at the two Special Forces, you shake your head to get a grip and come closer.

“Alright guys, I think he’s had enough-”

Ghost interrupts you with a hand on your shoulder. The Ghost touching two people in less than five minutes? Yes, something’s seriously wrong. Looking at him, you try to convey urgency with your gaze…

“Simon, this isn’t-”

…but his next words make you lose hope of winning this argument.

“Easy there, love. Johnny’s takin’ care of it, ya don’t need to worry ‘bout a thing.”

The next thing you know, he presses a hand against your lower back, making you leave the premises, completely ignoring the way you stare at him in utter disbelief… and growing apprehension.

He had never called you “love” before.

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hyperactively-me · 9 months

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Princess!reader finally slipping up and insulting King Ghost by calling him a murderer, or saying that she hates him for that reason. King Ghost finally understanding why she doesn't like him. I need the angst and drama aaaA.

In the dimly lit chambers of the royal quarters, a heavy silence settled. King Ghost sat at his desk, surrounded by the flickering light of candles, lost in the weight of his responsibilities. He had always carried the weight of the crown with solemn grace, ruling his kingdom with a firm hand and an unwavering dedication. Ruling with a strong hand was necessary for Kastron to survive, earning the respect of his subjects and the loyalty of his council. Yet, despite his outward strength, there was a void within him that he couldn't quite fill – the strained relationship with his own wife.

You kept him at a cold distance that seemed impassable. He could feel your eyes on him, could sense the tension in the air whenever you were in the same room. He yearned to bridge the gap between you, to understand the source of your resentment, but it remained unspoken. He knew that you resented him for taking you away from your home, for throwing you into this role that you never asked for.

That evening, during dinner, you were absentmindedly pushing around your food with your fork. Your posture was tense, your face scrunched up, lost in thought.

Ghost clears his throat, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

“What are you thinkin’ about?”

“Oh, this question again,” you snap.

Being immediately met with your hostility, he prepares for a blowout argument to occur.

“Can I not ask how my wife is doing?”

Your gaze hardened, your fingers curling into fists. You slam your fork down, springing up from your chair.

“Your wife,” you scoff.

“It’s what you are, are you not?”

You don’t say anything.

“Do you want to tell me what you’re thinking about? We’ve been playing this game of back and forth and I’m growing tired of it.”

“You want to know? You really are asking me this? Fine, I'll tell you.” Your voice trembled with suppressed emotion, a volcano on the brink of eruption. “I hate you for what you do.”

If he wasn’t paying attention before, he definitely is now. He sets down his fork softly.

“Tell me what I do.”

His simple response, his nonchalance, his ignorance of the whole situation, of your feelings, enrages you. The anger that had been simmering within you finally bubbled over, and you couldn't hold back the torrent of emotions any longer. Your voice cracked as you unleashed the storm that had been building up for far too long.

“You’re a murder, a killer. You’re a murderer and I can’t stand the thought of being married to someone who has so much blood on their hands.”

Ghost's posture stiffened, his own anger simmering beneath his usually controlled demeanor. “You speak as though I enjoy it. As though I revel in the violence.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, devoid of any humor. “Maybe you don't revel in it, but you certainly tolerate it, don't you? You justify it as the cost of maintaining your power. Well, I can't stand it. I can't stand the sight of you, knowing what you've done.”

His gaze bore into yours, the tension between you like a physical weight in the room. He opened his mouth, searching for words to counter your accusations, but you interrupted him.

“And not to mention, I’m here now. Yeah, I’m all of a sudden the queen of your kingdom, and everyone expects me to tolerate it and to know what I’m doing. I have no fucking idea what I’m supposed to be doing here.”

Ghost's eyes flashed with frustration. “You think I don't carry the weight of every decision I make? You think I don't question myself, every night, about the lives lost under my command?”

Your laughter was harsh, cutting through the air like a blade. "Your remorse doesn't wash the blood on your hands. And it certainly doesn't—”

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about, do you?” he cuts you off, the interruption slicing through the air.

His voice is low and strained.

“You don't know the weight of these decisions this kingdom has had to face. You don't know the sacrifices I've had to make to protect this kingdom, to ensure its survival. Every choice I make, every life lost, it's a burden I carry with me every day.”

Your breath caught in your throat, his words penetrating the walls of anger you had built up. You looked into his eyes, seeing something raw beneath his exterior. For the first time in a long while, you saw Ghost not as a cold king, but as a man – a man burdened by the choices he had made.

“I never wanted you to see me like this. I never wanted you to be exposed to the violence associated with me, and I sure as hell never wanted you to despise me.”

“You’re too good for me, you don’t deserve to be in this kingdom with me. So I tried my best to shield you from this side of me, from the violence associated with Kastron. I want to work toward a better future, not only for the kingdom, but for us.”

You take in his words, understanding the weight of it. You’re going to be here for a lifetime. You’re not going anywhere. And who are you if you back down from a challenge? No, you’re a fighter, and you’ll go down fighting for what you think is right until the day you die.

“I don’t know if I can just…forget everything,” you say slowly. “And I’m not expecting you to.”

“But, I can’t live the rest of my life here resenting you. It’s exhausting. I mean, fuck, I’m the queen of this kingdom,” you shake your head.

A deep sigh escaped your lips, your shoulders sagging as the weight of your anger began to lift, replaced by a complex mixture of emotions.

"I don’t want to resent you," you admitted, your voice softer now. You twist the wedding ring on your finger. Ghost pretends not to notice.

“How can I close this distance between us?” Ghost pipes up with a calm tone. “How can I be better for you?”

“I… I don’t really know…” you say. “I just want to get to know who you really are. Who Simon is.”

He’s quiet.

“I could say the same for you, you know. I want to know who you are as well.”

You nod slowly. “Okay…”

“After all, we do have a lifetime together,” he grunts. You pick your fork back up and take a bite of food. You think while you chew, taking in the last few moments.

“I hope, with time, we can find a way to…overcome this. Together.” You nod your head solemnly.

Silence settled between you, a tense quiet that held the hope of change. The journey ahead was uncertain, a path fraught with challenges, but as you looked at him, you saw not just a king with blood on his hands, but a man willing to confront his past.

The anger that had ignited your words was still there, but it was tempered now by a glimmer of understanding, a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to stand together against the darkness that haunted both of you.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

#damn #okay #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

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a-5-m-0-d-3-u-5 · 2 months

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Scar Tissue (Price x Trans Masc! Reader)

Contains: Tooth-rotting fluff, completely SFW, FTM reader intended but should be safe for masc leaning enbies too, 2nd person POV, reader has a singular double mastectomy scar as is very self conscious about it, ambiguous warm drink cuz I don’t like tea or coffee lol, \obnoxiously self indulgent in my opinion but I hope it resonates with others

A/n: Woof I’m nervous but I do really like how this turned out. It’s cute and it even made my partner blush despite him being cis lol also Price is your husband because it’s cute and I said so. Be gentle with this one, yeah?

Although this is safe for all ages, I ask minors please refrain from interacting with me and this post, and any other posts. This is a space for adults.

The night always made things tougher. Something about the quiet, the darkness, the otherwise calm atmosphere made it harder to chase away the more negative thoughts. Insecurities burned hot in the cold of night as you stood outside on the small veranda of your little English apartment in the crisp wintry air to try and chase them away. The rain had only just stopped pouring down in torrents. The sound of wet tires driving below you accompanied the familiar, gentle smell of rain. It was comforting. Not enough to dull the pain, unfortunately, but comforting still.

You didn’t pay attention to the time, doing so usually just stressed you out during these moments, so you hadn’t noticed how late it was until your husband had sidled up behind you with a warm mug he’d made just for you. He handed it to you silently. He learned a long time ago what being outside this long this late at night usually meant. He wrapped a warm arm around your chilled shoulders and gently pulled you against him. Finally, you started to slowly pull away from your negative thinking just long enough to quietly speak.

“Thank you,” was all you could manage, but Price didn’t mind. He knew that for you, your words carried more weight than they seemed on the surface.

He hummed in response, giving your shoulders a small squeeze to say ‘you’re welcome.’

“Doin’ alright?”

A playful glare was all your husband got in return. He was happy to see you at least still had the heart to joke a bit with him.

“Right. Stupid question. Sorry, love.”

Eventually, you’d take a sip from your mug. He always prepared your drinks to your preferences. It made your chest warm.

“Wanna talk about it?” He was looking at you now. That gentle expression always comforted you.

You shook your head and took another slow sip, “Just insecurities again. Nothing major, I’m fine.”

“That why you've been out here on the veranda staring out at nothing the past couple hours?”

You took another sip, electing to say nothing. You did make it extra noisy though, pulling a rumbling chuckle from Price’s chest in the process.

Eventually, he guided you inside. You were as cold as the dead when he’d gotten to you. He wanted to warm you up and, if you’d talk, he wanted to know what was wrong. Knowing it was an insecurity of yours narrowed it down, but not enough to pin it. He needed to know a bit more.

You sat on your small couch, Price quickly following you. He took your hand in his. The callouses that littered his palm and fingers were always grounding. You were certain if you were blindfolded and told to guess which hand belonged to him, you’d guess correctly without fail. You knew every dip and ridge in his skin like your own.

You’d finished your drink after a while. You sighed, leaning into your husband’s chest. His heartbeat never failed to help your mind quiet down a bit.

“Just my scar again…” you mumbled, lacing your fingers in with his.

He kissed his teeth, the clicking noise it made bringing you out of the beginning of another spiral, “What did I tell you ‘bout that, love? You know I think it’s perfect.”

“I know,” you said, tucking your head under his chin, “‘Fraid I don’t think the same way, is all.”

His free hand rose up to hold your head and he pressed a soft lingering kiss into your hair, “That’s why I’m here. To think that way for you. C’mon, then, on your back.”

You groaned, pretending your melancholy face hadn’t broken out into a small grin, as you were guided onto your back. Price hovered above you and lifted your shirt up to your collarbone, kissing slowly up your belly as he did so. His kisses finally reached the part of your chest you couldn’t feel anymore. The scar tissue had faded quite a bit, but it was still clearly visible. One straight line stretched across your ribcage. It was uneven, thicker in some places than others. When your clothes were on, you often forgot about it. But when they weren’t…

You couldn’t feel much of the kisses that your husband trailed across the scar. His beard would drag across the area around it, your body unsure if it tickled or itched, but you could only feel the pressure of his lips through the numb skin. Still, you looked down and watched as he worshiped the ugly line that ripped through your skin. It wasn’t neat, wasn’t typical, wasn’t the ideal, but Price always showed he never cared about that.

”It made you happy, yeah? All that matters, then,” is what he’d always say.

All those mean thoughts finally started to melt away as he continued to kiss along your chest, further up to your collarbone. He pulled your shirt down so he could kiss up your neck, across your jaw, and finally up to your mouth. You felt him grin against your lips. You suppressed an annoyed whine as he pulled away to look at you.

“Better?”

“A bit.”

“I can keep going.”

“Would you?”

You fell asleep on the couch with your shirt pulled up to your shoulders and Price’s lips against your scar.

#ftm reader #trans masc reader #masc nb reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #john price x male reader #john price x ftm reader #captain price x male reader #capitain price x ftm reader #price x male reader #price x ftm reader

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ominoose · 7 months

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𝐏𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐨

Character: Steven Grant Prompt: Being Recorded & Pumpkin Summary: Steven has an onlyfans and does a Halloween special stream featuring a pumpkin. Warning: Onlyfans, smut, pumpkin gets violated. WC: 2.1K

Kinktober Masterlist

The camera angled towards his waist, showing only his lower half. His olive skin washed over by the white lighting sitting behind the camera, adding shadows to each curve. A plain, white sheet hung up behind him acting as the backdrop, although now a few fake candles and a single, plump pumpkin now joined him.

It was a basic set up, but Steven found he didn’t need anything too elaborate to keep his viewers entertained.

After being fired from the museum, a job he can’t even remember getting but one he adored, he turned to alcohol for one measly night. It was far from a normal coping mechanism for him, but the pathetic circumstances called for it. As horrid as Steven's tiny attic flat was, it was still located in central London which made the rent sky high. Even with his full time job he’d barely managed to scrape by with what he made, but now? Unemployed? He was days away from the streets.

In his drunken spiral his depressive thoughts moved from his unemployment status to his barren relationship status. Self deprecating words torrented through his mind. Was he ugly? Unsightly? Was he really that unattractive? Steven made a point of being friendly and open to everyone he came across, so it only made sense that his chronic loneliness stemmed from his appearance.

Through frustrated and self conscious tears he fell into another less productive vice; porn. If there was no one in reality to hold him, touch him or make him feel something, he’d find someone on a screen to do it. That was how he drunkenly ended up on onlyfans, scrolling through explicit content, eyes widening at the outrageous prices. Did people really spend that amount of money just to watch someone get off, wear costumes and moan into a mic? Without even seeing their face? It was ludicrous, but the more he scrolled, the more it became clear that people were more than happy to pay.

After a sad wank, a few more tears and two more drinks, Steven Grant was officially pished and about to make questionable decisions. In his drunken haze, with a mind whirling with money problems and a need to be wanted, he signed up. With one hand in his pants and another hitting his phones record button, he pointed the camera down at his crotch and went for it. Whimpers and moans filled the room, with Steven panting breathily into the mic and begging with every honest thought he would never have said aloud before.

“Please… please love I’m beggin you, please touch me, I need you,” He fisted his hard, aching cock faster, lips trembling as he lost himself to desperation, “Want you so bad, please, I’ll take anyone, want to be a good boy, I can be such a good boy.”

His voice cracked as he spoke, an emotional and horny wreck, pent up with all sorts of pathetic need. In a matter of minutes he’s spilling over his hands and trousers, crying out at his own sensitivity and jerking into his calloused hand.

The video ended as he dropped the phone, lazily hitting upload as he typed the title “Just Want To Be A Good Boy.” It was amazing that he managed to spell it all correctly in his state, blinking through self pitying tears. The title was him spelling out his hearts truth, Steven just wanted someone to want him, it was that simple.

As the worst post nut clarity of his life hit he flung the phone to the side of the bed, rolled over with a frustrated huff and forced himself to sleep.

The hangover hit like the London Metro on a monday morning, crowding his head with throbs and aches. Most of last night was a blur, and if the translucent stains on his jeans were anything to go by, it had been another sad and depressing night.

Steven made his way begrudgingly through the motions, with cornflakes and almond milk, a one sided conversation with Gus and whatever David Attenborough documentary was on the telly. He made it through twenty minutes of the routine before realising his phone had been buzzing. Assuming it was another LinkdIn alert email he ignored them, but after the fifth notification he heaved himself up, trotting over to it the phone with a pout at being bullied via notifications.

Onlyfans: You have 17 new Subscribers!

With a knitted brow, Steven read over the words twice, then thrice more. Individually the words made sense, but together he was stumped. He had subscribers? On Onlyfans? The porn subscription site? When on earth had he been on there? Dismissing it as some marketing email, he opened the notification with the intent to report it as spam but was instead redirect to the app, which only furthered his confusion.

Notification bubbles on the app told him he’d gained 127 new subscribers, with 345 likes on his last post. Anxiety and confusion coiled deep within his gut as he clicked onto the post, and the video that played back at him, or rather the voice that did, sent him into the beginning stages of a panic attack.

It was him from the waist down, curled into himself, arching off his bed. It was his voice begging some unknown person to touch him, want him, need him with passionate fervour. Within his broken mind a handful of pieces began to fit together and he buckled against the bed, completely aghast at what he and apparently many others had witnessed.

A new comment popped up live in front of him, and his finger expanded the comment section before his mind could stop him.

“God I need you so bad…”

“Need him to whine right in my ear.”“Ur my good boy”

“what i wouldnt give to edge him till he begs”

“Pleaseeee I need more of this content!”

Stevens heart stopped. His eyes widened in disbelief. They wanted more? Of him? They’d seen him, seen his privates, heard his deepest desires and wants, viewed him at his most raw and they wanted more? The pound sign caught his eye as he saw the automatic base subscription fee being £3, and his eyes flew open once again. With fumbling fingers he opened his bank app and nearly dropped the phone.

£381 had been added to his bank account.

That was the story of how Steven Grant, former chronically single giftshoppist, found himself with a successful and growing Onlyfans account. Turns out the whimpery, British men market was ripe for the taking, and he took it by the neck. It didn’t take long before he was adding more tiers, going from posting videos to live streams, he even has a few whales that regularly drop obscene amounts of money to make him buy new toys or costumes. Safe to say Steven was making far more than he did at the museum and missing rent was no longer a problem.

The idea of a Halloween special was something a few of his fans had mentioned, and he saw no reason not to. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t constantly drunk on the praise thrown at him, the very fact that he had a high subscriber count and tons of regulars did more to bolster him than therapy ever could.

What special things he’d do however, was something he was still stuck on. Besides the prop pieces and the new halloween themed thigh highs sent to his PO box by a subscriber that loved his ‘gazelle like legs’, he had nothing. Steven prided himself on putting effort into his streams, not half assing them, but with the event fast approaching he was left fumbling. On the morning of Halloween, he stared down the pumpkin and decided he could carve it on stream while edging himself with a toy, letting his viewers watch him get increasingly needy and bothered whilst doing a nice seasonal activity. It wasn’t his best idea, but it would have to do.

As the clock struck midnight, the stream began. Steven was curled in front of the camera, waving his hand down towards where the frame would see him.

“Evening everyone! Happy Halloween! Hope you’re all doing well, promise there will be only treats tonight, no tricks.”

When he first began streaming he was a nervous wreck, barely able to get a full sentence out coherently, but after a few months he felt a bit more at ease. He could ramble on about anything he wanted, from his newest French poetry book to niche Egyptology and so long as he was hard, no one cared. Some comments could be extremely vulgar, a few even hateful, but with the outpouring of love and lust directed and tailored towards him drowned it all out.

On went the stream, with Steven chatting with his viewers before bringing out the pumpkin and slowly carving it, taking his time so both he and his viewers would get worked up. The vibrator he attached to himself was linked up to his laptop, a nifty bit of tech that he barely figured out, but it meant that viewers could pay to turn up the intensity of the vibrator.

Several times they did so, always catching him off guard and leaving him spluttering.

“O-Oi! You nearly made me mess up the carving, you cheeky thing.”

For an even higher price point, viewers could make their own unique requests for the stream. It had only happened twice before, both at Stevens discretion, and he certainly hadn’t expected it to happen now.

@red-hydra: “fuck the pumpkin”

Steven froze mid-carving, knife stuck halfway through a triangular eye, a choked moan escaping him as the vibrator buzzes violently at the wrong moment.

“Bloody hell, I- Y-You want me to… shag the pumpkin?”

The chat was going by so fast he could barely keep up, but the few messages he could discern were all rabid to see him commit to the request.

“Alright, a-alright dears, um… I-I’ll try.”

Slowly Steven pulled the carving knife from the pumpkin, and angled it beside him, prodding the small hole with his finger and gasping at the wet innards. He hadn’t emptied it yet, and he wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad, but it meant there was no need for lube.

With barely restrained trepidation Steven gently grabbed his weeping cock and placed it in front of the opening, gasping at the odd, cold sensation. After a deep breath he takes the plunge and pushes in, grunting at the tightness of the space before an open mouthed groan escaped him.

The feeling was absolutely unlike anything Steven had felt before. It was cold and almost slimy, but it was soft and spongy, and the small, snug space his penis had to fit through made his throbs all the more prominent. He couldn’t restrain the soft whimpers that left him, the way his hips bucked ever so slightly and desperately against his will.

Steven liked to take things slow for his streams, wanting to stretch them to an hour or two long max, however there were odd occasions were he couldn’t help himself. This was one of them.

His fingers were whitening with how hard he was gripping the pumpkin, his chest heaving at the sudden pleasure. It seemed his fans were lapping the sight of him up as the vibrator was constantly buzzing, hitting its highest settings over and over and over. It was too much, and Steven was left moaning without remorse against the walls of his flat, thrusting into the pumpkin as his thighs trembled with the onslaught of pleasure.

Only a few minutes in and he’d already made a mess, just like he was. Strings of pumpkin flesh stuck to the inside of his thighs, a small bead of precum was leaking down his shaft. The entire scene was one of wet and panting chaos, and the chat wasn’t any better.

Out of view of the camera, Steven managed to lift his head, peering at his screen through lust heavy eyes and groaned at what he saw. Comments were flooding, an array of encouragement, vulgar observations all overly descriptive and ravenous over him.

The barrage of compliments, the horde of people egging him on had him nearly piercing the pumpkin with his grip as he fucked into it with the full force of his hips, mewling and whining desperately for more.

It didn’t take long for him to break, cumming with a cry and a gasp, arching whorishly into the abused fruit as pearly white beads bubbled out of the small opening. Steven needed a few moments to gather himself, slowly pulling out of the pumpkin with a wince, finally aware of the stringy orange mess he’d made of himself.

He sat back on his haunches, glancing back towards the camera with a sigh and panting still.

“Well… That’s one way to make vegan pumpkin pie. Happy Halloween lovelies.”

#steven grant #moon knight #oscar isaac #omiwrites

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sodobabe · 1 month

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I’m With You Always: GN Reader x Aether x Dew x Swiss (Poly Relationship)

A/N: I have been wanting to work on a fic where a ghoul, or in this case, three ghouls, take care of the reader while the reader is suffering through a depressive episode and finally breaks down. This was originally just going to be Aether x reader but I got carried away so the reader is in a poly relationship with Aether, Dew, and Swiss. If polyamorous relationships are not your thing, just skip this. If they are your thing, enjoy this heartwarming fic of three ghouls taking care of their mate.

Warnings: A WHOLE LOT OF ANGST mentions of self-hatred (reader has semi-suicidal thoughts), mention of nausea, tooth rotting fluff,

You sat in the library by yourself, letting your brain rot with bad thoughts. I don’t deserve anything. I am nothing. Maybe the world would be better if I was dead. The thoughts were all consuming. You had been feeling this way for quite some time now. Even members of the abbey could tell as they would always ask if you were feeling okay because you did not seem like your normal self. You closed your eyes, hoping to hold back your tears, but alas, you failed. You curled up in the window bench as you watched the rain splash into the already forming puddle on the sidewalk. The more you watched the rain, the more it seemed as if your tears matched its pace.

As you sat there, paying no mind to anything other than the thoughts in your head, you heard a ruckus coming from across the library. You turned your head to see who it was and quickly snapped your head back around hoping that Aether, Swiss, and Dew didn’t notice you curled up in the window. You focused your attention back on the growing puddle. It was hypnotizing. It gave you time to create worse thoughts. What if I jumped out of the window? Would I die, or would I just suffer more because I would only be severely injured? The thoughts were growing with more and more morbid details. You closed your eyes to try to quiet your mind.

As your mind continued to race, you felt as if you couldn’t breathe. You realized it was getting harder and harder to fill your aching lungs. Fuck. They’re going to sense my distress. You were absolutely correct. You felt a stronger hand on your shoulder. You knew it was Aether. You knew his familiar touch, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to look at such a caring ghoul.

”Y/N? You alright, love?” Aether's voice was as smooth as the calm ocean.

All you could do was shake your head as a torrent of tears ran down your blood red cheeks. You tried to take a deep breath to sooth yourself, but a sob was let out instead.

”Oh, my little love. It’s okay, shhhh, you’re okay. I’ve got you,” Aether softly spoke, as he picked you up from your window.

You lost it, you sobbed into the warmth of his chest as he carried you out of the library, motioning for Swiss and Dew to follow him. You couldn’t stop the tears even if you wanted to. Aether gently carried you back to his room in the ghoul den and placed you softly into his nest. As you felt all of Aether’s engulf your aching body, you curled in on yourself, hugging your knees, and essentially curling up into a ball. You felt the bed sink next to you as Aether sat down and gently placed a hand on your back.

“Dew, can you go fix up some soup and grab some ginger ale?” Aether asked, knowing that you would make yourself nauseous by working yourself up.

”Sure thing, any type of soup?” Dew asked as he made his way out of Aether’s room.

”Anything we have, they’re not picky,” Aether said with a light chuckle.

”Swiss, can you go to their room, grab their stuffie, a fresh pair of clothes, and the book they’ve been reading that is on their bedside table?” Aether asked the multi.

Swiss didn’t reply. He simply nodded and made a beeline for your room. Aether stood up from the bed and threw on a pair of sweatpants and abandoned his shirt. He knew that you enjoyed feeling his bare chest. At this point, he was willing to do anything to get you calm enough so you did not make yourself sick. He crawled back into bed with you, sat against his head board, and pulled you to his chest. Your head met his chest and you knew you would be okay, however, you could not bring yourself to stop crying.

”Don’t worry, my love. I’ve got you now. I’ve got you forever. No need to worry. I am here, as long as you need or want me to be,” Aether cooed into your ear.

You laid on the quintessence ghoul, listening to his heart beat, trying to steady your mind. You weren’t even sure what you were thinking anymore. You were just feeling emotions that you had been keeping to yourself. Aether continued to rub gentle circles on your back and gently shush you as you tried to gather your emotions. You were happy knowing that he still cared about you, even at your lowest like this. His very essence was enough to calm you to the point that your eyes stopped producing tears. Once you thought you were calm enough, you looked up at Aether who was looking back at you.

”Hey, lovebug. You’re okay,” he said before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

”Aeth, I- I’m sorry,” you mumbled out.

“What are you sorry for?” He questioned, confusion flushing over his face.

“For being like this. For being an emotional mess all the time. I wish I wasn’t like this. I hate it. I hate myself for it,” you began to babble.

“Hey, stop that. You’re allowed to feel feelings, but you are not allowed to hate yourself. I won’t allow it. You are an amazing human being. You are the kindest soul I have met. You are worthy, Y/N. Do not let anyone tell you differently, even yourself,” he said, reassuringly.

The tears started again as you thought he was mad at you for saying you hated yourself. He pulled you closer to him, and started to gently rock you back and forth, trying to get you to calm down again.

”Shhhhh, Y/N. I am not mad at you, my little love. I am simply trying to reassure you of what a great person you are. I could never be mad at you, ever,” he said as he resumed rubbing your back.

As he continued holding you, Dew walked back in with your soup and ginger ale. You needed it, you hadn’t eaten in two days. You needed to eat but could not bring yourself to do so.

”Hey, little firefly. I have soup and fizzy ginger juice,” Dew said with a chuckle to himself.

You couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at the fire ghoul’s dry sense of humor, even if tears were still pouring out of your eyes. Dew sat down in the nest next to Aether and held your soup, waiting for you to sit up and take a bite.

”Wanna try and eat? You can sit up, we aren’t going anywhere,” Aether reassured, noticing your tight grip on his upper body.

Once you realized that you were surrounded by the ones you loved, minus Swiss for the time being, you started to relax. You mustered up the strength to pry yourself off of the warm quint ghoul, and took the bowl of warm soup from Dew.

“It might be a little cooler now, want me to warm it up for you?” Dew asked, holding out his hands.

”No, thank you, it’s a good temperature,” you said as you finished your first bite.

The soup felt good going down. It was warm enough to warm you up, but not scorching hot. You did a little shimmy as you continued eating your soup. You looked up at the two ghouls who were staring back at you, smiles spread across your face. As you continued eating your soup, Swiss bolted back into Aether’s room with your stuffie and a pair of clothes for you.

”I’m back, sorry it took so long, Rain was being needy, as always,” Swiss said as he handed Aether your stuffie and put your clothes on the couch next to Aether’s bathroom.

He crawled into the bed on the other side of Aether and snuggled into the quintessence ghoul’s side. Swiss had joined the relationship that you, Aether, and Dew had formed. You loved all three of them equally, as they loved you and each other equally. They each helped you through depression in different ways. Aether was always the one to hold you while you cried, well they all did that, but Aether was different. He was more soothing. He didn’t force you to talk about anything if you did not want to. Swiss was also soothing but tried to get you to talk, which most of the times you would, but he never understood why you wouldn’t the other times. He always talked about his feelings so he just thought everyone did. Dew, sweet Dewdrop. He tried to be helpful when it was just you and him, and you were in an episode, but the poor ghoul has a hard time expressing his emotions, let alone helping others with theirs. He would hold you and text Aether to come help. You loved him nonetheless.

“Wanna talk about it?” Swiss chimed in.

“Swiss, not everybody talks about their feelings,” Aether said, sternly.

”I know, but sometimes they talk about them,” Swiss replied.

”Maybe in a little, just wanna finish my soup and lay down,” you said, as you smiled to your multi ghoul.

As you took the last bite of your soup, and sipped the remaining broth, you handed your bowl back to Dew for him to place on the table next to Aether’s bed. You resumed your position laying between Aether’s legs with your head on his broad chest. He wrapped his arms around you as Dew snuggled into Aether’s side, wrapping his arm around you, and Swiss doing the same on the other side.

”A shower would really help you,” Dew chimed in.

“In a minute, just wanna lay here right now,” you replied, giving a soft smile to the kind fire ghoul.

The four of you laid in bed for a few minutes before you decided that you did in fact need a shower, but when you went to move, you realized that Aether and Swiss had fallen asleep. Dew was still awake, staring at you with admiration.

“Dew?” You whispered.

”What’s up, babe?” He replied.

”Wanna take a shower,” you mumbled.

The fire ghoul slowly pried himself off of the sleeping quintessence ghoul and stood up out of bed, releasing a big stretch while holding out his hand to you. You got out of bed next, and took his hand. The two of you walked to Aether’s bathroom and quietly closed the door. Dew started the shower, making sure the temperature was to your liking.

“Do you want me to cover my eyes, y’know, so you can undress?” The fire ghoul asked shyly.

”Dew, you do realize that you’ve seen me naked too many times to count, right. I don’t care if you look,” you joked with him.

”I know, but I feel like now is the wrong time to be turned on,” he chuckled, his tail tucked between his legs.

You rolled your eyes and smiled as you started to undress. You finally stepped into the shower and the hot water felt amazing against your aching body. You stood in the downpour for a minute before you realized you didn’t want to be alone.

”Dew? Can you join me? Don’t wanna be alone,” you said, shyly.

Before you knew it, a naked Dew was joining you in the shower. He knew exactly what to do as he embraced you, gently tipping your head back into the water to get your hair nice and wet. He then stuck his own head into the water, getting his stunning blonde hair wet. You always enjoyed showering with Dew. Even though the water was hot, he added to it. He grabbed your shampoo and squeezed a good amount into his hand before rubbing his hands together and gently massaging it into your hair. The warmth of his palms along with the massaging sensation relaxed you even more. While he was at it, he also added shampoo to his hair. While he let his shampoo sit, he embraced you once again and tipped your head under the water to rinse it out. One of his hands embraced the small of your back while the other worked on getting the shampoo out of your hair. Once your hair was shampoo free, he grabbed the conditioner and lathered your ends to make sure they were good and hydrated. He let that sit while he rinsed the shampoo out of his own hair. He didn’t bother to condition his hair as he only did it once a week. While the conditioner was still sitting in your hair, he took the time to wash your body. He picked up the clean washcloth that was on the towel rack and put a little bit of Aether’s body wash on it, knowing you liked to use his. He then gently ran the cloth all over your body, leaving sensual kisses along your body in the process. He then wiped himself down with the cloth. It was time to completely rinse. He held you close to him, under the downfall of water and worked his hands through the ends of your hair, making sure to get all of the conditioner out, while the water washed the soap off of the two of you.

Now that the shower was done, he helped you dry off and put on your fresh clothes. He went to reach for a clean shirt of his when he noticed you were staring at it.

”Would you like this shirt instead of the one you are wearing?” He smirked at you.

All you did was nod. He picked up the shirt and walked over to you. He gently lifted your hands up and pulled the shirt you were wearing off before pulling it onto himself. He then pulled his shirt onto you and gave you a deep kiss.

”I love you, Y/N. Never forget it. We all love you,” he whispered in your ear before opening the bathroom door.

Swiss and Aether were awake now, just chilling on the bed with each other. Dew took your hand and guided you back to bed. You crawled back in between Aether’s legs and placed your back against his chest.

“Mmmm, you smell delightful, love,” he purred in your ear.

”Do you want to read your book? I brought it for you,” Swiss said as he reached behind him and grabbed the paperback.

You graciously took it from him and opened it to where you left off.

”Thank you, all of you. I love you all so much and I’m sorry that I can be a lot sometimes,” you said, taking a moment before starting your reading.

”We wouldn’t have you any other way, Y/N,” Swiss says as he gives you a quick kiss.

”We don’t want you any other way,” Aether seconds, kissing the back of your neck.

”You’re perfect just the way you are, my fire love,” Dew said as he took your hand.

The three ghouls snuggled into each other after throwing on Inside Out, one of Dew’s favorites. You leaned your back into Aether as you continued your reading. Before you knew it, you were being woken up by Swiss taking your book from you, making sure to place your bookmark into the pages.

“Get some sleep, love. You deserve it. We will all be here when you wake up. Those two are out cold. If you need anything, let me know,” Swiss said before giving your forehead a kiss. He was always up throughout the night. Consider it a nightwatch.

#the band ghost #aether ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #nameless ghouls #aether fluff #swiss ghoul #dewdrop fluff #Swiss ghoul fluff #dewdrop x reader #aether x reader #swiss x reader #polyamorous ghouls

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tanadrin · 10 months

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the other thing that the low marginal cost of digital distribution does is it makes the ability to *profit* off piracy much smaller. and modern media piracy is in that sense very different from media piracy even a few decades ago: you cannot make much money selling bootleg dvds to people who have access to torrent trackers and streaming sites. you can run an illegal streaming service infested with skeezy ads, but this only works if it’s free to the end user.

but even in this environment people will still pay money for streaming services that make it easy to find the stuff they want to watch. the demise of good streaming services is mostly down to traditional publishers trying to enforce their monopolies over content distribution and to try to take their own cut of the pie—taking their stuff off Netflix so they can start their own service for instance. this sucks for the consumer! and it’s not great for the creator either, when stuff is getting withdrawn from streaming services whose marginal costs for distribution are low for obscure tax or royalty agreement reasons.

We should think of copyright as a tool for protecting publishers and shaping the market to suit them rather than a tool for protecting authors/creators. It’s not useless to authors, but it’s more useful to authors who are already mega-successful (the Metallicas of the world) and who have enough clout to set favorable terms with publishers. There may be a copyright regime which is more favorable to authors and is less functionally protection for publishers, but I’m not sure what that would look like.

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gayratguy · 1 year

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Permanent Vip Experience

-Request for @axeegliter hope you enjoy!-

You had waited years for this, you had been to plenty of Charlie Puth’s concerts before but you had never had an experience like this. You had bucked up for a one of a kind backstage pass to meet Charlie before the concert which promised 20 minutes of a one on one conversation with Charlie! It had cost you thousands but it was so worth it. The day had come, and you had picked the perfect outfit. You arrived an hour before the concert and were led by one of his assistants to a small waiting area. The anticipation was killing you and after thirty minutes the same assistant led you to a door with a whiteboard that had “Mr.Puth” written across it. The assistant opened the door and you were greeted by a mostly undressed Charlie. The rest of his makeup team looked past you as they exited the green room closing the door behind them leaving just Charlie and you. You blushed and looked down at your feet trying to hide the growing tent in your pants. “Sorry I like to get comfortable before each of my shows, I hope you don’t mind.” You shake your head “Thought so why don’t you sit down get comfortable you payed for this after all.” You shuffled over to a small loveseat in the room trying to hide your hardon. Charlie chuckled and plopped himself next to you putting his arm around you. “Hey man it’s alright I want you to get something out of this and I know that any fan who pays this much to see me probably wants to get with me so it’s ok!” You move your hands away from your pants displaying your boner for Charlie. “Damn man you are excited huh” he says as he tightens his grasp on you pulling your head into his armpit as you sneak a sniff of his musk. “Well hey why don’t we make sure you get your money’s worth.” With a devious smile Charlie quickly stands up and drops his underwear and turns towards you with a large 8inch cock drooling pre onto your pants. You don’t have to be told twice, you begin servicing the star as he moans and places a hand behind your head guiding your rhythm. Before too long he pulls you off and orders you to strip and turns you on the couch so your ass is facing him. He kisses the back of your neck before spitting in your hole before beginning to jackhammer you. Before too long you feel his balls tense releasing a torrent of spunk into your ass when you feel something shift. You try to pull off to investigate but find you can’t. “Oh this is my favorite part, get ready to be part of the show dude,” moaned Charlie. You found that your legs had already begun changing shape, becoming wrinkled and ball like as they merged with his sack. You spent so long in awe of what was happening you didn’t notice that your arms had already become nubs on the side of your body as your chest became smooth and cylindrical. Before too long he started to jerk his human sized cock which you were becoming and it felt amazing. You felt your hair fall out as your facial features simplified but you didn’t care you just wanted him to keep stroking you. You closed your eyes and found you couldn’t open them again when you heard Charlie say “oh I’m close man thank you again I love my fans and I hope you’re enjoying this as much as I am.” A pressure built in your throat and before too long you felt a high come over you as you shot your load. Buckets of cum spewed out of you as you were left in a daze. You realized you began to shrink down leaving charlie with a now 9inch beer can thick cock. “Thanks dude I don’t think I got your name but I’m sure we’ll have fun together.” He almost immediately began jerking you again.

You started to wonder if this was permanent or not, you felt like you had stuff to get back too but you realized you couldn’t remember what. You again felt the similar high of pleasure pass over you as you shot again. You tried once again to figure out what it was that was missing when you realized you don’t even know you’re name. When you tried to think of something all that came up was “cock”. You also tried to think of your owners name knowing he was someone important but you could only think “Master.” Your thoughts began to slow with each orgasm as you lost the ability to think words as your mind was flooded with ideas of serving your owner cumming and fucking. Charlie collapsed on the soaked love seat as his assistants came back in and began to clean up. He would never know the name of the fan that walked in but he didn’t really care, he knew that no matter who he was he was happier this way.

#cock transformation #cock tf #ctf #inanimate tf #body part tf #body part transformation #celebrity tf #charlie puth #sorry this is so long

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raayllum · 1 year

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The Queen’s Mercy Breakdown Analysis / Predictions

Bloodline that Binds card from out-of-context S5 spoilers is definitely about Karim and Janai being the two heirs that can presumably free Kim’Dael from her chain(s). I think that Karim will barter / hire Kim’Dael to assassinate his sister (or, if she cannot harm descendants of Aditi at all, Amaya) under the deal of freeing her afterwards. Therefore, I have a feeling that this screencap

is Amaya, Callum, and most importantly, Rayla, encountering Kim’Dael in her initial attack

(Also, given that we’ve had a short story entitled “The Queen’s Soul” for Khessa and “The Queen’s Mercy” for Aditi, it seems likely Janai will get a tale named after her at one point as well, as she’s currently the only Sunfire queen without.)

This also brings our “characters in S5 who are seeking Freedom” tally up to like, five, now that it’s Callum (from Aaravos), Rayla (for Callum & the coins), Viren (from Aaravos’ machinations, most likely), Aaravos (from prison), and finally Kim’Dael from Aditi’s golden blood oath chain. How’s that for layering

Specifically Kim’Dael and Aaravos both being imprisoned with, well, very different kinds of keys tethered to each of them

The sharp circlet of gold had sealed itself around her neck without an edge, without a latch, without a lock.

(Flashbacks to Amaya’s “I don’t believe in locks” lmao).

We also see the return of deceptive gift giving and promises under the guise of protection or unclear terms. Aaravos was a betrayer who was then betrayed; Rayla was a liar who then revealed one (Claudia); Kim’Dael is a deceiver who’s then deceived, etc etc.

Also in addition to the storm symbolism / pattern the marketing and S5 has been pushing, the Heart Motif (specifically a heart as vulnerability or truth) continues to be more and more consistent, featuring now in every short story’s release and making me believe more and more in my “the Key of Aaravos is Aaravos’ heart/chest piece” theory

Fools. They might as well have held their own hearts, beating and bloody, in the palms of their hands. Kim’dael knew that if she showed them her heart—or something convincingly like it—the Sunfire elves would do exactly what she wanted them to do.

Zubeia flew through its torrents until her wings ached, but she could not find the tempest’s edge nor the quiet heart at its center. [...] The hurt in her chest deepened. “But I am so tired. I’ve walked so far alone.” “You are stronger than this. All storms end!” Rex rumbled a snort through flared nostrils. “What lies at its heart?”

Lissa had left her years ago, but the space she had owned in Claudia’s heart remained. It was a dark place now, hard and hateful, its edges raw as a wound that had forgotten to heal.

While one may say it ends with a sunrise, another will insist it ends at nightfall. Yet at the heart of the story is a single, simple truth…A star fell from the sky.

I remember how I felt when my parents left me to join the Dragonguard, like PART OF MY HEART WAS MISSING and I would never feel right again. [...] But, if it does—if you feel that soft aching—know that that piece of your heart isn’t missing. It’s not missing at all, Callum: I’m carrying it with me!

Also more Kim’Dael parallels to Rayla and Aaravos not only in aforementioned heart symbolism (“My heart for Xadia”) but also in being likewise the last of their kind(s) / specific groups, and exiled/hunted for it as well. There’s also the way Rayla’s mercy doomed her team and “ Mercy would be the queen’s death someday, she thought—but that, of course, was none of her concern” even if it of course doesn’t come to fruition quite the way she expects

We have Harrow’s “we will pay the blood price eventually” coming true quite literally, as well as questions of why Aditi chose to keep Kim’Dael as a personal murder pet over just killing her (which she clearly could’ve done) when Aditi’s chain clearly isn’t enough to stop Kim’Dael from committing crimes in the future, either.

Last but not least we have Callum and Kim’Dael parallels in terms of literal (or metaphorical) chains around the neck, an inability to breathe, being brought to their knees, etc.

#predictions #tdp spoilers #tdp #the dragon prince #kim'dael #tdp shorts #s5 #s5 speculation #theme: freedom #heart motif #mini meta #analysis series #not really but it's the closest i got

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nightghoul381 · 9 months

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HeYYooo! I'm so happy you reached 100 followers!!! (Insert party popers emojis because I'm on PC) I would love to have Harrison with the injury prompt (The reader being injured) in Harrison's POV. I hope you have a good day (Or night), and again congrats!!!

Thank you so much for the request! I love writing from the suitor's POV and this was a great way to explore Harrison's personality and inner monologue. I hope you enjoy it!

At Fault

Pairing: Harrison Gray (POV) x Reader Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort WC: ~1.3 C/W: Mentions of blood and critical injury

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be me. They were aiming at me. Me!

I slam my fists on the wood of the wall outside your hospital room. You were in there fighting for your life because I was too stupid to see you coming until it was too late.

—Bang!

The moment keeps replaying in my mind in slow motion. You jumping in front of me as the silver bullet hurtled toward me. The second the metal pierces your delicate skin of your chest. The spurt of crimson blossoming in stark contrast to the white of your blouse. The way your eyes rolled back in your head as your body slumped to the ground.

Vivid images flash through my mind in a torturous torrent, leaving me trembling.

“Harry—” Liam’s cautious approach seemed to be drowned by a thick curtain of water, so very distant and gentle. It never would have made sense to anyone else. They didn’t understand how gut-wrenchingly guilty this entire situation was making me feel. I was supposed to know he was going to shoot.

I can’t believe I didn’t pay close enough attention. I can’t believe I let myself get distracted. And now you’re paying the price. You were lying there, critically injured because of my incompetence.

I shoot a glare at Liam, trying to keep my rage in check. The startled look in his fuchsia gaze is almost painful to see. I know it’s not his fault, I know that taking my internal hatred out on him will do nothing but make me feel even more guilty later.

I try to keep a lid on my emotions. I’ve prided myself on keeping a level-head in the most heated situations, but now I don’t think I can force myself to hold back anymore. I’m drowning in the sea of pain and rage and sorrow and fear.

Liam moves just a bit closer, hand ruffling his pink hair in apprehension. He can tell. Of course, he can tell. He’s known me better than anyone else in Crown and I know I can’t truly hide anything from him.

“—we should go to another room,” Liam offers gently, holding out a hand to me. “I stole a bottle of whiskey from Roger so let’s go knock back a couple of drinks.”

It was a lie. I didn’t even need to use my ability to know that. There was no way Roger would let his alcohol go without a fight, but even still, I appreciate the sentiment and solemnly follow Liam into the other room.

“You want to talk about it?” Liam asks hesitantly, handing a small glass to me. I take the drink and swirl it around in my hand, but set it down on the table in front of me. I slump down onto the couch, shoulders hunched and head hanging.

“It’s my fault Liam. It’s completely my fault that she got shot and I don’t know how to handle it.”

The admission causes hot tears to prick at my eyes. God, I haven’t cried in so long, it feels so wrong.

“The guy said he wasn’t gonna shoot if I backed down. I wasn’t paying close enough attention. I should have seen that he was lying. That’s my entire job and I failed at that. And now she’s paying for my idiocy.”

“Harry you wouldn’t have been able to stop her, even if you had known he was going to shoot. Knowing her, she’d already made up her mind to protect you, regardless of if you knew he was telling the truth or not.”

Liam’s words cut into me like a red-hot knife. I want to keel over. It’s so much easier blaming myself. It makes so much more sense to blame myself. Surely you weren’t foolish enough to put yourself in danger just because of me.

I wanted to keep telling myself it was a mistake. My mistake. I know it’s not true, but I want it to be. I want it to be true so badly I’d been repeating it to myself like it was a mantra.

“I just need her to be okay…” My voice cracks on the last word and I wince at how weak I sound.

Liam places his hand on my shoulder, a sign of support. He knew me well enough to know that words weren’t going to do much of anything to help ease the painful ache in my heart.

Just a short moment later William entered the room a soft smile on his face. I jumped to my feet as he approached me, anxiety causing every nerve to burn while I awaited his news.

“They were able to remove the bullet. It seems that she was quite lucky. The bullet had managed to lodge in one of her ribs, and this was enough to prevent any vital organs from being hit. She’s going to be extremely sore for a few weeks, but she’ll be okay.”

I felt an overwhelming rush of relief wash over me and the strength seemed to vanish from my legs, sending me to my knees.

I felt so light headed and dizzy, I couldn’t even move.

She’ll be okay.

The words kept cycling through my mind and I didn’t hear Will continuing to talk. Liam crouched down and shook my arm.

“Did you hear him? He said she woke up. She’s asking after you. She wants to see you and know you’re alright,” Liam murmured gently. The obvious love and care glistening in his pink irises warmed me and I was finally able to regain my composure. I nodded, unsure if I would be able to form any coherent words.

Liam bounced up, offering me a hand, and helping me to my feet. Together we made our way down the hall back outside your room. Pushing through the door, I saw you reclined on the bed, a tired smile gracing your features as our eyes met.

Once again the relief I felt knowing you were okay seems to sap the strength from my legs and I shakily stepped over to you, dropping to my knees at the side of the bed. I grab one of your hands in mine and pressed a kiss against it, a tear managing to escape and roll down my cheek.

“Harry. I’m so glad you’re okay,” you smile, voice shallow and raspy.

“Shhh, sweetheart. You shouldn’t be worrying about me. I love you, I’m so incredibly relieved that you’re alright,” My words come out in a choked whisper as another tear falls from my eyes.

I have so many things I want to say. I want to scold you for being so reckless with your life. I want to thank you for saving mine. I want to tell you how lost I felt at the thought of never seeing you again. I wanted to make sure you knew how much I love you.

But my throat was too tight. Too choked with emotion to allow any verbal expression. I pushed myself up, curling onto the bed beside you and pressing the softest of kisses to your hair. Your scent filled my nostrils, calming my racing heart.

You were safe. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to finally relax. As the tension left my body, so too did my energy. I heard a soft huff of a laugh and the comforting touch of your hand filled me with so much warmth.

“I love you Harry,” you whisper. The sound of your quiet breathing is the last thing I hear as my mind fades away and sleep overtakes me.

Taglist: @aquagirl1978, @themiscarnival @abundance-pathchooser @candied-boys

Feel free to message me if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

#100 follower event #ikevil #ikemen villains #ikevil harrison #ikemen villains harrison #ikemen villains fanfiction #ikevil fanfic #harrison gray

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sonofthedunes · 9 months

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luke experiencing the touch of tatas for the first time pls

since his love for them is genetic mans would be gobsmacked

i’ve been wondering when i’d be asked about this!

well. i think we’d all agree that when luke leaves tatooine he’s never seen or touched a pair of actual breasts in his life. sure, he’d seen them represented in art, and he’d heard his more worldly friends compare the busts of the few girls around, but at this point all he can do is squeeze a pillow and pretend as hard as he can, bless him. when he joins the rebellion, though, and girls start paying attention to him for reasons other than calling him “wormie”…he wonders if, perhaps, the sacred mystery is finally close to being unraveled.

and one evening post battle of yavin-after a hard-fought victory against an imperial TIE squad, during a joyous red squadron celebration, luke starts talking to a cute mechanic he’s exchanged some words with previously. they’ve both had a bit of jet fuel (the affectionate name for the pilots’ corrosive homemade booze), and it must be bolstering luke’s courage, because before he realizes it he’s accepted her invitation to head back to the barracks for some quiet time.

by that, of course, she means slamming him against the door as soon as it closes and tonguing the taste right out of his mouth. he’s caught off guard-he’s acquired a little experience at this point but not much-yet tries his best to match the movements of her mouth and hands. stumbling over to her narrow bunk, she pulls away from him and for a moment Luke thinks frantically that he’s done something wrong…then his eyes drift downward to where she’s unfastening her top. and with a lazy smile she bares her chest to him, chuckling at his astonished expression.

“go ahead, skywalker. they won’t bite,” she coaxes, guiding him to one of her tits. he gulps as his fingers trace the curve, his huge palm nearly swallowing up its firm warmth.

“what, uh…” his voice comes out a bit higher-pitched and he prays to every merciful deity it doesn’t crack. “what should i do?”

“whatever you feel.”

those three words unlock a torrent. years of pent-up sexual frustration on a barren planet, nights spent fucking his own hand while desperately yearning for the touch of another person, it all comes pouring out in luke’s haphazard motions. he presses open-mouth kisses to her neck while he gropes her soft bosom, marveling at how perfectly they seem to fit his grasp. using her affirmations of pleasure as a metric, he proceeds to act out nearly everything he’d imagined one could do to a set of tits. his lips imprint bruises to the delicate flesh top and bottom; he pulls at her nipples until they’re nearly as stiff as he’s become in his briefs; hesitantly at first-then like he’s discovered the fount of all erotic joy-he suckles at each in turn, tongue circling the areoles and running over the pebbles atop them as she sighs and keens above his head. it’s everything he’s wanted. hell, it’s more. luke would be quite content to do nothing but worship the glorious invention of breasts all night-which he becomes conscious of when his partner’s hands, which till now have only toyed with his hair or run down his arms, blindly paw at his trousers.

and he knows that as turned on as he is, as much as his body screams for that kind of release, he is not yet mentally ready. “no!” he chokes, sitting up abruptly. “sorry,” he manages shakily, working to calm himself. “i’m sorry. you’re nice, and i like you, but i just…i can’t.”

there are girls in the galaxy who’d throw a fucking fit over the hero of the rebellion turning their advances down, but the mechanic understands. he’s not the first pilot she’s brought back here, nor the first virgin: sometimes the former are all arrogant talk and no walk, and sometimes the latter become overwhelmed and lose their nerve completely. skywalker, it’s obvious, has not an arrogant bone in his person. he’s a little shamed, quite flustered…but his eyes still sparkle with delight over finally handling tits. she doesn’t think she’s ever seen a man so enthralled with them. maybe it runs in the family, she thinks amusedly, arranging her uniform top just so.

“are you sure you’re okay with this?” luke asks at the door to the barracks. his eyes sweep her face, searching for some hint of discontent.

she pats his shoulder, dispelling his fears. “i had a pretty fun time tonight, thanks to you. i don’t regret it.” she smiles. “and whoever you decide on, she’s gonna be one lucky lady.”

he averts his gaze and blushes, unsure of how to reply. she sends him on his way with a friendly wave, admiring the smooth lope of his stride. they’ll have to take care of their own needs privately later, it’s true-but at the very least they’ll have some lovely memories to draw on.

#ask #luke skywalker #under a cut bc it’s a bit long #luke skywalker smut #luke skywalker x reader #luke skywalker x y/n

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sandalwoodandgunshots · 25 days

Text

Idk here’s a Greek myth story I did for my creative writing class.

———————————————————————

The Tears of Meteorus

(me-TEE-or-iss)

Long ago, back when the gods of old ruled the world, there lived a man named Meteorus. Meteorus, you see, was a troubled and angry man. He had been forced to fight in the Trojan War and had been ditched when it ended without so much as a thank you. He blamed the gods for the war and resented them deeply.

One day, after a particularly taxing day, he looked to the sky and said, “I renounce the gods and all they stand for. They bring nothing but chaos and destruction. Olympus is a broken scale, weighted by corruption. I bet the gods aren’t even real.”

The gods were appalled, annoyed, and above all, angry. The sky began to darken and lightning began to shake the earth. Zeus himself appeared in front of Meteorus in a blaze of fire and wind.

“How dare you say such things?” Zeus thundered.

“I didn’t mean them,” Meteorus pleaded, for he knew he had made a grave mistake, “I-I’m under a l-lot of stress and-”

“It is too late to ask for forgiveness, boy. For as long as you shall live, you will be hunted by the creatures of the Underworld, who exist only to chase you. One day, they will rip you to shreds for what you have done and you will face the gods in Olympus,” Zeus roared.

With that final curse, Zeus’s form exploded in a torrent of wind and rain. The winds whipped Meteorus around like a rag doll. He was thrown many feet into a ditch. He stayed there until the wind subsided. He cautiously peeked his head over the ridge of the ditch. In the spot where Zeus had stood, a hole in the ground reaching to the Underworld was open. Crawling out of it were the most hellish and evil creatures Tartarus had to offer. Many-eyed beasts with wings and tails, hellish birdmen whose cries were filled with the screams of the damned, and a goat the size of a large house with gigantic spiraling horns and spikes traveling down the ridge of its back.

Meteorus ran. He ran far and fast. He ran for the rest of his life, being unable to stay in one place for more than a couple of days. Every place he went, the monsters ravaged the town, leaving a trail of bodies and fire in their wake. He ran till he couldn’t anymore. He ws old and weak when the monsters found him. Just like Zeus had said, the beasts ripped him to shreds in a slow and painful death that left any watcher screaming hysterically for the rest of their life.

Once he died, Meteorus was summoned to Olympus to pay for his crimes. The gods eventually decided to sentence him to eternal confinement in the stars. No matter where the gods went, Meteorus would always be able to see them, knowing that they were very real and very powerful. He also would permanently see the world covered in the destruction caused by the monsters that chased him.

Finally realizing the effect his actions had on the world, Meteorus wept. As his tears fell, they left a trail of fire in their wake across the cosmos, just as he did on Earth. His tears would be known to the world as meteors. It is said he is trapped in the sky today, still weeping his fiery tears. Every once in a while, he will become so overtaken by sadness that his tears will fall in a shower across the sky, being seen from Earth as a meteor shower.

Now you know to never doubt the existence of the gods, for things can turn out in ways you never thought possible.

#idrawiguess #writing #my writing #writing tumblr #ancient greek #greek gods #greek mythology

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chryzuree · 10 months

Text

kept in the locket of my rib cage

ALT TITLE: (just like every other night)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: you know how it is with those stolen moments making the most definitive memories despite being the most common of them all…..

———

Their hands were sweating. The air clung close, humid and smelling of loamy earth and wet greenery. Thick grey clouds cloaked the stars and, in the distance, lightning flashed, there and then gone again, like the snap of a Polaroid camera. The sky looked one step from cracking open all over again, a new torrent of water to drown the earth below.

But Jacks and Chrysi sat in the trunk of her car, safe from whatever drizzle would start up once more. The only danger lay in their shoes getting wet—canvas sneakers that would have to be set by the door as soon as they walked into their homes, sure to be damp for the next couple days no matter how efficiently they set them out to dry.

Through the corner of his eye, he studied Chrysi, leaned up against his side. The after-rain smell mixed with the sweet cherry balm from her chapstick, with the clean scent of her hair. And that had already frizzed out, unmanageable curls springing out like fresh flowers.

God, Jacks was doing a really bad job of paying attention to the video Chrysi was trying to show him.

“You’re judging me,” she finally spoke up.

Jacks’s ears warmed at the feeling of her shoulder pressing into his side, her cheek moving against his shoulder, at the warmth of her seeping into him. It took him a moment to collect himself.

“I’m not judging you.”

Chrysi hummed. “You so are. Liar.”

A fraction of a smile tugged at the corner of his lip, but he bit down on it. Equal measure amusement and frustration warred inside him, kept safe in the little locket made for him and Chrysi that he kept safe in the confines of his chest.

“How long have we been friends?” he chided. “You’d know if I were judging you.”

Her shoulder shrugged against his rib cage. Her hand shifted in his, adjusting her grip. “Maybe.”

He didn’t know how to reply. He settled for making a semi-amused scoffing noise.

It must’ve been enough, because Chrysi shifted against his side and moved her elbow from where it had been digging into his side. Not much space to be had, even with the back seats down.

Her phone released an agonized scream.

Right, the video. The video.

Jacks glanced down at the screen again. A woman with bandages wrapped around her head and eyes filled it.

“Did you start another one?” he accused.

“Shh. I haven’t seen this one.”

Glancing at the time stamp, Jacks hissed. “Eleven minutes?”

“You don’t have to stay.”

Jacks glanced up to the cloud-choked sky again. No light came from the moon, the stars. Only the lamp provided the two of them with visibility. And it was quiet too—as if all the water molecules in the air had gathered together to create a personal bubble made for just the two of them.

And Chrysi had decided to fill it with horror shorts.

At least she’d allowed him to hold her hand after the second one.

“I’ll head home when you do,” Jacks said reluctantly. At least then, he would have company most of the way home. He didn’t want to have to call someone just to hear a human voice on the drive back. Missy would probably be asleep by now. Castor would want to know why Jacks had been hanging out with Chrysi on his own. Gillian would count down to curfew in real time, and she was already doing a magnificent job of annoying him with it over text.

As if to punctuate that, his phone buzzed in his pocket, not for the first time that evening.

Though he knew what it would say, he still pulled it out. The notification read, 20 minutes!

As he opened it, she sent a secondary text—a digital sticker of a little bear holding a heart.

Jacks huffed out a low breath. Passive aggressive.

Chrysi moved against his shoulder. Jacks turned to see her peering at his phone.

“Cheerful,” she said, a smirk twisting the corner of her lip. She turned her gaze on Jacks, resting her chin atop his shoulder. “Are you going to be grounded?”

“I’ll plead innocent,” Jacks sighed, putting his phone away, “on account of you being a bad influence.”

Chrysi laughed. “Godspeed with that, Jacky. I’ve got your parents wrapped around my little finger.”

“Don’t phrase it like that ever again.”

“They’re my bitches?” she offered

That made Jacks gag, totally involuntarily. “That’s going right back into the never allowed to say ever again category. I never should’ve let it back out.”

Shrugging, Chrysi paused the video. Jacks glanced back to see it frozen on a creature with bulging eyes and pale skin, and he gave an instinctual little jump.

The fuck was this video about?

But then Chrysi turned off her phone and slid it back in her pocket, and whatever fleeting concern and fear Jacks felt reluctantly disappeared with it.

“I won’t keep you,” she said matter-of-factly.

The right thing to say, especially when his phone buzzed again and he found his sister had sent 19 now, but Jacks surprised himself with the rush of disappointment he felt.

He sat immobile for a second, feeling the sweaty palm he had clasped against Chrysi’s rings, the way the trunk pushed him against her, the air heavy with the threat of rain again pushing him back and against Chrysi.

“Right,” he said, feeling rather disconnected from his own mouth. He tried again. “Right. I should go home.”

It was like he was trying to talk to some other person—someone in the shape of the Jacks he should’ve been, someone that knew that getting grounded for hanging out late with a friend wasn’t worth the infinitesimal time spent with the friend. But he wasn’t that Jacks. He was the Jacks that thought ten minutes longer with Chrysi was worth a whole week of losing his car to his little sister, just so he could feel this cramped trunk and the humid air and the sweaty hands for a little while longer.

It was Chrysi that pulled away first.

Hopping from her trunk, she shook out her keys definitively, keychains clattering against each other—all a tangled mess. Not for the first time, Jacks eyed it and wondered just how much damage Chrysi could do if she decided to use her keychain as a weapon.

“Alright, Hollow.” She swatted at his leg like she was trying to chase out a pest. “Get out of my car, else I’ll lock you in my trunk and take you home with me.”

Jacks forced a smile as breezy as he could make it, but when he tried to think of a response, all he could think was Promise? Do you swear? Would you really? So he said nothing at all, and he unfolded himself from her trunk.

“Drive safe,” he managed to say once Chrysi slammed the trunk door behind him.

“I always do,” she replied, shooting a crooked smile his way.

Not always, Jacks knew. He’d driven behind her car countless other times.

Whatever expression he had on his face made Chrysi pull a look of exaggerated offense.

“I do,” she insisted, planting a fist on her hip. Amusement lurked in her eyes, at the corners of her mouth.

It was infectious. He felt his heart trying tug him towards it, the way it was battling to change the curve of his smile to be something more genuine.

His phone buzzed twice in his pocket. 18, 17. He could feel the minutes falling through the cracks of his fingers, hourglass sand determined to spite him.

He spread his hands and forced himself to let those minutes drain away. “If you say so.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. Then she said, “You drive safe too.”

His cue to go.

Pulling his own keys from the lanyard tucked in his pocket, Jacks kept the breezy smile on with great difficulty. “I always do,” he echoed.

Chrysi snorted. With a shake of her head and a wag of her finger, she said, “Liar, liar.”

Jacks merely shook his head. As if controlling a video game character, he made his body to pivot towards his car. The whole way there, he felt overly awkward, like he’d fumbled an exit from the stage on opening night and he had to commit to it now.

When he got to his driver side door, he unlocked it on autopilot.

“Hey!”

Jacks turned to her once more, brow cocked.

Chrysi leaned over the hood of her car. Her keys scratched against the metal. “Who’s backing out first? I don’t want to have a stand-off.”

He opened his mouth, hesitated. Then, softly, deliberately, he said, “You can head out first. You live further out than me.”

She smiled wryly. “By, like, half a minute. But sure. Just know you’ve consigned yourself to waiting until I’ve queued up my music.”

Jacks shrugged back, rather eloquently.

With that same crooked grin, Chrysi pulled her hair over her shoulder and slid into her car.

He stared after her a beat longer. It only took triple vibrations from his phone to pull his attention away.

As he got in the car, he counted down the minutes himself—16, 15, 14—and turned his key in the ignition. It roared to life, the fan already groaning as it worked overtime to cool down the hot, summer-rain evening. His radio turned on automatically, like it always did, and it stumbled through a few notes more of a song Gillian had cued up.

God, no.

He reached forward and switched the car radio from CD player to the AUX cord.

He chose his music by muscle memory, all while studying Chrysi in her car.

Her process was more in-depth than Jacks’s—putting her water bottle in the cup holder, placing her notebook in the passenger seat, then carefully balancing her bag on top of that, finding the AUX cord and untangling it, plugging it into her phone, scrolling through—and he was intimately familiar with it from all the other nights he’d watched her go through this exact same process. It startled him with just how familiar he’d found it.

How many nights had they had like this? How much of Chrysi had he memorized, in all their time as friends?

—13, 12, 11—

Chrysi finally put her phone down and—Jacks held his breath—she looked up, met his eyes, smiled.

With a wave, she put her car into reverse and backed out of the spot next to him.

When he waved back, it was too late. She’d already cleared his car and was turning towards the parking lot exit.

This, too, echoed with all the other nights—the pattern Jacks hadn’t known they’d fallen into.

It took him barely ten seconds to follow, but it felt like ages.

His phone buzzed. 10.

He didn’t bother to check if his sister had sent another sticker to cheerfully proclaim his imminent breaking of curfew.

Jacks trailed behind Chrysi’s car, making out the dim shapes of her sun-bleached stickers against her back window, seeing the dent in the right bumper. A dim, rain-washed streak, driving steadily in front of him.

How often had he driven home, trailing behind Chrysi, like this? How many times in their lives? He knew it had to have been countless—impossible to remember, no matter how much he tried to think of a way how—but he’d never realized just how far the both of them drove down the same path. Of all ten minutes it took to get home, he followed her for eight of them.

—9, 8, 7—

He watched her drive on ahead, and for the first time, he realized that he felt a stab of disappointment when they pulled up to their last shared stoplight. And for the first time, he realized it was a familiar disappointment, a jab in his sternum that went unnoticed every time he and Chrysi traveled home.

Chrysi flicked on her left blinker and pulled into the turning lane.

Jacks slowed to the white crosswalk line, in the lane going straight.

The red stoplight beamed down, a grimacing light, bloodred against the seats. The crosswalk light blared yellow numbers, visible from here—6, 5, 4—

Jacks turned his head out his driver’s side window. He found Chrysi looking back at him, a bright, uneven smile shining in the stoplight’s glare.

—3, 2—

She arched her brow when he noticed her and mouthed something.

—1.

Then the light flicked to that same leading green arrow and Chrysi tore her gaze away from Jacks. That smile dropped from her face into a resting, impassive face that Jacks still didn’t know the secrets behind, even after all those years of friendship.

She eased forward, then turned left.

Just like all the other nights, Jacks sat at his own red light and watched the back of Chrysi’s car drive down their first divergence, farther and farther away from where he waited. He watched until another car followed, and the back of that car filled the space where Chrysi’s had been just moments before.

Jacks wished that they didn’t live so far apart.

His light turned green, and with a heavy sigh, Jacks turned back to the road and drove forward, deeper into the night, away from the after-rain evening he’d just experienced with his best friend.

#w.mine #s.chrysijacks #want to explore more of this universe…#normal boy x girl that can see ghosts but doesn’t know how to tell him.. (and they were childhood friends!!!!)#au.modern

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skylarmoon71 · 10 months

Text

Timeless Wells (Flash) Soldier- Chapter 10

“We have a lead.”

That’s what you wanted to hear.

When Iris dropped in for a visit later that afternoon, it truly was a welcomed distraction.

The fact that she came with information was just a plus.

“I’m sorry that we had to excuse your assistant, but this is strictly needed to know.” Harrison nods.

“I understand Detective. Please feel free to speak in front of my security detail. Ms. Yale.”

“We know each other.” Iris explains.

“Oh! Well isn’t that a coincidence.” You send him a blank look.

“Iris is the friend I have working at CCPD. “

“Ooooh! Well that makes more sense. What a small world.”

She laughs.

“Are you sure he’s a genius?”

“I’m starting to believe he bought his Phd.”

“Hey!!”

Iris continues to smile.

“It’s cute the little dynamic you both have going on here.”

“I think so too.” Harrison says proudly.

“You’re just a means for me to receive a wealthy pay check.”

“I’m starting to think her love language is hurtful jabs.” He says playfully, placing his hand over his heart.

“Carry on Iris.”

So she does.

“Justin Hainley worked here three months ago. “

Harrison rises from his seated position when Iris pulls out the file.

“Hainley..he stole my technology. He was using it to sell on the black market. I caught him one night copying the codes for the higher floors. He was reprimanded accordingly."

Iris nods.

“After he lost his job his life fell apart. The tabloids blew up and he lost his house and his girlfriend. Two weeks ago it was like he disappeared. No kind of activity. I checked with some of my contacts out of state. Flagged some of his old cards. He cashed out the last of his savings according to his bank statements.”

Iris passes you the file.

You sift through.

“He’s been planning for a while. His paychecks were pretty hefty. He could have hired an army if he wanted to.”

“Which is why I was a little thrown with the method actor stunt. It felt like a taunt. He’s after something bigger. "

“Bigger…”

Your body becomes tense.

“We need to get everyone out of the building right now.."

Iris is concerned by the urgency in your voice.

“IRIS NOW!! WE NEED TO EVACUATE THERE’S A BOMB SOMEWHERE IN HERE!”

She jolts, nodding vigorously as she pulls out her cell phone. She goes rushing out the door, calling probably all the reinforcements she can.

“Harrison, we need to go. He planned this whole thing. That little method actor stunt was a ploy. He was trying to get back into the building. I’m positive that wherever he worked, he memorized the process of getting in without being caught. If his target was to get even, then destroying everything you built would be his first step. It’s clear that he doesn’t care who he takes down with it. A mass casualty disaster like this, it would ruin your reputation. We need to leave.”

You begin rushing to the door, but when he doesn’t follow, you’re puzzled.

“Did you hear me, this guy is trying to kill you in whatever way he can. We have to go!!”

When Harrison turns to you, he’s wearing a sad smile.

“Barry.”

That’s all he says, and you’re stunned when the shimmering of a body materializes right in front of you. On instinct you reach for your gun.

“FREEZE!!”

You must be delusional. This man, whatever he was, appeared right out of thin air. He’s wearing a weird red suit.

It’s not the spandex that catches your attention, but that lightning bolt.

“I’ll be seeing you again”

“NO!!”

You open fire, aimed right for his head and Harrison yells. It’s pointless. None of your bullets land, and Harrison rushes to your side. You’re freaking out. You’ve emptied your entire barrel.

“W-We have to go he’s evil h-he’s going to kill us we need to leave!!”

Barry lifts his hand.

“I’m here to help. " He sounds reassuring, but you can’t trust it.

“Go Barry. “ He looks over Harrison.

“Are you sure?”

He nods.

“I’ll look after her, go and be a hero.”

Barry nods, and he’s gone in a flash of orange torrents. Your breathing is staggered, and Harrison takes your shoulders, doing his best to help you calm down.

“I-I saw him Harrison all those years. He was there, it wasn't a dream or PTSD. H-His suit looked just like that. I'll never forget the yellow and those red eyes..” You’re sobbing.

“It wasn’t him. Barry was not the speedster that you saw.” You’re still clutching onto him.

“S-Speedster..?”

Harrison nods. Your breathing is still very shaky, but he guides you to the floor. You needed to gather your breath. Collect your thoughts.

“When everyone is safe I promise I’ll explain everything to you. All the secrets, I’ll tell you all of it. But right now I just need you to look at me and breathe. Barry is going to get rid of that bomb and we’ll get this guy I promise. “ As he looks at you, there’s nothing you can truly do but place your trust in him. The man who’d been standing there hadn’t tried to kill the both of you, so that was a good sign. You nod slowly.

“O-Okay.”

It’s been a while since you've been this vulnerable.

All you can do is hope that on the other side of that door, the answers you seek won’t bring you more panic.

#harrison wells #multiverse #harrisonxreader #bodyguard #protective #love #trust #boss/employee #soldier #care #friends #humor

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drkineildwicks · 1 year

Text

A bullet point list of things I have observed thus far about the new writers’ strike, in no particular order:

now is a bad time to be seeking a writing job because corporations respect no one

now is a bad time to have been fired from my existing writing job because no one is hiring or even sending you an f u you didn’t get the job

seeing as how I was fired for sticking to my principles, good on these writers

the fun thing about capitalism is that these strikes work, you don’t get gunned down for your trouble like you would in, say, china

people really out here saying eff capitalism when it’s legit the only system where the bourgeoisies dictate the market instead of the proletariat

meantime socialism is for the corporations to get fat

but I digress

Jay Leno is delivering donuts to the writers on strike, which he did before

also I remember the OG strike, he mentioned then that he was writing his own monologues and kept waking his wife up at odd hours to pitch the jokes to her

TIL that Doctor Horrible’s Singalong Blog was written during the OG writers’ strike, this is amusing to me because Full Sail used it to teach students how to write scripts

corps really do be underestimating people’s backlogs

people be realizing that hard copies are desirable for a reason

laughing because we’re going into summer, when people won’t be watching TV anyway

really happy that people are finally channeling the energy of the captain from Wall-E, i.e., “I don’t want to survive, I want to LIVE”

I have legit watched no new TV since Big Hero 6: the Series went off the air and seeing what disney is doing makes me glad BH6 avoided that bullet

Thanks to the great pause of 2020 people have realized that yeah, we can wait for new if the new is good, no we don’t have the spare funds to pay for garbage

We got DVD copies of shows that are 10+ seasons long and crates of movies to watch, we’re fine

I got milk crates full of books I got from when all the bookstores in my area shut down for various reasons (stupid-high land rent being one of them) and games I haven’t even tried yet, plus I write

Fanfictions will be getting an upswing soon, I’m guessing

also I finally started playing DST with friends, that’s fun

we have a new puppy who is 1000% more entertaining than what’s on the TV

also torrents and downloads exist if the thing doesn’t have a DVD release

on that happy note, if anyone knows a link to the full series of shows like Tangled, Amphibia and the like please hit me up

I got BH6: the series downloaded I need others

Please send your money to the indie companies and the small businesses and individual artists instead of the corporations

yes you can vote with your wallet and it would be wise to do so

Also make sure it’s like an actual indie company instead of, you know, game freak

It’s a multi-billion dollar franchise, they can afford to hire more workers to keep their existing ones from dropping dead in the traces, they just…don’t

say it with me: there are other games in the monster-capture genre, I do not need to pay for a substandard unfinished game that literally kills people

Appealing to the one-percents alienates the majority money, trying to turn around to get the majority money alienates the one-percents, people prefer genuine jerks over two-faced shills

I’ve had the opportunity to work in California and New York before and passed it over because the cost of living versus what I would make would have me living in my car and I don’t want to get murdered

Yes John Lasseter slept under his desk but he was also heading a new company specializing in an art form in its infancy, also I bet his office had a lock

And the fact that people are abandoning Hollywood for Las Vegas, AKA sin city, should tell you everything about Hollywood that needs to be said

Focusing only on checklists to please the DIE, blackrock, vanguard, and the esg means soulless material that has no return on investment

No writers means no material to act for means no one works, considering how everyone is expected to work to the bone I fail to see a problem with them not working

love the fact that no new stuff means people will go to the old stuff and finally realize that no, it’s not the nostalgia filter talking, things were literally made better back in the day

There’s so much genuine indie stuff being put straight online by creators that Hollywood will hopefully die its much-needed death

also disney please die already it’s unpleasant watching the corpse flail about

On that happy note I’m working on new stuff and updating my old stuff, stay tuned and friendly reminder that I have both a ko-fi and Patreon

Also college debt

#wga #writers strike 2023 #so as a writer this is all of this very interesting #time to start working on generating content #you know #more than I already do

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