#star writes !!
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Something about qphil and qtubbo-
Tubbo who asked Phil first what their plan was, and they talked about how to make it fair and did so. Who both admitted they wanted the same thing. Who Tubbo had already shown his skill before but when faced with the man he thought of like a father suddenly shook. Where his confidence was drained and he ran and missed his hits because how could he be fighting for the end of it all against Phil?
and Tubbo died to Phil's blame in the name of a victory they didn't know of the reward.
And then at the end of it all, when Phil realized he couldn't save any of his children, when Tubbo made himself be with the daughter when he talked to his son, Phil decided to same the only child of his he could. Tubbo.
Tubbo who clung to Phil who could kill him a second time, but didn't. Phil who had his wings breaking at the moment, tore and ruined, decided to fly with extra bagged.
Phil who held Tubbo close and made sure he wouldn't fall or get hurt, and in the embrace they held as they flew to safety was the words 'I'm sorry'
Who Tubbo stayed near as they landed and grasp his hand as he stuck close saying silently, 'all is forgiven'.
#throughout the week there was always a bound of trusting between phil and tubbo#to keep the agreements between the two#the base hidden the gear unenchanted#their was trust even when they fought aginst eachother#trust and betrayal all the same#but in the end of it all their was still trust#little drabble#qsmp purgatory#qsmp#tubbo#qsmp tubbo#qsmp philza#philza#qtubbo#qphilza#star writes
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why they fought the wars
(or lando’s hair has been on something recently and you are in love is one of my favorite taylor swift songs)
When you were young you read stories of Helen of Troy. Stories of how she was the most beautiful woman in the world, stories of how her beauty sparked wars and inspired men to fight for her devotion. It seemed inconceivable to you. To love someone so much, to be so captivated by them, seemed impossible.
You didn’t understand it at the time, you didn’t understand what it was like to love someone so beautiful. You didn’t understand the way it tears you apart and stitches you back together again.
But now, tangled up in him, you do.
But now, in the soft glow of the sun from behind his curtains, looking at the way the light catches his curls, a frizzy golden halo, you do.
But now looking at him and feeling the softness of his breath and the rise and fall of his chest, something that should be so mundane, something that shouldn’t captivate you in the way it does, you finally understand it, you really do.
Lando catches your eye and you know you’ve been caught. But you can’t really bring yourself to care because when his whole face crumples up into a grin so bright and just for you, you don’t want to look at anything else but him.
You tuck yourself into his chest, feeling the warmth in his skin and he lets you rest there, just for a moment, before squeezing the nape of your neck and hauling you up for a kiss.
He kisses like the rest of him. Sweet and pretty and with an intensity that makes your head spin.
“Morning,” Lando murmurs, carefully cradling your jaw in his hand.
“Hi pretty.”
“Pretty, I like that,” he says grinning at you playfully.
You can see the little dimple in his cheeks when he smiles and he’s so close to you that you can count the freckles on his face. A curl dips into his face and you have to resist the urge to reach up and tug at it.
You can’t believe you get to love someone so beautiful.
You didn’t understand it at the time.
But with Lando, now you do.
#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando x reader#lando x you#lando norris fanfiction#lando norris fanfic#lando norris fluff#lando norris#star writes
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Sex on The Beach (What a Treat)
Robert 'Bob' Floyd x Reader
Description: You love being a part of the Dagger Squad, but you're well aware there isn't a lot going for you as a woman. You go out on dates - often. But none of those men every meet the mark. Can one drunken night on the beach and one gorgeously bespectacled WSO change your mind? Only the ocean and its waves and your own beating heart can say.
Themes: Virginity, First time, Dirty Talk, Jake has a surprisingly terrible sex story (it's right in the beginning)
Warnings: Bob Fucks!
Word Count: 3291
A/N: This fic is wholly self-indulgent and came to me in an ovulating daydream right in time for @attapullman's International Bob Floyd Fucks Month! I hope you all enjoy it! I'm proud enough to say that yes indeed, Bob Floyd fucks!
Thanks to @horseshoegirl for beta reading this fic for me and telling me that I wasn't writing Bob terribly.
My Masterlist
AO3: Cross-posted Here!
Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!
The night is cool and clear. A salty breeze rifles through your hair and dampens your face in soft gusts. It’s late, but on the other side of the bonfire, the other Daggers are continuing the party. A part of you is sure the party will still be going when the sun rises. You’re drunk, inhabiting that state of being between tipsy and drunk off your ass. Your cheeks feel hot, and your tongue is uncooperative. You’re not sure when the conversation veered right into a discussion of sex, but it did. You’re also not sure why you’re helplessly giggling about sex with Phoenix and Hangman, of all people.
“And then she bit me!”
You and Nat take one look at each other and cackle. You inhale a little and giggle out, “D-did she really bite your…?”
Jake nods ruefully, a blush rising on his chest as Nat falls back with another delighted peal of laughter. You’re not sure you can look at the man when he looks like he’s still in pain just at the memory of what happened. His blush seems to intensify the more your delighted laughter rings out, and every time you look at Nat, it sets you off again and again. You feel like you can barely breathe; you’re laughing so hard.
When you gasp for breath and sip your drink, your cheeks feel hot, and you can feel the sweat on your temples. You hold the frosty bottle up to your face in a futile attempt to cool off a little. It’s not like you’re wearing too many clothes, choosing to sling on an unbuttoned shirt and a pair of cutoffs over your bikini when the night cooled.
“You know, you’re laughing awfully hard for a girl who hasn’t said a word. We’ve heard from Tash. You’ve obviously heard from me. It’s your turn.”
All of a sudden, your mirth dies off, instead turning into a cold sweat prickling across your exposed skin. You’re trapped in their gazes, Nat’s whiskey eyes staring you down coolly amused while Jake’s absinthe-colored orbs seem to glare right through you.
“Come on, Artemis.”
When Nat begins to plead along with Jake, you cover your face with your fingers and collapse until you can hide your face in your knees.
“Seriously, Artie. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. After all, I’d love to know if you can top getting bitten on the dick mid-blowjob!”
“Seeing as how I don’t have a dick, that would be kind of hard, Bagman!” You deadpan.
But neither of them is pleased with your only input to the conversation so far. They keep needling you, poking and prying. Jake keeps calling you Artie, too, like only he ever has. Ultimately, that’s what has you lifting your head and glaring right at him.
“Don’t call me Artie!” You point at the grinning blond and wag your index finger.
“There she is!” When your glare narrows, he mimes, zipping his lips closed.
You can’t make eye contact as you spit out in a low hiss barely audible over the hissing fire, “I-I’ve never had sex before. I’m a virgin.”
But they heard you, if the wide-eyed glances they share are any indication.
“How is that possible?”
Nat wraps an arm around your shoulders. You shrug, staring into the distance behind Jake’s head. Unconsciously, the three of you have gravitated to the spokes of a triangle, your legs tangled in the center of the blanket in a pile of sand-encrusted limbs. You’re pretty sure you’ve got Jake’s foot poking into your shin, and one of Nat’s legs is slung across yours.
“I’m always going out on dates, so that can’t possibly be true, right?”
But, you have to snort just remembering those dates. “Those guys have always just fallen flat. They’re perfectly nice, decent guys. But we never seem to click. There’s no spark when they kiss me clumsily goodnight outside my front door.”
“Maybe you need to look a little bit closer to home for that kind of intimacy?”
Your head snaps up at the sudden loud, obnoxious tone in Jake’s voice.
“C’mon Tash. Our Artie is a little boring right now. What do you say we go grab a few more drinks?”
You’re too drunk for this shit, and you’re grumbling that fact as you watch Jake and Nat trip and lean over each other as they walk toward the other Daggers. In truth, it would probably make sense if something was going on between the two of them, though you wouldn’t bet on it.
“Y-you’re a virgin?”
The words are said so quietly you half think they’re a figment of your imagination. But you know that voice too well to think you're dreaming.
“But you’re so pretty, Artemis. Those men didn’t deserve you, not at all.”
You smile and pat the blanket with your hand. Bob sits gingerly on the edge of the blanket with his back to the Daggers.
“It’s nice of you to say so, Bob.” His cheeks are pink, and his blue eyes are dark and deep as they stare into your own.
“I’m serious. If it were me, I’d have kissed you until your head was spinning, and those pretty lips were all swollen for me.” You can’t breathe for a completely different reason in comparison to all those minutes ago. You can smell whiskey on his breath, coupled with the smokey sweetness of the bonfire and the floral notes from his cologne.
“Why haven’t you, Bob?”
“I’ve seen the guys you go out with, Sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you can see stars reflect in his lenses, refracting over navy eyes, as he tips his dark blonde head back. “They’re sexy, suave, and debonaire. Why would you pick me over one of them?”
The self-deprecation in his voice has your mood sobering unexpectedly fast.
“You’re just as sexy, suave, and debonaire as they are, Bob.” He snickers gently at your phrasing.
“You don’t really believe that.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Unconsciously, you lean forward, needing to get closer to him. One of his hands rises to cup your cheek, and your eyes flutter.
“I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” you muse.
He hums, and his big thumb swipes gently across your cheek.
“Maybe it’s because I haven’t trusted any of the men I go out with.”
“And you trust me?”
“Yes.”
The moment feels electric, like sparks skittering across your skin. Bob’s eyes keep glancing over your lips. The alcohol flowing through your veins frees your inhibitions as you stand and brush sand off of the back of your shorts. Bob blinks at your sudden movement, mouth parted sweetly as you reach for his hands. When he’s standing, he runs his hands through his hair, leaving minute grains interspersed through the golden threads. You can feel his gaze on your skin as you bunch the blanket over your forearm.
“Come here.” You take his hand in yours, gently tugging him away from the bonfire and your friends. Nobody notices your disappearance, which suits you just fine. You make for the little lifeguard shack a couple hundred feet down the beach and lay the blanket out in its shadow.
“What're we doing all the way out here?”
Instead of responding, you fist your hands in his shirt and tug his mouth down until it meets yours. The kiss starts clumsy and bumbling, just a brush of skin to skin. It feels like Bob is trying to figure out how genuine you are, so you keep the pressure light. Already, this tender, fumbling kiss is a million times better for you than those first kisses with those other guys. When Bob gasps and his big hands curl around your hips, you moan.
That small sound leaving your mouth makes Bob wild. His hand wraps around the base of your skull as he licks into your mouth. It feels like you're burning up, skin bursting fever hot just at his touch. His hands divest you of your button-down and your shorts; his fingers are studied and quick as he whispers filth into your ears. His tongue traces hot over your pulse, sucking and nibbling and teasing. You chase after his mouth when he pulls away, whimpering as you rub your thighs together.
“You’re so beautiful for me, my lovely Ari.” His eyes are dark now, just a thin rim of blue wrapped around his pupils as he presses you down onto the blanket.
You’re keening, babbling his name as you straighten his glasses. There's a fond, tender look in Bob's eyes as he dips down to kiss you again.
“Shhh, darling.” His mouth drags wet over your collarbones. “I’m going to make you feel so good.”
When his calloused fingers drag your bikini top away, you shiver. Your nipples are peaked and hard as he gazes down at you. It should feel weird being so exposed to a colleague and friend, but all you want is to feel the hard length in his swim shorts pressed up against you.
It's not a choice at all as you mewl, “Please.”
You could fall in love with Bob Floyd's smile, the smirk covering his face when he's feeling confident. When he wraps his lips around the peak of your breast, licking at the swollen flesh with his hot, wet tongue, you’re sure you could fall in love with his mouth, too. You feel like you’re drowning as Bob Floyd kisses over your stomach, placing tender kisses across the stretch marks slicing silver over your skin, as he kneads at your ass with big hands before undoing the knots of your bikini bottoms with his teeth. When the fabric falls away, you exhale, unsure when you started to hold your breath when you know you will need it. You can feel the heat of his breath against that most intimate of places, making you squirm.
“I've got you, Ari.” Even the endearment he's chosen, based on your unfortunate callsign, makes you ache for him. “Mmmm, you're so wet for me.”
His fingers dip gently through your folds, the slow, languid motions making something simmer in your veins. His fingers already feel different from your own, filling your sopping cunt in ways that your own can’t. The brush of his tongue over your clit has your hands burying in his hair, tugging at the soft strands. But his mouth doesn't stay there, nipping at your hips, the tender skin between your thighs, at the soft skin where your pelvis meets your legs. You lose yourself in the feeling of his mouth, babbling his name in whispers and moans. The buildup of your orgasm is already different from when you use your fingers; it is more intense and more fulfilling. When he traces figure eights over your clit with his tongue, you come hard, thighs shaking at the effort of holding them open around his head.
“So beautiful when you come,” he rasps. His glasses are fogged, and his lips are slicked with your release as he settles in between your parted legs. You tug Bob into a kiss, sliding your arms around his neck until his weight rests on you. You can taste yourself on his tongue as he kisses you slowly and sweetly.
“Are you sure you want me to do this for you, sweetheart?” His cheeks are pink, his hair falling onto his forehead as he growls the words out.
“All you have to do is tell me, beautiful.” When he nuzzles your breasts and lays an open-mouthed kiss over the peaks, you’re more sure than ever. “We can stop the minute you’re not comfortable anymore. This is about you, after all.”
“Come here, Bobby.”
He looks almost startled as you pull him back into a kiss, sliding your hands under the fitted shirt he’s been wearing all day. His skin is warm and silky smooth, lean muscles flexing under your curious touch.
“You’re wearing too many clothes.” You’re whining as you drag the shirt up, and you have to moan when he finally yanks it off. His hair is standing up on end, and his glasses are askew, but right now, you're not sure there is a sexier man on the planet.
“Fuck, you’re hot, Bob.”
His blush deepens, eyes wide at your horny declaration.
“I mean it.”
You tug at the knot of your bikini, wrestling with the strings with clumsy fingers.
“Come here, sweetheart. I’ll get the knot for you.”
You should feel ashamed, naked out on the beach where anyone could happen to see you. But you’re not ashamed at all. His hands gently pushing your hair over your shoulder and his mouth kissing the nape of your neck are why. When the triangles of fabric fall from your skin, you turn and kiss Bob again. You could get drunk off of the feeling of his lips against yours, off the way he licks into your mouth. Emboldened by the look in his eyes, you let your hands trail down until they dip below the waistband of his swim shorts.
“God, sweetheart. There you go.” He’s grunting and gasping against your mouth as you wrap your hands around him. For the first time since you kissed Bob, you feel a little out of your depths. He’s big, so big that you need both hands to hold him, big enough you’re not sure he’ll fit. When you voice your worries in a quiet, gasping whisper, he chuckles.
“It’ll fit in that pretty pussy, baby. Just gotta work you up good, and it’ll slide right on in.”
You squeak as he lays you down again because, for the first time, you can hear his accent as he drawls out the words. From this angle, your mouth parts in shock at the sight of him. Bob’s biting at his lip as he rolls a condom on, and that sight makes you giggle a little.
“Of course, you have a condom on you.”
When he snickers, you know you’re going to want more of this with him. “I, um… Jake gave it to me.”
You cover your face with your hands and squeal a little more.
“He’s been trying to get me to ask you out for months now, darling. I wish I’d known a few shots of tequila and a conversation about sex would be all it would take.”
“Are you calling me easy, Bob Floyd?” You’re pouting, but it doesn’t last for long as he seems to blanche at your teasing. When you laugh, he dips down to kiss you, and you hum at how good it feels.
“I think we’re both a little easy for each other. All we needed was a little push.”
He runs his hands up your thighs, smoothing over the flesh as he parts your legs a little more.
“It’s your last chance to stop this, Ari. You just have to tell me.” You can feel him hard against you as he kisses you again. “We can get dressed and just walk back to the bonfire. Maybe we can try again later.”
“We’re not stopping, not now, Bob.”
Your voice isn’t exactly firm, more breathy than anything, but it makes Bob smile. He guides himself into you, and from the first press, you’re sure you’ve never felt so full. It doesn’t hurt, but it does feel uncomfortable.
“Fuck, you’re tight, sweetheart.” There’s sweat beading up on his temples, and his jaw is tight as he growls out the words. “Gonna make you feel so good.”
“Relax for me, baby.” You melt when he kisses you, shivering at the feeling of his bare skin pressing into yours. He rubs gently at your sides, calloused fingers gentle as they pluck at your nipples. It’s when he kisses you again that you relax. Inch by slow, incremental inch, Bob fills you. He kisses you when you tense around his length, a WSO’s patience and talent filling each heavy moment.
When he bottoms out in you, you feel like a live wire. The sparks floating across your skin are back, arcing through your veins until they’re molten with lust. The first few times he pulls out of you and presses in again, it feels just as uncomfortable as that first slow slide. When his fingers find your clit and massage it in counter rhythm to the push-pull of his cock, you gasp, open-mouthed and silent. All of a sudden, it feels so good; you couldn’t describe it if you tried.
“Fuck,” Bob’s vocal in bed. You wouldn’t think it, looking at him. It’s also incredibly flattering. “You’re so tight for me, Ari. Fuck, baby girl. Your pussy’s perfect. I’m so lucky.”
You’re gasping and moaning, trying desperately to quell the feral sounds spilling out of your mouth. Each thrust has your fingers scrabbling for purchase in the beach blanket under you, knuckles whitening under the pressure. Unbidden, you can feel your orgasm cresting, stronger than the last.
“Bob,” You’re nearly sobbing because everything you feel is nearly too much to handle. “Please, Bobby. Gonna cum!”
When those talented fingers find their way to your swollen clit and massage it, you come. His hips stutter even as your legs wrap around his waist, and he roars against your chest as he comes after you. You feel like you’ve been stunned. If this is what sex feels like, you’re not sure why you waited as long as you did. Or maybe it’s not just the sex that was mind-blowing, but the man you just had sex with? He’s blushing again, sweat dripping down his chest as he helps you dress with slow deliberate motions. You steal kisses whenever you can, because, yeah, you're falling in love with his mouth and his tongue and his voice.
“Got to get you cleaned up before we head back to the bonfire. C’mon, Ari.”
After everything you’ve done with Robert Floyd, holding hands shouldn’t make you giggle so much. But you need his helping hand in more ways than one. There’s already a dull ache at the base of your spine, but you refuse to let that feeling beat you.
Unfortunately, Bob leads you back toward the parking lot, squeezing your fingers and smiling softly at you as you lean onto him. But everything is dark and silent the closer you get. The bonfire is glowing embers in the sand, and all of the cars are gone from the parking lot. Your bag is sitting in the tailgate of Bob’s truck, and you have text messages on the device explaining how everyone has headed out. They’re from at least an hour ago.
He better be good to you, Artie.
Jake’s message is the only one in which your friends allude to knowing what happened between you and Bob. When you turn back around, Bob’s biting at his bottom lip, worrying the flesh with his teeth. His hands are in his pockets, and for the first time, he seems anxious.
“Can I take you home, Ari?”
You hum, tugging his mouth down to yours for another kiss.
“Take me home, Bob.” Your voice is a whisper as you let Bob crowd you against his truck.
“I can do that, Ari. But, can I also take you to dinner sometime, sweetheart?”
“Yes, please.” You shiver as he kisses your pulse. “But only if I get your big dick again, Bobby.”
He swats your ass as he helps you into the cab of the truck.
“Everything I am is yours, baby girl.”
This sounds like the beginning of a beautiful relationship. Though, given the chance, you’re going to avoid having sex on the beach again. Sand rubbing you raw isn't quite so fun when you'd rather have Bob do that for you.
I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.
Taglist:
@shanimallina87 @chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @callsignspitfire @roosterforme @thedroneranger @cherrycola27 @beyondthesefourwalls @mak-32
#star writes#top gun fanfic#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick fanfic#top gun maverick fanfiction#top gun imagine#bob floyd x reader#robert bob floyd x reader#bob x reader#robert floyd x reader#bob fucks#international bob floyd fucks month
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in which Astarion fiddles with Halsin's hair
(for @saltsprite <3 which spurred out of a longer conversation about the dynamics of Astarion and Halsin and one thing turned into another and now we have this lol)
"When I first saw you, I had always thought something was missing. And then seeing you among your kin, I had realized what it was. Your hair was shorter than theirs."
Halsin chuckles under his breath. "I would not have guessed that as being the distinction that sets me apart. Most comment on my size and appearance."
"That too," Astarion remarks, reclining ever further into the chaise lounge as Halsin stokes the fire on his knees, his hair framing his shoulders, cut roughly by a blade and not at all carefully tailored. Very much an elf of nature, rough and unkempt.
"It has been many, many years since I've let my hair grow," Halsin says as he sits back and retains his previous position, back resting upon the lounge so that he might tilt his head back against Astarion's thigh. "In truth, I got used to shearing it when it became too long. It was easier, neater in fact as I tended to the cursed lands. There wasn't much time for vanity then."
Astarion hums and works his fingers into the small side braids tucked behind Halsin's ears, teasing them apart as he might an unruly stitch that had yet to be mended.
"And what if I asked you to grow it out?" Astarion says. "What then? What might you say?"
"I might wonder what it is you are planning."
"Oh, nothing as devious as you might imagine, dear, I just think it would do wonders for your countenance. Distinguish you as the elder you are becoming."
Halsin hums and closes his eyes, but then his lips tilt into a smirk as Astarion grabs a handful of auburn hair, pulls just a bit until Halsin is sure to feel it against his scalp. "There was a time," he says, "that I grew my hair long. And a time when I could not cut it. Was forbade from it." He opens his eyes, his gaze fixed somewhere up at the ceiling. He is not pained by recalling such a distressing memory, but Astarion sees the shadows of it even now. "It was part of my allure, and perhaps I was a vain thing in my youth."
"Weren't we all," Astarion says softly.
Halsin hums and turns his head inwards as Astarion slides his hand down for Halsin to press a tender kiss to his palm.
"You would've liked me then," Halsin says. "Just another wood elf, at one with nature."
"Hard to believe with what I know of you."
"I was less tempered then. At the festivals, I would dance and preen under the attention of those I held affections for. I thought if I looked a certain way, showed them my charms and wiles that they might take me under their wing. And a few did take me up on my offer, but I wanted more from them, to be the only thing for them and I suppose in my wanting, it took me far away from home."
Astarion threads his fingers through Halsin's hair, now loose and unbound. He could use a good trim, to neaten out the ends and cut away the splits. Let it grow healthy and long once more. Twist it into a rope and use it to haul Halsin back to him--as he knows Halsin would enjoy if it came from a person he trusted.
"They did not appreciate you the way I would have," Astarion remarks. "A thing like you must be appreciated, not caged and cornered. They wished you for selfish desires."
"Oh, and you do not?" Halsin smirks.
"I am as selfish as any other spawn." He tucks a strand of hair around the high tip of Halsin's ear, the scars of old piercings running up the length of it, and that begs another question. Was that a choice he wished for or not? How much would he be willing to change of himself for Astarion's desires?
"But for you," Astarion says, "I would see you grow it long. I would see it oiled, perfumed, and braided under my care. To see you go out and tend to your orphans."
Halsin laughs. "You speak of them as if they are like chickens."
"They cluck after you, do they not? I would see you grow your hair long as you used to. I would like to see that vain and wild thing you once were."
Halsin hums. "There are those who tried to tame me then. I wouldn't say they succeeded."
"Then I will succeed where others have rightfully failed. They didn't appreciate you. Not like I will."
Halsin rises up, bringing a hand to cup the back of Astarion's head and capture his lips in but a tender kiss, a promise of more. "I am always at your service, Astarion."
#halstarion#halsin#astarion#bg3#baldur's gate 3#star speaks#star writes#based on a lil convo me and saltsprite were having#just a tinge of sub halsin and dom astarion#maybe this'll turn into a thing idk yet#bloodbear
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Ethoslab, and Hermitcraft by extension never truly leaves my brain; here’s a Drabble @froggymarsh
No TWs :)
-
Etho glared at his trembling hands as thunder sounded outside the shop he was currently shopping in, and definetly not hiding in from the storm. Because that would be embarrassing.
His ears flicked out and down as the loud crashing of thunder rang out again. All this because he wanted some great deals? At least he’s in a nice shop, with beverages and books.
He curls up against one of the drink machines and eyes the rain pouring down outside. He doesn’t mind the rain, he likes it, and the mud, but! He hates the sound of thunder.
Etho gripped his hair and tugged it, huffing angrily at his own reaction. It was a stupid thing to hate- thunder, because really, it was harmless, but it’s just so loud!
Suddenly, his ears pricked up as he heard the sound of rockets. Who was flying in this weather? Were they trying to get themselves struck by lightening?
When Joel flew directly into the shop Etho was sitting in with way too much speed and tumbled into a book case, Etho had his answers.
“Joel,” Etho greeted, forcing a grin. Joel was fun, but he was also loud and Etho did not want loud at that moment. “What uh, what’s up?”
“Just came to grab some books,” Joel replied, walking further into the shop. He was dripping water everywhere and it was making soft discordant noises that made Etho twitch. Joel shook his head and fling water across the floor. Drip drip drip. “What are you doing?” Joel asked him, staring down at him with confusion. Etho brought his knees up to his chest and shrugged.
“Waiting out the storm.” Etho answered after a moment, picking at a loose thread on his pants. “You shouldn’t fly in this weather, you know.” He added, looking up at where Joel was perusing the books. Joel laughed and give him a smug look.
“You’re so obsessed with me,” Joel joked, “Making up advice so I stay here with you.” Etho laughed but still felt himself blush, as he always did when Joel did his playful flirting thing. He flustered every time.
“Right,” Etho replied, there was a slight lull, and then thunder sounded and Etho jumped up, pacing the floor. He took a few shaky breaths, and found himself facing Joel, who was staring at him. Etho blinked at him.
“Are you scared of the storm?” Joe asked, and it was just a bit too soft, too concerned. Etho stiffened.
“Psh, what? Me? Of course not,” Etho claimed, looking around anxiously. His hands were tightly fisted in the fabric of his pants, to stop them from trembling. Joel narrowed his eyes at him, and took a step forward. Their faces were close together and Joel was staring at him like he was an outlier in a data set.
Another crash of thunder and Etho found himself hiding his face in Joel’s side, ears pinned down to his head. He quickly moved away, feeling his face grow warm with embarrassment. “I- uh.” Etho swallowed. Joel gave him a smug look.
“Called it!” Joel said with a laugh. “Do you want to cuddle Etho? You could have just asked.” Etho looked at Joel and shrugged, chewing on his lip. He was feeling- small? Maybe a bit. Words were hard suddenly.
Another round of thunder and Etho had taken Joel up on his offer, jumping at him and sending them both to the floor so that he could hide in Joel’s chest. “‘m no’ scared,” Etho mumbled, flinching as the thunder continued to roar. “Is jus’ loud.” Joel gave a hum of understanding, and Etho couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped him because he could feel that, lying on Joel’s chest.
Joel pet Ethos head and nodded. “That’s fair, it is pretty loud isn’t it?” He asked softly. Etho nodded and closed his eyes. Lying like this, he could hear Joel’s heartbeat, and it was a much preferable sound to that of the thunder. Joel stayed quiet too, letting Etho get comfortable as they lay in a pile on the floor of the book and drink shop.
It was nice, and Etho could appreciate the quiet all the more due to the relief it provided from the loud.
#star writes#fandom agere#mcyt agere#hermit agere#Hermitcraft agere#Hermitcraft#ethoslab agere#ethoslab#Smallishbeans#joel smallishbeans#Joel#Etho#boat boys
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Hello there
Could I please request a gn!reader x iida where it's a class 1A movie night, and the reader chooses one of the most jaw-dropping, panic-inducing, nightmare causing films? I love your writing, btw!!
notes: i haven’t been on here in so long!!! apologies guys. anyways, since i watched the meg yesterday (not that scary but panic inducing nonetheless) i’ll write this as a 120 follower special <3 - the scary movie is smile because i hated it so much
warnings: swearing (reader’s mouth lol), scary movie, gore but only because smile was fucked up, smile movie spoilers
1-a regretted letting you choose, that’s for sure.
they definitely hate american horror films because the lips don’t match up or something
its probably for the better <3
anyways you told them that they should watch it because bakugou was trying to tell everyone that you wouldn’t watch a scary movie because you’re too much of a pussy
you aren’t to say the least
in the first scene, when the lady did the thing, they all looked at you like you were insane
except bakugou, he was a little impressed that you’ve seen it
you and iida were sitting next to each other as usual
he was grabbing your arm so tightly
it almost made you want to smile at him just to freak him out
by the end with the plot twist and the long lady ripping her face off, everyone was screaming and saying that they’d never let you pick a movie again
also moustache :(
they were all really mad at you for making you watch moustache die
also mina was mad that her ship didn’t sail
it was kind of like the ring which you promised to make them watch next
iida would not sleep alone for the next few days
or ever get a cat in the future
or become a therapist at a mental hospital
or go into a cabin in the middle of the words ever again
or ever let his mom take medicine ever again
safe to say you closed a lot of doors for him
#♠star writes#♠mars#mha x reader#iida x you#star writes#iida x reader#mha x y/n#mha x you#tenya iida#tenya iida x reader#love you guys
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Of winners and losers and past games galore.
Secrets within your head,
kept in a book bound by lead,
weighing you down like a curse,
intrepid plans turn to worse,
no winner yet although perhaps in turn we may find
a winner amidst those gold mines
half the server yellow
half the server green
nil of the server red
however those swords shall gleam.
The clock is ticking and the coral is red
it wasn’t always this way until you gave up your head,
the bad boys, the mean gills, the neighbours and the clockers
he will play it his way, you will all go down, none of these niceties, whilst he feasts upon his time with those watchers
a man who’s clock of sand is upon a shore
where he washes up forevermore.
Partnered together, the star and his moon
the moon hates the star and that makes two.
the moon cares for her dog,
the star cares for his other,
however both may feel
they have ties to each other.
so eventually they must find themselves
amidst a burning world,
5 steps away from the other
he wishes only for her to win, but for that he has to suffer.
The final four, a shout of honour
an allied cry, a hand of guilt, a headless king and a winner of the stars,
groups were formed
friendships broken
tensions tight
and emotions upended
with a single lightning strike,
upon the glory sword
the star that burned ever so bright
fell down under the night.
The iconic duo,
a duo that would last,
they stayed in the sands
though they said alas,
none of their plans worked
and so here i am
a double victory
yet i lay dead in the sands.
will you stroke the sand covering my grave
will you whisper your secrets to me,
will you cry to the stars
or will you sigh at the start,
or is it too late for that
too late already indeed,
you’re already stuck with me.
and little do you know that i can see
you’ve already taken the only other option
the last resort
the only other option
where you cannot spread your wings
the only other option
where you are caught in their hands
the only other option
that daring last escape,
you’ve taken the
leap.
of.
faith.
#star writes#trafficblr#desertduo#grian#gtws#3rd life#goodtimeswithscar#last life#pearlescentmoon#rendog#renthedog#itlw#martyn itlw#martyn inthelittlewood#inthelittlewood#scott smajor#smajor1995#dangthatsalongname#double life#limited life#mean gills#clockers#the clockers#bad boys#nosy neighbours#secret life#watchers#life series#writing#poem??
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𝕾𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖓𝖌
Paring: Tobias Forge & Reader
Warnings: suicidal thoughts/intentions, mention of death
“I eh, I understand these emotions and thoughts are hard to have.” He said, a comforting hand on the small of my back as he sat down on the wet concrete curb of the road.
I sniffle, trying not to cry at the kind gesture, “It’s ok, you don’t have to stay out here and convince me everything is sunshine and rainbows.” Three or four tears run down my raw cheeks as I simply blink
“Nothing is sunshine and rainbows,” he says as he gently starts moving his hand in a circular motion, his presence alone is soothing. Maybe being a family guy is why he’s so kind, and being the ‘Big Boss’ so firm and honest. It’s a good mix for a guy like him.
I look at the cigarette in my hand as the burning ember falls off and goes cold as it lands on the cool pavement that’s just barely wet from whatever rain or sewer leaked from outside the hotel at this time.
The street light highlighted our faces like we wore clown makeup, but to think about it, it is silly that such a sophisticated man would sit outside in the cold just to comfort a hired musician.
Laughs echo from inside the building, and warm light pools out of the windows decorated for whatever season it was supposed to be
I cry softly, putting a hand on my forehead. I want him to go inside because I don’t want him to spoil and rot like every other gram of happiness or joy that has been near me. “A black hole is what I am, I don’t want to swallow anyone who already hasn’t been.” I crow as the continued sound of joy hurts my heart.
“I’m not a scientist but black holes create new matter like planets do they not? So maybe we’re all just the aftermath of someone like you.” He says softly, I hear the exhaustion of the day in his sweet voice as he tries to cheer me up.
“I can’t do it.” I simply say as I hide my face in my knees as my cheeks fill with air and I stop myself from letting out a loud cry.
“Yes you can,” he says as he scoots closer to me, I know he’s not a therapy friend but just like before his fatherly and leading nature makes him simply incredible to be around. “You can because I did, and I know nobody wants to be compared to others but we are constantly changing”
I sigh heavily, “Except you mean something, your are worth something, and you have millions of fans and undying love from people. You’ve saved people's lives.” I say
“Yes but..” he thinks for a moment, “I mean it wasn’t too long ago I was just picking up a phone for money and doodling logos on napkins.”
I look up at him with puffy red eyes.
“I was In the same position when I felt all alone and helpless when someone very close to me passed away suddenly. I know how it feels to be at the bottomless pit of nothing” he said as he rested his elbows on his knees.
I wipe my nose on my sleeve, “I just…”
“You just need something or someone to keep you going,” He looks at me and flashes a smile.
“I already have one, thank you, I guess I should’ve said,” I say as more tears roll down my cheeks.
“For what? I told you I don’t mind coming out here, it’s because your my friend, band mate and I ca-“ he tries to finish before I cut him off, “for saving me, your truly the nicest and most understanding person ever.” I start to sob.
His face softens and he wraps me in a tight yet delicate hug, “I’m sorry you needed saving.”
I try not to get snot or tears on the back of his jacket as I melt into it, “thank you”
#star writes#the band ghost#tobias forge#unmasked ghouls#tf x reader#the band ghost fluff#the band ghost comfort#jutty ranx#jutty taylor x reader#papa primo#terzo x reader#ghost band fanart#jutty taylor#cardinal copia#copia x reader
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It takes a moment for Scar to realize he has won. A long moment, in fact. Pearl's cut off scream as she slipped over the edge hardly seemed to register. He assumed she lived, assumed she had more hearts under her belt. That she would come over the edge of that rift in the ground and launch herself back at him, or she would wait until he got close enough before catching him off guard and finishing him off.
So when he whirled around, sword clutched tightly in his hand, and called for her... He couldn't understand why she didn't answer.
But it only set in when he heard a voice. An achingly, haunting voice that he should not be hearing.
"She's dead, Scar." It felt as though Grian had whispered inside of his own skull. "You won."
He couldn't help the laugh he choked out, "What?" Bitter, humorless laughter bubbled up into his throat and he clutched his chest with his free hand, white knuckles refusing to release the sword he still held. He had been the villain. The Secret Keeper, the stupid tasks, made him a villain. Pushed away any sort of alliance he tried to form. Despite how hard he tried, the tasks kept stacking up against him. And he had been the one to win? It was laughable. "How did the guy with no friends win?"
But there wasn't an answer. He wasn't sure he expected one. Despite how well he knew Grian, his abilities and control over these worlds was something he still struggled to wrap his mind around. Scar wasn't even sure he wanted an answer to that.
He didn't know what he expected. This wasn't his first game. And he always played hoping, aiming, to win. And yet everything felt so hollow. Victory felt bitter on his tongue, a heavy weight on his chest.
He won. He was a victor. But what did that even mean anymore?
Was this how Grian had felt, so long ago, in that desert, with his blood on his hands? Was this how deafeningly quiet that world felt after he had won? It took so long for Grian to let Scar in again, after that, and still he keeps him at bay every time a new game starts, like he's reliving that feeling, that horror, all over again. Scar thinks he gets it now. A little bit, at least.
Surely he should feel relief, pride, even a fragment of excitement. But instead it just felt achingly empty.
And he wanted to go home.
Scar's thoughts drifted to his task. Win Secret Life. He had done it... Right? He had won. So his task was done.
The trip to the Secret Keeper was slow. His limbs ached, sword dragging through the dirt behind him as he approached the looming figure of stone. He was so accustomed to everyone gathering around each week but now it was so silent.
Yet here, he felt eyes upon him. The Secret Keeper Watched. Silent and unyielding. Without the noise that often accompanied with these trips, he could feel the way his skin prickled, how the hairs on his neck stood up.
But his eyes fixated on the three pillars, the three buttons, and he moved on instinct to the first one in the row. Scar settled his hand on the stone and pressed.
The rise in energy was palpable, but not new. Not anymore. Even the rush of whispers that filled his ears was something he had started to get used to.
It was when it didn’t stop that the panic started.
The whispers lifted in volume, so loud, buzzing over his nerves. There were voices he didn’t recognize, ones he knew, they overlapped so much that it felt like a sea of noise that he couldn’t escape.
Scar fell to his knees, sword clattering against the stone as his hands instantly went to cover his ears. “Stop! Please, make it stop!” He begged, pleaded, with who he wasn’t sure. The Secret Keeper? The voices? His friends, who had left this world behind? Grian..?
But the noise kept coming. It had felt so quiet only moments ago, but now, it was filled with suffocating noise that he almost missed how aching it felt.
He doesn’t know how long he knelt there, stone biting into his knees, arms aching as he tried desperately to cover his ears, throat raw from a scream that had torn its way out of his chest. Nothing felt real anymore. Like the noise was warping his very sense of self, melting into the world around him.
Scar.
His name. It cut through like a blade so abruptly that he jolted upright, eyes flying open to scan his surroundings. And suddenly the noise was muffled and faint as though he had been dunked underwater.
There was a weight behind him. It was warm and instantly Scar felt safe. It was a presence he knew so well.
It’s time to come home.
And all at once there was a blinding light.
#star writes#trafficblr#secret life#hermitshipping#trafficshipping#<--- more implied but just being safe#idk what this is its just been in my brain so enjoy
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For the last two weeks or so all I can think about is writing a fic where Reader owns a little pet supplies shop but also a shelter for stray dogs, something she runs entirely out of pocket, completely and wholly dedicated to making sure these pups are living the best lives they possibly can in the streets of Yokohama.
And Chuuya stumbles upon her one night after one of her dogs starts following him home from one of his missions. Cue this big tough mafia executive getting all soft over some cute puppies and bonding with the girl who takes care of them, and realizing that she has a really pretty smile
Guys help I really wanna write this but my writing slump has been so bad lately, please bully me with this
#i just wanna write something with him and puppies#HE LOVES THEM SO MUCH YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND#star writes#chuuya x reader#star’s wips
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READ CHAPTER 1 NOW!
written by: starlightment
When Keith’s notorious temper lands him in major trouble at school, he’s forced to serve out his time somewhere even more nightmarish than detention: drama club. Despite his determination to avoid the spotlight at all costs, an unintentional mishap ends up getting him not only cast in the show, but playing opposite Lance McClain, a boisterous and bright-eyed thespian who Keith just can’t seem to shake—on stage or off.
Chapters: 1/? | Language: English | Art Credit: here
FANDOM: Voltron: Legendary Defender
RATING: Teen
PAIRING(S): Keith/Lance
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Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: QSMP | Quackity SMP, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Fred (QSMP)/Toby Smith | Tubbo, Fred (QSMP) & Toby Smith | Tubbo, FitMC & Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw & Toby Smith | Tubbo, FitMC/Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, FitMC & Phil Watson | Philza, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Phil Watson | Philza
Characters: Toby Smith | Tubbo, Fred (QSMP), FitMC (Video Blogging RPF), Tarik Pacanhan | Pactw, Phil Watson | Philza, Rafael Lange | Cellbit
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Hunger Games Victors, Toby Smith | Tubbo-centric, Fred(QSMP)-centric, Fred uses He/him and They/them pronouns, morning crew hg au, Frubbo - Freeform, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Toby Smith | Tubbo Needs a Hug, Morning crew are a family, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, The Author Regrets Nothing, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Series: Part 2 of Garden of Thorns
Summary:
Love is an extraordinary thing, brings those close together and has a bond like no other. To share experiences and hope.
It can also be a terrible thing, of hurt, and anguish, that will lead you to do anything to keep those you love safe.
Love is beautiful and dangerous, and Tubbo and Fred learn that lesson.
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A Sneak Peek....
This is for @attapullman. Happy Bob Floyd Month!
“Y-you’re a virgin?”
The words are said so quietly you half think they’re a figment of your imagination.
“But you’re so pretty, Artemis. Those men didn’t deserve you, not at all.”
You smile and pat the blanket with your hand. Bob sits gingerly on the edge of the blanket with his back to the Daggers.
“It’s nice of you to say so, Bob.” His cheeks are pink, and his blue eyes are dark and deep as they stare into your own.
“I’m serious. If it were me, I’d have kissed you until your head was spinning, and those pretty lips were all swollen for me.” You can’t breathe for a completely different reason in comparison to all those minutes ago. You can smell whiskey on his breath, coupled with the smokey sweetness of the bonfire and the floral notes from his cologne.
#star writes#top gun fanfic#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick fanfic#top gun maverick fanfiction#international bob floyd fucks month#bob floyd x reader#robert bob floyd x reader#robert floyd x reader#yeah#i went there#this trope has me more than a little feral
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Photo Finish
Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader
Description: I don't really have words for this. @desert-fern and I were chatting about Hangman thots. And this spilled out of my brain.
Warnings: This is just porn. Porn with Plot. Consume at your own risk.
Word Count: 6484
A/N: This is dedicated to @desert-fern, @dakotakazansky and @horseshoegirl! Read and enjoy the thots my darlings!
AO3: Cross-posted Here!
It is an unforgiving job, working as a photographer. You'd been all over the world taking pictures for exposes, portraits of world leaders, and scenery. You could name a print material with a portrait on the cover and say you'd taken a picture of that kind.
It's your first time in New York after six months of working on assignment after assignment for your agency when you're called into your boss’s office and ordered to get a studio ready. You're expecting a shot with supermodels or perfumes. Hell, you've even taken photos of cans of dog food. You're not expecting to hear that the client is the U.S. Navy. Not at all.
The U.S. Navy's recruitment numbers have fallen to an all-time low. They're looking for a propaganda vehicle or five to kickstart recruitment. They've ordered a squadron of pilots to fly to New York and have professional portraits taken. It had been decided it was too risky to have civilian photographers on base, so your company had rented a colossal hangar from the airport for one day. The squadron and their jets would land tonight, and the shoot would happen tomorrow. The information has you reeling and more than a little flustered. The U.S. Navy? As a client? That’s huge. This assignment could make or break your whole career. How do you even start? This shoot is on an awfully quick turnaround for something so big.
Your mind is spinning, thinking of how you could make these spreads work. To begin your prep work, you go to your office, collecting your assistant, stylists, makeup artist, and lighting coordinators. Once everyone is clustered around your office, you fire up your computer and display pictures of each aviator. The Navy has selected six aviators for this spread; they’re all gorgeous. And per the sanitized dossiers you hand out to your team to read, each has risked their lives to serve their country. Of the five men on the dossiers, one keeps catching your attention. His name is Jake, Jake Seresin, and his eyes pierce into you even through the low-quality picture you’ve been given.
“Alright. So how do we do this? The Navy asked for shots of each aviator and their plane in flight suits and uniforms. We’ll have all four jets in the hangar with us tomorrow. Additionally, I want to explore who they are as people. So I think we’ll also do shots of them in formal wear. As a last step, we’ll tie into their sex appeal and do shots of the boys in their flight jackets and dog tags with no shirts. For Lieutenant Trace, I thought we could explore the duality she naturally poses as a highly decorated female Naval Aviator. How does that sound? Any ideas for how we can accomplish that? Start pulling pieces on racks in the bullpen. I want to do a final review of all of the options at 4 o’clock.”
Your stylists, Adam and Lea, are already huddled up and discussing pieces to pull for the formal wear shoot. You can see an unholy gleam in Lea’s eyes as she finds pieces for Lieutenant Trace to wear for the sex appeal shot on her tablet. You grin at their enthusiasm before turning to your lighting techs.
“Seb, Kris. I want you both to head out to the hangar today. I don’t know what the lighting is going to look like. Feel free to start setting up the lighting for the shoot tomorrow. But don’t lock anything down. We’re going to have to share our space with the planes.”
You turn to your assistant, Amy.
“Ames, go with them. Get an idea of the space we have to deal with. Measurements would be useful. Start visualizing areas where we could lay out a backdrop to do a set of pics without the planes in the background. Scope out everything — the facilities, where we could set up changing booths, a refreshments table, etc. We’ll also probably need to coordinate deliveries from the usual food platters and drinks places. Get an assortment of things that would apply to any dietary restrictions you can think of.”
With that, you turn to the last member of your team, your makeup artist.
“Hey, Katie. We will want to keep the makeup for this shoot subtle and touch up any blemishes and under-eye circles. That should be it for the boys, but we’ll want to do something eye-catching for the formal wear portion for Lieutenant Trace. So pack accordingly. Go ahead if you want, and head to the hangar with Ames so you can coordinate placement for the makeup station.”
You call your team to attention by ringing the small gong on your desk.
“We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us today. Call me for anything you need. This shoot is important for the studio, and we will have many eyes on us. Here are the credentials for the hangar. Measurements for the aviators are included in the dossier packets. For the formal wear portion of the shoot, pick coordinating colors except for Lieutenant Trace. Good luck!”
The rest of your morning is spent coordinating with the Navy Liasion. During your lunch break, you head to the hangar and help your team as they work there. You pick up sandwiches and drinks for everyone and drop some off for Adam and Lea. You reach the hangar at 1:30 and use your credentials to let yourself in. Unsurprisingly, the hangar is a hive of activity. Amy’s marking down placement points near the bathrooms with a measuring tape, and Katie’s getting a vanity plugged in and organizing her equipment.
Meanwhile, Seb and Kris are testing the lighting. A large swath of the Hangar floor is as yet empty. A clear path has been left from the hangar doors to the open area. The open area is where four F/A-18A Super Hornets are going to sit. You call your team to grab their lunches and catch up with Amy on her progress. It’s your first time delegating so much of the admin work to Amy since she’s the newest on the team, and you’re ecstatic with her progress.
She’s gotten everything organized, including the food and beverage deliveries. When a pair of workmen back in a truck containing the backdrop and the changing rooms, you supervise as they build them and place them where you want them. They’ve just started assembling the backdrop when your phone rings. You step into the afternoon sunshine to take the call. It’s the Navy Liasion. He’s calling to inform you that the squadron will be landing shortly. Sure enough, you can just hear the engines as you hang up and bolt indoors. Amy’s just sending the workmen on their way as you help your team clear the open areas of the hangar and stand near the open hangar door.
You can feel the thrum of the engines as Four F/A-18As fly in formation and finally land in all their glory. They’re beautiful machines. You can smell the stink of the jet fuel and feel the heat from the engines as they roll into the hangar. The next moments are full of frantic activity as the flight crews help ensure the jets are safely landed. Once all the furor has died down, you finally reach where the aviators have descended from their jets. They’re examining your team's work with eagle eyes that dart to your person as you step closer, your heels echoing as you make your way to the jets.
They’re even more gorgeous than their pictures indicated, even sweaty with helmet hair as they are. As one, they line up in front of you and salute, introducing themselves with their rank, full name, and callsign. You can hear Amy and Katie’s giggles from behind you as you introduce yourself and your team. The entire time you lay out the plan for the following day, you can feel a set of eyes boring into the side of your face. All the aviators are staring right at you, but Lieutenant Seresin makes you feel like squirming. His green eyes stay on you as you show them the different areas in the hangar and explain the order of the day. Thankfully, they leave the hangar shortly after you tell them their call time for the next morning.
A couple of hours later, everything is ready to go, thanks to Amy, Seb, Kris, and Katie. The corner near the bathroom has two changing rooms set up. Nearby are spaces for the racks of clothing and the makeup station. It will be perfect for the photoshoot you have in mind. The concrete floors are a little chilly, so you text Lea and ask her to add some of the rugs from storage to the truck. You send her a snap of the current layout so she and Adam know what they’re walking into the following morning. You know she and Adam will pick something that complements the gunmetal gray of the planes and the clothing they’re selecting. Before long, you and your team are packed into the back of two Ubers and heading back to the studio for the final part of your day, evaluating the clothing Adam and Lea have picked.
You’re satisfied as you head home that night. Your team has done an amazing job, and the only thing you have to do is pack your cameras and lenses. You carefully wipe and pack each lens and each camera, working as quickly as possible since you have to be at the hangar with an early 6 AM call time. Amy’s picking up the coffee and breakfast deliveries at 7, and the Squadron will show up at 8 AM sharp.
When your alarm goes off at half past four the next morning, you feel barely rested. Your hair is a bird’s nest atop your head, and your eye bags could put a raccoon to shame. But you’ve got a busy day ahead of you, so you gulp a scalding cup of coffee and walk zombie-like into your shower. Forty-five minutes later, you’re dressed in a smart blouse and pencil skirt with heels on your feet and bleary but ready to face the day. You’ve thrown your hair into a French braid snaking down your back and left your makeup and jewelry simple to avoid causing unforeseen sparkles and shadows when Kris and Seb turn the lights on.
Your team has just reached the hangar when you step in. All the lights are on in the early morning haze, and you’re immediately swept up in the preparations. It’s like you’re needed everywhere. You only get fifteen minutes to lay out your camera equipment and hook up the cameras to your laptop before you’re pulled into last-minute adjustment after last-minute adjustment. It feels like barely any time has passed when the aviators swagger through the open hangar door. They’re dressed in khaki uniforms, each holding a hanger with a leather flight jacket.
Adam and Lea direct them to leave their garment bags on an open rack, and you’re off to the races. You start with individual shots of each aviator with their plane and then against the backdrop. You’ve cued up a playlist of Top-40 hits, and you can’t help humming along as you snap away. As expected, it takes a bit for the aviators to warm up to being photographed. Two, Lieutenants Bradshaw and Seresin, take to posing for the camera like a fish out of water. Lieutenant Fitch follows shortly after them. Then all you needed to get Fanboy to cut loose was get him talking about his favorite tv show. You don’t mind the onslaught of Star Trek facts and figures because Lieutenant Mickey Garcia is adorable once you get him smiling and dancing to the songs playing.
That leaves you with Lieutenants Trace and Floyd. Lieutenant Floyd goes next, and the first thing he does when he sees you holding the camera is blush. The bashful look on his face makes a soft squeal slip out of Amy’s mouth, and you side-eye your assistant with your fiercest glare to get her to chill out. Thankfully, Lea drags her away to help with some of the clothing. There’s no need to make the sweetheart even more uncomfortable. Much like Lieutenant Garcia, you try to get him talking. And it works, at least until Lieutenant Seresin opens his mouth and says,
“C’mon, Baby On Board. A pretty girl’s taking your picture, and you can’t even smile? This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience, at least for you. You should enjoy it while it lasts.”
You can feel your blood pressure rising at how rude he is and are about to open your mouth to tell him to get out of your field of vision when Lieutenant Floyd does it himself.
“Why, Bagman? Are you afraid that if I start posing for real, all the girls will dump you as fast as possible for me instead?”
You have to stifle your giggles as Lieutenant Seresin blinks wide-eyed at Lieutenant Floyd before walking away.
“That’s a great idea, Bob!” Lieutenant Trace is never one to leave an opportunity to cheer on her WSO.
That’s what breaks the ice between you and Lieutenant Floyd. You feel his solo plane shots have turned out better than the others. The final aviator in uniform to photograph is Lieutenant Trace. But no matter what you do, you can’t get her to loosen up.
“Alright, everyone. Let’s take fifteen. Adam and Lea, can you get the Lieutenants in their formal wear while I finish up with Lieutenant Trace?”
That clears the gentlemen away and leaves you and Lieutenant Trace by the planes. That’s when you finally see a fraction of the tension she holds in her shoulders drain away. She’s still standing stiffly but no longer in full parade rest. You turn the music up, put on ABBA, and pray that the music finally gets her to unwind. It takes a bit, and Lieutenant Bradshaw, now wearing a navy blue tuxedo, wiggling his hips to the beat but unwind she does. He gives you a wink before shimmying away. You can see the rest of your team laughing as the aviators pull out their silliest dance moves.
After finishing up Lieutenant Trace’s final uniform pictures, you leave her in Lea and Katie’s capable hands and start taking the solo shots of the men. They’re all dressed in navy blue tuxedos with white shirts and shiny black dress shoes. There isn’t a tie in sight, and the jackets are perfectly tailored to their figures. You can’t help the impressed looks you give them and mentally note to compliment Lea and Adam later. Everything is going well until you start to see slack-jawed looks where the lieutenants had been smoldering into the camera. You turn and grin satisfactorily as Lieutenant Trace steps forward. Lea had selected a gorgeous crimson and burgundy gown, and Katie had chosen to leave her hair in loose curls. You’re not surprised at the boys’ awe. She looks breathtaking and like her callsign in all its fiery glory. The contrasting color combinations as she joins the boys look fantastic in the pictures.
The final set of pictures happens after a lunch break. The gentlemen are only too eager to slip off their shirts, though you can hear Bob pleading with Lea to spare him. You wish him luck, as you know from experience that Lea’s not one to give in easily. The only other aviator who looks discomfited is Lieutenant Trace. You pull her aside.
"Lt. Trace. How would you feel about doing a shot wearing just one of the men's jackets, some heels, and jewelry? You don’t have to wear one that one of the guys has worn today. Lea and Adam brought plenty of spares."
"Please, call me Natasha. And no. I'm not doing that."
"Natasha, I have a feeling I know why, but would you tell me?" Her shoulders surround her ears as you try to reason with her.
"I'm not going to wear that just to act as the sole piece of eye candy in this group. I got here by working just as hard, if not harder, than all of them. I won't negate all my hard work with a pin-up pose on Navy propaganda."
"Thank you for telling me that. I'm not going to pressure you into doing this. But, I would like to bring one item to your consideration. You think taking a picture like this will negate your hard work. Doesn't that negate your inherent sense of femininity? You're a fighter pilot. Yes. One of the best of the best. But you're also a woman. And to me, that's one of your biggest strengths. Girls walking into Navy recruitment offices deserve to know they can be kick-ass officers and beautiful too.”
You take a breath, cataloging the emotions flitting across her face.
“I'm not asking you to do this shot because you're beautiful. As we both know, you are. I'm asking you to do this shot to show the world that you can be one of the best and still be feminine. Be strong and delicate. Sweet and savage. I want you to show the world that serving your country doesn't mean you have to only act like men. Women can serve and do everything that a man can without compromising anything. Be it their looks, their career, or their femininity."
Your words have resonated with her. You can see the figurative light bulb go off in her head as she resolutely nods, gathers up the skirts of her gown, and walks right towards Lea like a woman possessed. You grin and proceed with taking shots of the others. But this time, it’s Lieutenant Seresin that you’re having problems with. He’s stiff like his charm has melted away. You switch to the others and finish their shots easily. Even Natasha stuns in just the oversized blazer. You take a break and review the pictures on your laptop. They’re all perfect. You’ll need a day or so to clean up any small defects, but other than that, they’re exactly what you were looking for. The Navy will be pleased with the results, you hope.
You just need this one set of pictures from Lieutenant Jake Seresin, callsign Hangman, and you can finally go home and take off your heels and bra. Your irritation grows as you attempt to take the pictures you need five times. Your groan of exhaustion and irritation is far longer and louder than it should be. That’s when you start dismissing your team and the Daggers.
“Head on out, all of you. We have to clean up the hangar by the day after tomorrow when the Daggers leave. I will finish up these photos with Lieutenant Seresin, and we should be following you shortly.”
The Daggers all scramble to change, and it's less than half an hour later when you say farewell as the Daggers and your team file out the Hangar door and close it behind them. That’s when you’re left alone with the one man who’s been driving you crazy all day. You try, futilely, to get him to pose how you want, but no matter what you say and how you move him, the pictures don't turn out like you want them to.
Partway through the latter half of the photo shoot, you'd switched to having all of the Daggers standing against the backdrop. You're regretting that decision now.
You're done, and the blonde idiot is just standing there and smirking at you. In the studio light, you can see every ridge of his abs and the downy hair dotting his torso. You kick your heels off and let your hair out of its braid. After so long in the tight braid, it feels great to let your scalp relax.
You stalk up to Lieutenant Seresin and grab hold of his arm.
"Right. Let's make this easy on both of us. I will position you how I want you, and you won't move. Okay?"
"Darlin', just tell me to jump, and I'll ask you how high."
And now he's trying to flirt with you. Great. You roll your eyes and position his head and arms as you want him. This close, you can smell his cologne, the cedar and plum scent wafting from his skin. It's an expensive scent that is ever so inconsistent with his personality. Thankfully he doesn't fight you as you position him.
You could cry. You're so relieved. You are finally getting the needed pictures, and Lieutenant Seresin is cooperating. His eyes still track you as you stalk barefoot back and forth from the laptop to the lights, all with your camera in tow as you make small adjustments. But you don't feel their weight as self-consciously anymore.
In the final pose, you press on his stomach to get him to straighten his back, and your entire world seems to freeze. His abs are taut, the light dusting of hair soft against your fingers as you glance up at his face. His lips are bitten red as his eyes peer into you. It's electric being this close to him. Something is yearning in his eyes when you step away and take the final pictures.
Your face is hot as you walk back to the table with your laptop and examine the pictures. You're exhausted, but you've finally done it. Of all the pictures, Lieutenant Seresin's looks the best. His photos exhibit strength, passion, and raw sexuality, exposing a stripe of his taut torso and dog tags.
"Damn, darlin'. I knew you were a good photographer when I looked up your work before we flew to New York for this, but I had no idea how good you were. These pictures. They're something else."
You startle at his voice, emanating from near your ear, and jolt out of your seat. You nearly fall, but he catches you, steadying you with an arm wrapped around your waist. You gulp as you’re pressed against his chest. He's so close that you can count the flecks of gold swimming in his green eyes. You can't keep your gaze from trailing over his face, from his eyes down to his lips, and back up again.
"Sweetheart, tell me if I'm reading you wrong, but it looks like you want to kiss me. And I know I want to kiss you. I have since I saw you for the first time yesterday."
You can't keep yourself from nodding at his words. But he's watching you like a hawk and catches your movements. So it's hardly a surprise when he trails his other hand up your side and pinches your chin before slanting his mouth over yours.
He kisses as he flies, you think. Precise and pointed, each brush of his tongue against your calculated to make your cunt clench and throb with need. You're wet, embarrassingly so. He doesn't pull away until your lips are swollen from the rough kiss.
Your chest heaves as he traces his finger across your lips. He's got a smug smirk on his face. You pull away from him, carefully selecting your video camera from all your camera equipment, and return to his plane. You turn on the lights, dimming them until there is just enough light to throw the area in the jet's shadow in relief in your camera, hit record, and beckon him to come to you.
"Lieutenant, it's been a bit since I've had some fun. What would you say if I suggest we make a movie?"
His grin is salacious as he lets the leather jacket fall to the ground and tugs you back into his arms.
"Baby, it'd be my pleasure."
Your answering laugh transforms into a moan as he kisses roughly down your throat, paying special attention to your pulse point. His talented hands trail up and down your waist, nimble hands rucking your blouse up from your skirt until he can finally touch your bare skin. Your moans as he traces patterns across your ribs are muffled in his kiss.
"Jake."
Your voice is breathy and high as you try to get his mouth back on yours. But when you look at his face, something is commanding in his gaze.
"Take your shirt off, baby. Let me see what you're wearing."
You tug your shirt off, thankful there aren't any buttons or ties to impede your progress. Jake’s groan at the sight of the lace covering your breasts sends goose bumps over your skin.
His voice is reverent as he walks around you.
"God, baby. You killed me this morning. Wearing that pretty little skirt and those high heels. I wanted to bend you over and fuck you until you were leaking my cum."
He stops before you, pressing his thumb between your parted lips. He dips it in until it's wet with your pooling saliva and drags it down your throat. His finger drags over the soft flesh of your breasts, leaving a cool, damp trail as he pays special attention to the peaks of your nipples.
He continues walking, stopping at your back and dragging you in until your back is flush against his chest. He positions you with both hands until you're centered with the camera. He keeps up a filthy litany of praise as he carefully uses his thumbs to drag your bra cups down, sending your tits spilling free. His hands immediately find their way to fondle and caress them, calloused fingers kneading and squeezing until your hips are canting unconsciously, searching for additional stimulation.
His smile is filthy when he finally pulls you away, intertwining your fingers with his and leading you to his plane.
"Put your hands on my plane, baby. And whatever you do, don't take them off."
You can't resist your soft moan as you do exactly what he says after unfastening your bra. You can't see his face, but you can feel his lips in the hollow behind your ear as he grinds his stiff cock against your ass.
"Stay there, baby. Gonna take these trousers off so you don't get in trouble if we make a mess."
Your nipples are pebbled in the cool air as you wait for Jake to return to you. You can hear the clink of the belt buckle and the rustle of fabric as he drags the garment off before padding back to you. His hands trail teasingly over your sensitive skin as he brackets your waist. His thumbs rub soothingly at your waist as he peppers kisses across your bare shoulders. Jake then carefully drags the zip at the back of your skirt down and eases it off your hips.
It pools to the ground at your feet, and you shudder at the feeling of his hand on your ass as he collects it and sets it on a chair in your line of sight. He's gorgeous. You can see every line of his muscles and the bulge of his erect cock in his boxers. The only thing you're wearing now is your thong. He slides the flimsy lace off, and that's when you feel his breath across your hole.
"Oh, baby. You're so wet. Wet for your Lieutenant, huh?"
He blows a stream of air over you, and you can feel your hole clench at the sensations.
"What do you want me to do to you, baby? How do you want to cum? On my tongue? On my fingers? On my cock? You gotta tell me, sweetheart."
Your voice is breathy as you babble, "All of them, Jake! I want your tongue, your fingers, and your cock. It's been so long since I came. Please!"
He kisses your shoulder before kneeling and burying his tongue between your thighs. Each brush has you practically sobbing with pleasure. It's been so long since you came that it's only a few minutes before his tongue brings you to the brink of your orgasm. You're already chanting his name, your moans echoing through the hangar.
"Cum," he growls, his mouth still sealed to your cunt, and you're only too happy to comply, your hands scrabbling for something to squeeze on as you ride out the waves of your orgasm on his tongue.
He pulls away after a few minutes and turns you around. His mouth is on you instantly, nipping at your breasts before he kisses you hard. You can feel how hard he is against your thigh as you sink to your knees and free him from the constricting fabric.
It's only fair that you return the favor. So you start with kitten licks flicking across the head of his cock. Each tender pass of your tongue has him moaning. It's not long before his hands find their way into your hair, holding the loose strands in a ponytail at the back of your head. You use the extra leverage to begin deep-throating him in earnest. You use as much suction and saliva as possible, moaning wantonly as he fucks your mouth. His pants and grunts send heat pooling into your cunt as he approaches his orgasm. But before you can convince him to come on your tongue, he jerks himself off over your tits, spurting his release over your skin in hot thick ribbons.
There is a feral look in his eyes at the sight of you like that on your knees, and Jake lopes over to your cameras, carefully grabbing one. He drapes his dog tags around your neck and carefully snaps pictures of the pearl necklace he'd given you. He lays the camera onto the chair before coming back to you.
"Do you still want me to fuck you?"
"Yes." Your consent is less words and more a cock-drunk mewl, but Jake interprets it correctly.
"Can you get on all fours for me?"
You're only too eager to comply, positioning yourself under his eager hands as he takes his spot against your ass.
"I don't have any condoms, baby. How do you want to do this?"
"I'm on the pill, Jake. Please, fuck me. Fuck me raw."
He groans before pressing himself inside you. The slow drag of his big cock as it presses into you has your pulse racing. Jake keeps the pace purposefully slow, using his hands at your hips to hold you still as he deliberately fucks into you. It's so good that each press has you screaming, and you've long since reached the cliff of your orgasm. But what Jake's giving you just isn't enough. That's when you start wiggling your hips to meet his thrusts.
The first heavy smack of his palm against your ass has you freezing completely, caught in the pain-pleasure-pain sensation his hand is wringing out of you. The second has you moaning, your pussy fluttering around his length. His groan is near musical as he continues to smack your ass. Each smack brings you closer to your orgasm, and you're practically begging for it now. You wail when he begins to fuck you again in earnest. His balls smack against the hot skin of your ass as you finally let yourself cum.
Your orgasm is so strong and intense that you black out. When you come to, you're cradled against Jake's chest, his hand tracing lazily over your back. You're both still under his jet. You prop yourself up on his chest with shaking arms and groan at the sensation of cum dripping out of you. It’s several long moments before you rise carefully on wobbly legs. But the sight you see when standing has your cunt clenching in need again. Jake’s torso is now covered in droplets of the mixture of both of your cum. You grab your camera and take a picture of that too.
Jake grins as he collects the bundle of your clothes and follows behind you to the bathroom. You can’t help the gasp leaving your lips as you see yourself in the mirror. He’s marked up your decolletage, and now is when you can feel the painful sting in your ass.
“God, baby. Let me take a picture of your ass? It looks beautiful. You can see my whole hand on it.”
You groan as he presses a kiss against the sore cheek before positioning you and taking the pic. All you can see is the globe of your ass, the handprint, and the cascade of your hair down your back.
“Are you sure you didn’t pick the wrong calling, Jake? You could’ve been a fantastic photographer if you’d chosen to.”
“Oh, I’m sure, darlin’. I love flying too much to regret my decision. And flying brought me to you.”
You grin before beginning to clean yourself up. Jake can’t resist kissing you, and you can’t resist kissing him back, either. Before long, you’re all clean and dressed in your underwear, blouse, and skirt again. Jake even has your shoes and chivalrously kneels to slide them onto your feet. He’s back in his trousers, this time sans the leather jacket. You can’t resist trailing your fingers across his skin and wrapping your arms around his neck as you kiss him. But you have to break away from him. You only add to his current look by slinging his dog tags around his neck.
Back in the hangar, you’re packing up your cameras after ensuring your home movie is saved when the door to the hangar opens. It’s a security guard, and you’re glad he didn’t pop in earlier.
“Hello, miss. I just wanted to check in and make sure everything is alright.”
“Yes, everything is fine, officer. I just finished a photo shoot with my last client, and we’ll leave shortly.”
"Alright, miss. We have to restrict access to the hangar at 11 pm. It's about 9:30 now, so finish up and head on your way."
You can hear Jake opening the curtain to the changing room behind you and can see the Officer's position stiffen as he catches sight of the medals on his breast.
"Sir, apologies, I wasn't aware that the client she mentioned was military."
He's falling over himself, and you can see the smug smirk on Jake's face as he grins and walks the officer out. You can't help grinning as you finish packing your lenses and begin unplugging your laptop after saving all the footage you’d captured today. You know Jake is back when you feel an arm wrap around your waist. You lean easily back into his expensive-smelling embrace and can't resist sagging against him for a few moments.
"It's been a long day, huh, darlin'?" He presses a kiss against your jaw. "Let's get you packed up and home."
You smile at the new, softer side of him and kiss his jaw.
"I'm all packed up. Walk me to my car?"
"'Course, sugar. Give me your camera bag. D'you need to check on anything else before we head out?"
You pad over to all the electrical outlets, hitting the switches on power strips to ensure nothing is still on. The final place you check via phone flashlight is the area under Jake's jet. You're wearing all of your clothing. You just want to make sure you haven't made a mess with your extracurricular activities.
"I cleaned it all up already, baby. It was when you were knocked out after your orgasm."
You startle, having grown used to his presence over the past few hours.
"Then let's head out?"
You relinquish your camera bag to him, keeping your oversized tote on your shoulder as the two of you stride out of the hangar. You lead him to the small parking lot to the side and pop the trunk for your car, thankful you'd decided to drive to the airfield.
"Let me give you a ride to your hotel. It's the least I can do after keeping you so late."
"Darlin', I should be thanking you. I haven't cum like that in a long time."
You've seen the man completely naked and writhed in pleasure at his touch. You shouldn't be so flustered in his presence. But you can't explain the catch in your breath as he opens the driver's side door for you before loping around to the passenger side and settling in. Everything between you and Jake doesn't feel like the aftermath of a hot frantic sexual encounter. It feels like a date. You feel light and easy as you cruise back into the city. The silence between the two of you is comfortable. It’s not long before you drop him off in front of his hotel. He presses a kiss against your lips before swaggering in. And you head home to your small New York apartment, feeling the ghost of his presence as you go.
The next morning, you’re glad you chose to work from home because the first pictures you edit are the ones you’d taken of Jake and the ones he’d taken of you as well as your home movie. You can’t resist fingering yourself as your moans and his grunts spill out of your computer speakers. You don't have to do much editing there, but you carefully load the incriminating footage onto two flash drives — one for you and one for him. The photos for the Navy, too, are edited in no time flat.
It's in the afternoon when you head into the studio. When you get in, you're surprised to see all the Daggers, your boss, your team, and two Admirals waiting for you. Your boss runs the show, introducing and greeting them before the floor is ceded to you. You show the assembled guests the pictures you'd taken for the Navy.
The pictures are well received, especially the photos of Lieutenant Trace. You wink cheekily at her as Admirals Simpson and Mitchell praise the juxtaposition of those shots. As you show the last picture, you can finally breathe. Your boss is proud, especially as the Admirals turn to her and approve the pictures. But you have one final set of pictures to deliver.
"Lieutenant Seresin, apologies. I found this in my bag this morning. It was lying in the changing room when I looked through it to ensure everyone had taken their things. It must've fallen out of the pocket of your flight jacket."
His smirk is salacious as he accepts the flash drive from your hand, apologizing for leaving it there. You hand him a note, too, and leave the room. You would pay to see the look on his face when he sees what you’ve written on it.
Jake -
Thanks for last night. Call me the next time you're in New York. I'd love to do it again. It certainly was a photo finish.
XXX - XXX - XXXX
I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.
Taglist:
@desert-fern 🎥 @dakotakazansky 🎥 @bobby-r2d2-floyd 🎥 @roosters-girl 🎥 @sarahsmi13s 🎥 @bradleybeachbabe 🎥 @lovinglyeternal 🎥 @roosterforme 🎥 @horseshoegirl 🎥
#star writes#top gun fanfic#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick fanfic#top gun maverick fanfiction#jake hangman seresin x reader#hangman x reader#jake seresin x reader#photographer reader#pwp#top gun imagine#top gun smut#jake hangman imagine#hangman smut#hangman fanfiction#hangman seresin#controlled chaos squad
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lo and behold i still have more feelings about Astarion, Halsin, and hair as a measure of one's health
a continuation of this post
and also this one
“Unless he figured out how to harness the power of a tadpole, I am not interested, however—hm. Darling, there is a most peculiar thing happening with your hair. Why am I finding all these wisps? Do you have an undercoat much like your bear?”
Halsin raises a hand to feel the wisps of short, fine hairs. “Oh, that?” He chuckles. “That’s merely new growth. Probably to replace what I’ve lost.”
“Lost?”
Halsin hums. “Early in the progression of the Shadow Curse, I stopped taking care of myself. I worked myself ill, hardly tranced for weeks at a time, and the stress manifested as losing my hair. Not all of it, mind you, but enough for it to lose its luster, its thickness.”
“And it’s only growing in now?”
“It’s been a long century, dear.”
#halstarion#halsin#astarion#bg3#baldur's gate 3#star speaks#star writes#yeah this fic just keeps getting longer and longer
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so i know i havent updated my empires long fic in ages but!! i have a good reason -> sad boy hours
so!! instead, here is some boat boys because I can make them sad and then happy! ( @froggymarsh )
Warnings: Self-consciousness, lmk if I should add any more!
-
Etho stared at the twin statues in front of Joel's base with confusion, and a bit of embarrassment. It's not that they weren't good! They were cool, very accurate. He looked down at his coat and then back up to the statues. Very accurate.
But- well- The thing was, that Etho and Joel both knew the obsession thing was a joke, and this was- an escalation. He stared at the statues for another minute, feeling his face grow red under his mask. It was flattering, honestly, or it should be but he just felt-
Self-conscious? No that's not quite right. Imposter syndrome was close, but still not right.
He just felt that- well maybe he personally wasn't deserving of two giant statues of him in front of Joel's base. There were hermits who looked way cooler than him and would look far better as statues than him, especielly in front of Joel's base.
Etho sighed and turned around. He'd shoot Joel a letter later and the statues would come down and he could replace them with much cooler ones.
-
Etho started at the twin statues in front of his base and realised that sending the letter perhaps hadn't conveyed how he felt about the statues. The two statues of himself stared back at him, unblinking.
He heard fireworks sound off and then Joel was standing next to him.
"They look great outside your base," Joel said, grinning. Etho attempted a smile, and hoped it reached his eyes. The statues were fine! Whoever made them had done a good job making them look like Etho, the problem was that- well- they looked like Etho.
"The resemblance is uncanny," Etho replied, staring at the statues. He could see Joel turn to face him.
"Yeah, and they look great." Joel repeated, staring him down. Unblinking, like the statues. (Etho should make Joel statues, he'd probably like them. Hopefully)
"Well I mean," Etho sputtered, looking away. He felt uncomfortable- embarrassed. "They've got this ugly mug on them." Etho joked, but it felt a little too real. He cleared his throat.
Joel was still staring at him. "Admit it," Joel told him, narrowing his eyes. "Admit it, they look great."
Etho stuttered a bit, looking away and shuffling his feet. "Come on Joel-" He mumbled, turning away. Joel grabbed his sleeves.
"Just admit it! They look great because you look great." Joel insisted, shaking Etho's sleeve. Etho blushed, not because of the compliment but because Joel was getting so- so- aggressively kind. His stomach flip flopped.
"They look great," Etho finally said, looking towards that statues.
"Yeah, they do. Not that I'm obsessed with you or anything." Joel replied, rolling his eyes and flying away.
Etho laughed a bit to himself, looking at the statues again. Maybe they looked okay.
#star writes#mcyt#hermitcraft#hermitcraft s10#hermicraft season 10#ethoslab#etho#joel#joel smallishbeans#smallishbeans#boat boys#drabble#not agere
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