#(was getting dread about the passage of time again)

[unrestrained-balderdash-art-blog]

Query and Echo comforting him. Might redraw this in my actual art style at some point :) (had the need to just do a Riddler drawing and complete it y'know?)

[skeletalheartattack]

happy almost birthday :o)

:) thank you!!! there's gonna be a bounce castle at my birthday party and every body is invited

[b14augrana]

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Nothing gold can stay

Alexia Putellas x teen!reader

pt. 3 masterlist

Warnings: this story contains depictions of alcoholism, adultery, and familial issues. read at your own discretion. this chapter in specific discusses themes of abuse and alcoholism.

A/N: the long awaited part 2 to ‘ad astra per aspera’! this took a lot of thinking and scrapped passages to really get this on point, i hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

"You’re early today!”

You smiled halfheartedly at Magdalene and Dani’s teacher, nodding at her. “Yeah, uh, I’ve gotta get to work a bit earlier today so…”

“Not a problem, I’ll see you later,” the woman responded. You gave Magdalene and Dani one last hug before returning to your car, having hope that you’d finally be early to training for once and go the day without being berated by Alexia.

You didn’t want to relive the other night’s training, not in your mind, and definitely not in person. With you, Alexia was a completely different person to the patron saint of Barça that everyone painted her as. You wanted to change that and show her you weren’t as irresponsible and careless as she thought you out to be, but you couldn’t.

It was a relief to see the training pitch parking lot barely populated as it came into sight. There was maybe two cars, which meant you were on time. How incredible.

Before every training, a hopeful feeling swelled inside of you — one of happiness, because you saw football as a means of enjoyment and something to look forward to when all else came crashing down in your life. It was short lived of course, but like a phoenix, it always came back one way or another. Were you wrong for believing in your sport to help you?

"(Y/N), you're early.. for once."

You knew that voice all too well. There was a surprised tone that Alexia's voice held as she spoke, and you knew she expected you to show up late once again if not miss practice completely.

"Yeah, surprise," you replied dully, sitting down on the bench to put your boots on.

"Why are you early?" she asked, and it was a bit of a stupid question.

'Well, after you yelled at me in front of everybody the other day, I decided that if I have to drop all three of my siblings off to school, I might as well do it as early as possible so I don't have to worry about getting screamed at and humiliated at half past nine in the morning!'

"Dropped my siblings off earlier today," you mumbled instead, eyes fixated on the ground as you spoke. You were sure that eventually, your fear would be the one to corrupt your family completely, but you couldn't tell Alexia; it was equivalent to opening yourself up to her, being vulnerable even after trying so hard to maintain a tough front.

She glanced at you, her eyebrow just barely raised but her mouth idle. You cinched your laces tightly and sprung to your feet, very aware of her gaze fixed on you as you grabbed a ball from the bag and dribbled it over to the nearest wall, preparing for the training session ahead.

More of the team started to file through the pitch gates. You could hear their bags dropping to the ground as you passed against the wall, and as Mapi passed behind you she squeezed your shoulder. “I’m glad to see you, (Y/N),” she said, a smile on her face.

For once, as training started, you didn’t feel dreadful. You were excited and motivated by the good start to the morning, which showed in the newfound pep in your step and enthusiasm around the pitch.

After a long while, the sun began to set, which indicated the end of training. You sat down at the bench, unlacing your boots and trading them for sandals. Unexpectedly, Alexia sat down beside you, saying, “Good job today. You did well.”

“Graciés,” you responded, standing up while slinging your bag over your shoulder, “See you tomorrow.”

She watched you leave through the gates, her eyes unwavering on your figure disappearing around the corner.

You lived next to a lovely elderly lady named Margalida. She was a sweet woman, always saying bon día and bona tarda to you and your siblings whenever she saw you. Sometimes, after you returned from training and picked up your siblings, she invited you four into her home to share pastries with her. You always accepted, of course, because it was much better than subjecting yourself to the olfactory assault that was your home, and she was also a widow that you figured needed some company from time to time.

When you weren't home, you couldn't monitor your mother's behaviour; praying that it would stay somewhat normal would have to suffice. You didn’t know whether Margalida knew about the true nature of your household or if she thought you were all naturally raucous.

You pulled into the driveway, parking the car as the doors opened and your siblings got out of the car. “(Y/N),” Magdalene said slowly, imploring you to look at her curiously. “Who are those people?” she pointed ahead, and that’s when you noticed Margalida at your doorstep, alongside two police officers and another woman. She looked like a regular office worker, but you weren’t an idiot; she was obviously a social worker, which could only mean one thing. A bad thing.

"You three stay in the car for a bit, okay? I'm gonna go talk to these people," you said to your siblings, motioning to the car as you turned around again and walked towards the people.

You felt nothing but dread in your gut as you approached them. One of the cops, who was talking to a distressed looking Margalida, looked at you and began to speak. "Miss (Y/L/N)?"

You nodded slowly, "Before we talk, can I just send my siblings inside?"

"That won't be possible," the officer said, making you raise an eyebrow, "...Because we're here regarding a call about a person inside, which we now know isn't you."

"I heard yelling from inside," Margalida added. "It was loud, and– and it sounded like there was crashing, from things being thrown around."

She took a deep breath, looking at you sympathetically. "I thought one of you was being hurt, so I called the police."

"I know your situation with the..." she paused, gesturing to the rubbish bin. You spun around, your eyes widening at the sight of it. Cans and bottles galore filled the bin to the brim, threatening to spill out. You could count at least ten, and that was only at the surface of the deep bin. You could recall the rubbish being collected just a few days ago, and now it was basically full.

She looked at you, her eyes pitiful. You hated it, so much; pity made you feel like a kid, and it angered you that the only time you got to relive any sort of childishness was when someone noticed you were suffering, not because you actually had the liberty to behave like one again. Where was the pity when you actually were a kid, having to wake up and stay afloat to support three other kids?

"Who else lives here, other than you and your — I'm assuming — siblings?" the other cop asked.

"My mother. My dad left a few years ago," you mumbled, looking at the ground.

"Is she home right now?" he asked, and you nodded. "Yeah. She's probably asleep, so if you did knock on the door, that's why nobody opened it."

"Asleep or blacked out?" his partner suddenly added. You looked at him, clenching your jaw as you shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? I've been at work all day."

"What do you do for work?"

"I'm a footballer."

"For FC Barcelona?"

"Buy a ticket and maybe you'll find out."

You ended up sitting across from the two officers and the social worker in a dingy, dark room scarcely furnished with only a table, three chairs and a dirty window to accessorise it. This time, the woman did most of the talking while the cops just surveyed the conversation. Magdalene, Dani and Lorenzo were sitting in the waiting room of the station — you didn't want to drag them along, but you didn't have much of a choice.

"Can you tell us a little bit about your family history that might correspond with the things reported to us today?" she asked, leaning across the table.

"My dad left when I was, I think.. 13. Cheated on my mum and left us all for another woman. My mum, uh, got out of control. She didn't take it well," you replied, not looking up once as your gaze was fixed on the chestnut-stained, chipped table.

"I see. Well, from the contents of the rubbish bin, I presume her coping had something to do with alcohol," the woman said. As if her apathy hadn't been obvious from the start, it was dripping off her every word and showing her true intents; not to help you, but to get this over and done with and throw your siblings into foster care, then consider her job done and get paid for it.

You nodded at her claim nonetheless, picking at the paint of the table. "Yeah."

"Have you or your siblings ever been subject to abuse, from either of your parents?" she continued

"No no, absolutely not, they never hit–"

"I'm not just talking about physical abuse, (Y/N)," she interrupted. It was the first time of the entire questioning you had looked up as you met her gaze, your eyes saying more than your mouth ever could.

"It was just a few arguments,” you responded coldly.

“When we asked Margalida, your neighbour, about if there’s been any incidents like this, she said there has been. Yelling, screaming, and lots of it,” the woman told you. “How many arguments are you considering a few, (Y/N)?”

The table shook from the impact of your hand slamming it sharply as you shot to your feet. "If you consider a couple arguments to be verbal abuse, go ahead. My mum is hurt and angry, very angry about her husband leaving her, so yeah, she drinks and we argue about it!"

"Listen, please sit down. I understand that you and your siblings are troubled children but–"

"I hate being a– I hate that term, 'troubled kid', you know? We aren't troubled! If we were troubled, wouldn't we be dead? Wouldn't we be troubled by an inability to continue living in these conditions, these... ruins?"

Silence. You sat down once again, your head in your hands.

"Do you have another location you can stay at?" she asked you. You shook your head, the feeling of dread burying itself deeper in your gut.

"Unfortunately, we will have to place your siblings in foster care. The living conditions are unsafe and unstable for kids their age to be living in," the social worker finished.

You wanted to burst into tears. You wanted to sob and sob and sob, harder than you ever have, but the tears wouldn't summon.

"There is another option," she spoke slowly, making you immediately look up from the darkness your palms shrouded you in.

"...we contact your father and see if he wants to look after them."

It sounded just as bad as placing them into foster care. Now, you wanted to scream in her face and call her utterly stupid for assuming that a man who abandoned his kids would want to take care of them years later to keep them out of the foster system. Why on God's green earth would he want to reap the consequences of his infidelity?

"Are you hard of hearing?" you scoffed. "Yeah, so, I said earlier that he left us years ago for another woman, you know, to make another family. He didn't want us."

"He's the only other option at the moment. Unless your mother can be moved to a rehabilitation center in sufficient enough time, and you become their legal guardians, they will end up with foster families. Possibly not even the same one."

The news weighed on you like bricks. It was all so much, you couldn't think straight and contemplate possible outcomes and solutions. You put your elbows on your table and held your head in your hands once again, taking a deep breath.

"Can I at least find someone myself who's willing to foster? Someone I know?" you asked, your tone being nothing short of desperate.

She took a moment to respond, and it was probably the most nerve-wracking few seconds of your life, until the ultimatum was spoken.

"I suppose, yes. That is basically the whole principle of fostering, so I see no issue. Until then, they will be placed in a temporary home before we start looking for a permanent family. A pair of officers have gone to detain your mother and we'll review the information from this questioning to determine whether she should be charged or put straight into a rehabilitation program."

"Thank you," you almost cried, your body relaxing from the little bit of relief and reassurance you had just received. There was still a possibility that you could get your siblings back.

The problem standing in your way now was, you didn't know anyone willing to foster. You had no idea who you'd turn to, and it actually made you realise that you were pretty alone in this whole ordeal, and life in general. You really did have nobody but yourself, and clearly there came a time where that wouldn't be enough.

"Magda, Dani, Enzo, come on. We're going now," you said as the door of the interrogation room swung open. You beckoned at the kids, who stood up and ran to you, following you out of the door.

You didn't want to go home yet, just in case the officers were still there and you'd arrive to the horrible scene of your drunkard mother getting dragged of her own house by the authorities, so you drove to the training pitch. You were in search of one person in particular, and hoping to avoid another one.

Parking the car in the same spot you had parked in the same morning, you quickly got out of the car and ushered the kids onto the pitch to play for a little bit while you went into the gym.

As soon as you walked through the automatic glass doors, the person you were searching for was stretching on a yoga mat, her resistance bands discarded above her head.

She sat up, looking at you with a mixture of surprise, confusion and concern, probably achieved from your sorrowful expression.

"Vicky, I need your help. Now."

[koolades-world]

Your Umbrella (solomon x reader)

It'd been a long day. The rain poured down like the heavens weeping. He had forgotten to bring his umbrella from home. Resolved to the only good part of his day being getting to get to bed, he set off to Purgatory Hall through the onslaught of rain.

As he walked, he contemplated his life, staring down at the sidewalk. Simeon and Luke had headed back at the end of the school day, but he had to stay behind to help out with setting up for tomorrow's lesson in potions since he'd agreed to help since he knew a thing or two. At the time, he was all for it, but now that he was actually there, he couldn't be dreading it more. The last thing he wanted was to help teach a lesson.

Maybe his social battery was just finally drained, after all these years. Maybe RAD had finally been the thing to wear him down. Or, maybe he just needed to power through it. He had no clue what he needed. But, he had to figure it out, or it he wouldn't find the answer he was searching for. That's that way it'd always been.

Despite always seeming chipper, he wasn't sure how much of that he had left in him. He'd honestly lost track of how old he was at this point. He vaguely remembered his birthday, but for a while, it stopped mattering to him because despite the passage of time, his physical body showed no signs of aging. Most of the demons around him knew this, and it felt like common knowledge. But something none of them had considered was the state of his psyche. The human brain wasn't meant to function for an indefinite amount of time like his. He wasn't sure what it felt like to be normal anymore. Was he even human anymore? Even if he was, he wasn't sure he really enjoyed it anymore. Anything that was joyful about being human he felt like he lost long ago.

Being surrounded by demons who were hundreds of thousands of years older than him was troubling at times like this. Sure he was young by comparison, but that thought didn’t comfort him. He should've died a long time ago. Yet he was still here, and it felt as if he was rotting away from the inside out. They didn't stop to consider the toll of spending so much time with them was taking on. And, it wasn't even like it was anything they did on purpose. He wasn't trying to discredit their efforts of course, but they just didn't know what it was like to be human. If he didn't understand himself, how could they?

At this point, it just felt like he was dragging himself through the days. He honestly wasn't sure how he'd made it this far, or how he'd done this in the past. He felt like a dead man walking. He felt like he was wasting away.

But that's when he met you.

Mc made him feel young again, like he finally had a place to belong. Someone that kind of understood him and the struggles of being human. He didn't know what he'd do without you. You breathed the life back into his daily routine, by doing all sorts of little things you probably didn't even think twice about. You actually understood his struggles, and he felt as if turning to you was embracing the sun's rays. He smiled to himself as he continued to shuffle through the rain. He found himself thinking of you more and more as of late. You were nothing but the sparkle of joy in his day.

Behind him, he heard someone splashing through puddles through the din of rain. As he turned around, with the echo of the smile still on his face, he saw the very person he was thinking about. You had a cute pink umbrella in hand that was proabaly a gift from Asmo, blocking the rain from directly hitting you. However, you were still pretty soaked and water was practically dripping from your RAD uniform.

"Ah! You caught me. I was hoping I could sneak up on you and jump on your back." You walked over to him and immediately pulled him under your umbrella.

"You're so interesting." Solomon found himself laughing a little at your antics.

"What're you doing out here all by yourself? I went looking for you and was told you left in this awful weather." You immediately reached up and brushed his bangs out of his face so you could see his eyes. He reeled for a second, his heart thumping, before remembering he had to respond.

"Oh, I just wanted to get back to Purgatory Hall. Simeon took my bag home with him when he left at normal dismissal, and the rain didn't seem too bad when I left. Clearly, I was wrong." He tried to smile and brush it off, but you saw through him.

"Are you upset again? You don't have to tell me why, but let me just be with you and try to cheer you up, if you'll let me." The smile faded from your face a little, and he saw the concern shine through.

He didn't have it in him to speak, so he just nodded. You grabbed one of his hands with one of yours unoccupied with the umbrella. The way you quickly pulled him close and covered him with your umbrella felt oddly fitting to him. You were quick to grow close to him, for whatever reason, and he felt as if when he was around you, it was alright to feel how he was feeling. "Let's go do something crazy! We're both already wet, so what'd you say to dancing in the rain somewhere, then heading to Purgatory Hall to enjoy a movie together? Your favorite, of course. We might get sick, and while magic could solve that, that just means we could take a few sick days together." You leant into his side, placing your chin on his shoulder.

"I'm following you, Mc." He felt himself begin to smile again. He couldn't lie about how enamored he was with you. He couldn't say no to you. You made him happier, like he didn't just have to let the days bleed together. Not everything was going to go his way, but that's alright. At least he knew you'd be by his side.

Maybe being human wasn't so bad after all.

[kingkatsuki]

— when you have a blind date

Masterlist.

Your friends think its time you tried to settle down and they set you up on a blind date.

Warnings: implied angst, idiots in love.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Word Count: 1.8k.

You’d slowly come to terms that you’d probably be the last one of your friends to find a partner. Everyone else seemed to be following the right paths in love, and you were still pining dreadfully for a man that didn’t like you back.

“Not settled down yet?”

The dreaded question always directed towards you, and you never had a clue how to answer. No matter what occasion— weddings, birthdays, baby showers, anniversaries. It was always directed at you without fail, eyes looking to the side of you like maybe this would be the event where you’d show up with someone. If you had a hundred yen for every time someone asked you the same dreaded question, you were certain you’d never need to work again. 

You’d become robotic in answering it too, recycling the same excuses about working overtime and trying to further your career, or dates not working out (when really you’d been at home with a pint of ice cream and another Zack Efron rom-com), but there was only so many times you’d be able to dodge that question before your friends would take it further. 

There were rarely questions about other aspects of your life, as though your worth was connected to whether you were seeing someone or not. The pity on your friends' faces whenever you’d pick out an excuse was enough to make you want to crawl into a hole and disappear. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone soon.”

But that wasn’t the worst part about being single. 

Being the single friend meant it always seemed to be you that had to endure being accosted by hopeful men trying their luck. Weddings where you’d already dodged the dreaded “When is it your turn then?” questions and sympathetic gazes when you’d explained your single— the classic “I’m sure you’ll find the right person soon” oozing with faux sincerity, followed by having to avoid half the groom's party offering to dance with you or buy you a drink from the bar. Even worse the best men that thought it was right of passage to sleep with the maid of honour. 

Bars where men would come up to the table and offer to buy you drinks, your friends immediately making it clear that they were taken but you were single— like a prized pig at the country fair. The awkward tension whenever a man wouldn’t take no for an answer when they offered to buy you a drink, even after you’d politely declined and then would proceed to think you owed them something for taking it. 

Not to mention the photographs plastered all over your social media of your friends getting married, moving in together and starting perfect little families. A constant reminder of how alone you really were, and you’d admit it would be nice to come home to someone each night. 

So here you were awake an hour earlier than you needed to be for work, preparing yourself for a date you didn’t even want to go on. A blind date. Your friends had found you the perfect match, in their words. A cute guy— a lawyer, they’d emphasised, as though the career gave credence to his propriety.

You tried to pick an outfit casual enough that you would be able to wear it at work and to the date after without having to get changed, picking a pretty dress paired with some simple low heels. It felt peculiar putting so much effort into your appearance when your heart wasn’t in it, but as your friends said– what have you got to lose?

You’d managed to make it into the office slightly earlier than usual thanks to your early alarm, dropping Bakugou’s coffee down in his office along with his morning paperwork before taking a seat behind your desk and opening your inbox.

“Mornin’” Bakugou grunted as he passed you fifteen minutes later, half-lidded vermillion eyes lingering on you a little longer than usual before stepping inside his office. 

Bakugou never was much of a morning person, especially before coffee. Even though he was always one of the first inside the building each day. One poor reporter found out the hard way when his old secretary organised an interview before his shift was due to start, he’d ended up taking the following three weeks off for stress. 

It was barely twenty minutes later when Bakugou emerged from his office, looking slightly more alert as he placed some forms down on your desk.

“I need these sent to Deku’s agency by this evening.”

“Oh, are these the figures he asked for?” You opened the file to check the first page to see whether it was the paperwork that Midoriya had been expecting from Bakugou. He was always kind and patient on the phone, especially with you, but even you could tell he was getting annoyed at how long it was taking Bakugou to send them to him. You were certain it was Bakugou’s petty way of trying to wind him up, like they were still playful kids in the playground because Bakugou was never late with his paperwork.

“Yeah, he’s been buggin’ me for a week now,” Bakugou scoffed, “Told him he’d get ‘em.”

“I’ll send them right now.” You smiled, standing up from your desk as you collected them in your hands.

“You look nice.” Bakugou murmured, eyes flickering over your form.

“Thanks,” You replied shyly, the corner of your lip curling into a small smile. 

“Not that you don’t always look nice, I just meant you— that dress— fuck.” He cleared his throat, cheeks tinged bright pink, “Sorry. You just look real pretty.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the compliment as you tried to calm your fluttering heart tickling your ribcage, making your way to the copy room to scan the files across to Deku’s agency but you were unable to hide the wide smile on your face.

The rest of your shift was uneventful, right until you were due to finish. You’d managed to get stuck on the telephone with the head of hero relations at the commission, trying to gather information on Dynamight’s last mission. Information that was usually sent across in a huge report when he made it back to the office, but of course men in suits did not have time to look through a report when they could get someone else to do it for them. Which led to you answering each question by using information on the same report you’d submitted to them, which then led to you finishing your shift late. 

Slamming the phone down as you moved to set your out of office for the weekend, trying to get out of the agency as fast as you could. It wasn’t that you were worried about looking bad to your blind date for being late, but you didn’t want your friends to think you hadn’t made the effort when you had. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you knocked on the door to Dynamight’s office. Popping your head around the corner to let him know that you were leaving, as you noticed him sat behind his desk with his glasses on as he looked up from his laptop.

“Hey, I wanted to ask you something,” Bakugou called out as you moved to shut the door, “Wait— are you in a rush?” 

“Not really,” You lied, “What do you need?” 

“Are you going out tonight?” Bakugou was a perceptive man, he could tell from the slight difference to your appearance that something was happening. He wondered if maybe it was a friends birthday. 

“Yeah, it’s stupid really,” You didn’t even like admitting it to your boss, and it totally wasn’t because you were head over heels for him, “My friends set me up on this blind date, and I was supposed to meet him twenty minutes ago.”

“Oh, you’re late.” Bakugou muttered. 

“Yeah, but I’m not even sure I want to go.” You shrugged. 

“No, you should go.” He shoved his hands in his pockets so you couldn’t see his fingers curl into fists, his blunt nails digging against calloused skin. 

“I can always come up with something, it’s not a big deal—“ You’d assumed your boss was going to ask you to stay late with him again, like he usually did when someone at the agency had made a mistake that he needed to fix. 

“Seriously, go.” He came towards you, his arm reaching out to open his office door as he ushered you out. 

The intoxicating scent of his quirk mixed with his cologne invaded your senses as he walked you towards the elevator on his floor, leaning forward to push the button for you. 

Part of you felt disappointed that he’d pushed you to go, hoping deep down that he’d be happy you weren’t going on a date with another guy. That maybe, just maybe, he’d ask you on a date himself. 

But of course that was just a fantasy, the perfect little fairytale you liked to conjure up in your mind to try and cope with how desperately your heart yearned for him. 

“Really, I don’t mind staying if that’s what you were going to ask—”

“It ain’t. But it don’t matter, it wasn’t important.” 

“Oh, okay.” You nodded slightly. 

“Oh, and don’t worry, sweetheart.” He smiled, watching as the elevator doors dinged open, “You look beautiful. That fucker is lucky to have you.” 

You stepped into the elevator as you turned to face him, a soft smile on your face as your heart sped up from his words. 

“Thanks, Dynamight.”

The doors slammed shut before he had a chance to correct you, running his palm down his tired face as he felt that familiar ache begin to throb in his chest. 

The question Bakugou had been planning to ask you all week now sat at the forefront of his mind, taunting him vindictively as he fought the urge to throw his phone across the room when he looked down at Kirishima's messages.

The annual Hero Gala was fast approaching, and in all his years from sidekick to owning his own agency, Bakugou had never once been bothered about going. The theatrics of it completely lost on him, distracting from his focus of becoming number one. And knowing that any awards would be packaged and hand delivered to his agency the next morning with or without his attendance solidified the fact he did not need to attend (despite numerous pleas from his PR team). All of his appearances at the Gala's had been forced, until now.

This year felt different, he wanted to go— and he wanted to go with you. Picturing the pretty dress you'd wear, and being able to spend the entire evening with you away from this building— just like a real date.

But he'd fucked up. He waited too long to tell you that he liked you, and now he'd lost you forever. This guy would probably be your perfect match and now he'd have to watch you hopelessly in love with a man who isn't him.

Opening the new notification from Kirishima on his phone as he text back. 

Kirishima[5.58PM]: Hey man, so did you ask her? What did she say?

Kirishima[5.59PM]: She said yes right?

Kirishima[5.59PM]: C’mon man, please tell me that you asked her? 

Kirishima[6.01PM]: You said you’d ask today, man.

Bakugou[6.43PM]: She’s going on a date tonight. 

Kirishima[6.44PM]: Wait, what?!

Kirishima[6.44PM]: With you? 

Bakugou[6.45PM]: No.

[thegreatwizardelwin]

The Sea Hare: Birthday Special!

A Freminet x Gn! Reader

It’s September 24th, Freminet’s 18th birthday! Let’s show the little guy some appreciation.

“Freminet’s avoiding us until the party tonight. He says today is always too overwhelming.” Lynette announced as you finished helping her tie her ponytail.

“There’s a party tonight that I didn’t know about?” you cocked your head.

“It’s his birthday. Father is coming to visit tonight to celebrate with us.”

You froze.

“His birthday? Today? I-”

“Did you forget, Y/N?”

What? Forget? Hah, never!

You reassured yourself as you scrambled around the shopping district.

It’s just that September is a busy month! Yeah, and I hadn’t been watching my time. 

You stopped in multiple stores, collecting items here and there that you knew he’d like. You emerged with all sorts of things ranging from high class mechanic tools to a palm-sized paperweight featuring a little penguin on an iceberg.

Oh Archons, I don’t even know what kind of cake he likes!

You sat down and took a breath.

It’s fine. Just think. He doesn’t like foods that are too sweet, and he doesn’t like chocolate so…

You scanned the window of the nearest bakery. 

You noted the carrot cake, vanilla and toffee cake, and the blackberry purée filled cake as possible options before settling on the blackberry. Blackberry always added a wonderful tartness to counter the sugar of the frosting.

“Can I purchase two slices of the blackberry cake?”

+

You rushed back home, placing the gifts hastily in some tissue paper and a little bag. You then made your way to the Hotel Bouffes d'ete, knocking rapidly on the door.

An older child answered.

“Hello, is Freminet around?” you asked them nicely.

They squinted at you.

“What’s your name? I’ll go get him.”

“Y/N, and tell him to come down and meet me.”

You stood waiting for a few minutes before Freminet opened the door. It was obvious he had been either napping or curled in bed all day. He hadn’t bothered to brush his hair and his comportment was relaxed. He smiled with amusement at you, seeing how frazzled you seemed.

“Were you running laps around the fountain near Vasari Passage?” he crossed his arms.

“…Something like that.” you grabbed his arm and gave it a tug. “I hope you’re hungry! We’re going back to my place. I wanted to celebrate your birthday with you, but… I know how the Knave is about friends.”

Freminet followed you without a question.

“I was hoping you’d figure something out. You always do.” he said with a hint of admiration. You noticed, pride welling up in your chest.

“You know me. I get everything done at the last minute, but I always get it done.”

You led him back to the boarding house, setting up in the little breakfast parlor. You plopped him down in a chair and scurried over to the kitchen where the cake slices had been chilling. You stuck in a candle, lit it, and cautiously set before him the small plate and fork.

“Happy birthday!” you placed your hands on his shoulders and leaned down. “Make a wish.”

He shut his eyes and hummed for a minute before blowing the candle out. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and hugged him.

“Yay! Was it a big wish or a little one?” you asked.

“It… depends. But to me, it’s a big wish.” he said quietly.

You gave his shoulders a clap and then flitted over to your own cake and sat.

“Well, birthday wishes always come true so if you’re going to make a big wish now’s the chance. Of course, you get another one later tonight. Lucky~”

He took the candle out and sat it on the side of the plate.

“Still, you didn’t have to buy cake for me, Y/N. I’ll be eating so much cake these next few days…” he trailed off with dread.

“What, you’ll never eat cake again or something?”

“I might turn into cake, is what I mean.” he took a bite of it nonetheless.

You both took a moment to savor it.

“So… you’re old now.”

He paused, looking up at you with confusion and mild concern.

“Old?”

“You’re 18 now, Mimi. That’s old.”

He blushed heavily at the use of “Mimi”. 

“If I’m ‘old’, then you aren’t doing much better. And what the heck kind of name is ‘Mimi.’”

“Your new nickname, as of today!” you raised a hand to your mouth as you laughed.

He decided not to protest, taking another bite to silence himself. You poked the dense cake with your fork.

“It’s a little dry, I’m going to pour some milk. Do you want some?” you stood again.

“That’d be great, if you will.” He nodded.

You returned shortly, carrying two glasses to the table.

“If you turned into cake, I think you’d become a blueberry muffin with those little sugar crystals on top.” you stated.

“W-What makes you say that?” he asked with a soft laugh.

“Well… blueberry muffins are small like your voice, sturdy like your strength, and sweet like your heart! Also, your eyes kind of look like blueberries anyway.”

Are you saying I’m a sweetheart? he pondered, blushing a little.

“I bought you some presents too.”

“You did? Thank you.”

“Psh, what kind of person would I be if I didn’t buy birthday presents for my favorite guy?”

Poor thing, now he’s even more red in the face.

“You spoil me sometimes.”

You chuckled and shook your head, finishing off the frosting on your fork.

“And I will continue to do so!”

He groaned as you went off to fetch the gifts. However, he would not be grumbling when he removed the tissue paper and revealed the high class mechanic tools.

“Y/N! These are crazy expensive!” he exclaimed, taking the screwdriver set out, his eyes sparkling as he inspected them. 

“Well, I heard you say you would love to have them. I wanted to buy you something you’d actually use.” you leaned against the table, watching him enthusiastically dig through the tissue paper, uncovering other items. There was a blubber-beast chain for his diving gear, a box of four raspberry tarts, and a pocket-sized sketchbook.

He took the little paperweight out and giggled at the penguin.

“Ok, this is pretty cute.” he set it on the table. “I can use it to keep my instruction manuals open!”

“That’s what I was thinking! It’s like it had your name on it.”

He looked up at you with a wide smile. 

“Thanks for this.” he said sincerely. “I know you’re busy with schoolwork and your work for the theater. I’m happy to celebrate with you.”

You crossed your arms with a modest expression.

“I can always find time for my close friends and such. You only have one birthday a year, after all, I have to be there.”

He put the gifts back in the bag and set it on the other side of the empty cake plate. 

“Hey, would you wanna go for a walk in the Dryas Woods with me?” he fiddled with some torn tissue paper. “I want to go somewhere peaceful before the excitement of the party.” 

You hummed in approval, taking the empty plates to the sink.

“I can’t deny you today of all days. We can go when you’re ready.” 

+

It was a cooler day, still a little damp from the hours of steady rain they received the day before. The leaves above created a pattern on the path below.

“This way, I want to show you something!” he beckoned you with his hand and veered off the path.

The breeze was more earthen here, further away from the sea. Sparrows flew away from the trees as they passed underneath them, chirping lightly. They came out into a small meadow between two pine hills.

Honeybees zipped through the wildflowers: sunflowers, cranesbills, and bushes of white peonies. 

You ran your hands over the knee-high blooms, careful not to disturb working bees.

Freminet sat down on a rock in the middle of the field, observing the closest flowers around him.

You sat down below him on the slight hill, the little meadow immediately giving you peace of mind.

“I come here a lot when I’m alone.” he explained. “The flowers growing tall, the wildlife that comes when you sit still long enough. I have a lot of places like this, but none just as perfect as this one. Even Pers likes it.” 

A little gust of wind blew by, some petals loosing into the air. His hair, damaged by an excess of saltwater, wisped around his face. He closed his eyes for a moment and then gave you a small smile.

“I wanted to share it with you. What do you think?”

“I love it here.” you replied, flopping back and laying in the flowers. “But I’m supposed to be the one giving you things today.”

He rolled his eyes.

“This is a gift for me- getting to be in my favorite spot with someone I trust.”

You closed your eyes.

“It is one of the best feelings to welcome someone into a space that is your own. I wish life could be more like this, slow and fragrant and thoughtful.”

He nodded and plucked a cranesbill bloom, twirling it in his hands. A handful of butterflies meandered about the colorful field.

You stayed until Freminet’s party neared, watching birds and sharing tales. You walked with him back to the boarding school to retrieve his birthday gifts and then escorted him to the Hotel Bouffes d'ete. 

“Have fun tonight!” you exclaimed, waving at him as you backed away.

He waved back.

“See you later!”

You turned and began to go home, the night growing chilly. The light from the Hotel was inviting, shining on the stone street as if to display its pride for the inhabitants. 

Freminet’s home, a place you could never know. 

A place where tonight, his found family would adore him and celebrate his life thus far. 

A place where he usually returned after a day of violence and isolation.

You had your opinions, but what mattered tonight was that Freminet was loved. 

And he would always be very much loved, even if the Hotel were to disappear.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*neuvillette sniffles in the background (he had a rough day yesterday)*

ITS INTERNATIONAL POOKIE WOOKIE DAY GUYS! Scene 3 of the main fic is up!

the birthday art is PRECIOUS

Part 1 of the fanfic if you’re interested in reading from the beginning:

Part 3 of the fanfic if you been here before:

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Sixteen

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: Explicit Language.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~3.3k

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Shanks somehow finagles a table at the local popular tavern, the highlight of the town and a restaurant that is always busy. With the way he casually speaks to the hostess, slips her a few Berry, and even winks at the barman, you quickly figure out that he has been to this establishment before. As you sit down, your hat still hanging on your back, you give the pirate a look of scrutiny. He eyes you with a curved smile. You don’t bother wasting time with decorum or tact.

“Alright, how many times have you and the men come to this place and drained their liquor?” you ask point-blank. “Because that trick with the hostess and eye with the barman haven’t gone unnoticed.”

“We like to stop at this island for supplies, and a good day of drinking after a long stint at sea is a good reward,” Shanks explains.

“Day?” you broach, your eyebrow rising. “More like days.”

His smile curves further; you truly do know him and the men quite well at this point.

“Fair point, treasure,” he agrees. “But we did enjoy a meal or two here. Even Roux likes the food.”

Well, if Lucky liked the food, it had to be good. His taste in food is more refined than yours, and you have been subjected to many refined dishes. Albeit you have only been allowed to try small bites in very small portions. In essence, this tavern is going to have splendid food, and you are excited to try one of the dishes.

As you scan the menu, Shanks leans back in his chair, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "I recommend the seafood platter," he suggests casually, his tone betraying a hint of amusement. "It's a specialty here."

You raise an eyebrow at him, knowing all too well he has already bought you his allowance of extravagance for the day.

You can't help but chuckle at his attempt to persuade you into ordering the most expensive item on the menu. "Nice try, dear,” you tease, flipping through the pages of the menu. "But you already got to play that tune today. Try again.”

Shanks laughs wholeheartedly at your response, enjoying the playful banter between the two of you. You haven’t bothered to ease up on him at all throughout the day, so why would you stop now? “Alright then," he says, still grinning. "How about we split a few dishes? That way, we can try more than one thing, and I promise to let you choose the next place we dine at."

You can't resist his offer, knowing there is no way he can convince you to order something extravagant tonight, but also very happy to hear such a compromise and a promise of another outing. Settling back in your seat, you smile and incline your head.

“That sounds enjoyable. I think I would like that,” you reply. “It’d be a shame to not try more than one dish from this island. May I presume you know what is best on the menu?” I.e., it better not be the most expensive dishes.

Shanks chuckles at your warning remark to keep it moderate, not expensive. He knows the best dishes on the menu that would be pleasing in both palate and wallet. "I assure you, I know my way around a menu," he teases, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Let's start with some local favorites, shall we? The grilled fish caught this morning is a must-try, and their vegetable medley is surprisingly delicious."

“That sounds surprisingly appropriate and incredibly delicious,” you sigh, already dreaming of mouth-watering, flaking fish and perfectly cooked local vegetables. It is a freshness you have come to adore.

“I take it you approve?”

“Oh, I more than approve,” you grin. “And perhaps I’ll be a bit mad if you order otherwise now that you’ve teased me with such deliciousness.”

With a widening, curvy smile, Shanks turns his attention to the approaching barmaid. He orders exactly as promised and, with a promise of drinks and warm bread, the barmaid departs.

A smile of contentment spreads across your face as you admire Shanks' impeccable taste. The thought of freshly caught grilled fish and a colorful vegetable medley makes your mouth water. As you eagerly await the arrival of your meal, you can't help but take in the enchanting atmosphere of the tavern. The sound of joyful chatter, clinking glasses, and the alluring scents of various dishes create a warm and romantic ambiance that sweeps you away.

Shanks leans back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you with a warmth that makes your heart skip a beat. His easy smile and carefree demeanor contradict the strength and wisdom that lie beneath the surface. You find yourself drawn to him in a way that doesn’t scare you but exhilarates you, his presence like a magnetic force that pulls you in. You can’t imagine a day without his inhumanly teasing smile.

“Your drinks,” the barmaid announces, materializing at the table with a glass of wine and a glencairn in one hand, and a basket with bread wrapped in cloth in the other. She sets your drinks down and places the bread front and center. “Your meal will be out in a moment!”

Your fingers curl around the slender stem of the wine glass, tracing its elegant curves as you swirl the deep red liquid inside. Each sip is a symphony on your tongue, a dance of flavors that leaves you wanting more. Shanks watches you from across the table, his fiery red hair catching the soft glow of candlelight. You can't resist teasing him with a small smirk before taking another luxurious sip.

"This is truly exceptional," you murmur, locking eyes with Shanks and raising an eyebrow in appreciation. "You have excellent taste in wine."

He chuckles, bringing his own glass to his lips and taking a slow drink. "I know my alcohol," he corrects smoothly, his eyes never leaving yours as he takes in your reaction to the wine. “It also pays to be friends with Mihawk.”

As you begin nibbling on fresh, warm, buttered bread, Shanks can see the soft flicker of candlelight reflected in your eyes, highlighting the spark of wonder and excitement that dances within. But now, as you take another sip of the rich red wine, your features soften into an expression of pure contentment, and he can't help but stare at the beauty of it. How hard he has been working to pull that sight from behind your tightly guarded walls. Your eyes flicker back to his, and you can see a myriad of emotions swirling in their depths, a silent conversation passing between the two of you.

In that instant, surrounded by the cozy ambiance of the tavern and the delicious smells of food drifting around you, it seems as though everything else has disappeared. It is just the two of you, in your own little corner of the world.

“I think I am dying,” you softly complain, slowly walking away from the tavern as lanterns are being illuminated by hand.

“I told you not to eat that much, Aria,” Shanks chides you half-heartedly, happy to see you still so content. You let out a grumble in protest and press a hand against your stomach.

“But those vegetables,” you sigh wistfully, fighting against drooling once more over the thought of eating more of the island-grown produce you had very unladylike might you add, stuffed your face with earlier. You have no regrets. Shanks doesn’t care about your lack of manners or decorum in front of him; all he wants is for you to enjoy yourself. And you had. You had very much and were now paying the price. “Worth it.”

“Aye, I suppose it’s a far better vice than the bottle,” Shanks agrees with a laugh. “Though a sentiment our men will disagree upon.”

“Then it’s a good thing they aren’t here to spoil such sentiments,” you rebut, leaning into his side with a giggle. “I love them dearly, but they have such one-tracked minds at times.”

Shanks gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his warmth seeping into your skin and easing the discomfort of your overindulged stomach. You walk together toward the boardwalk, dodging other couples and villagers out for an evening stroll on the cobbled streets. The sunset is shaping up to be a stunning one. Living on the Red Force has allowed you to witness many sunsets, but this one feels particularly beautiful. Golden rays of light create a radiant pathway across the serene harbor, a perfect ending to a marvelous day.

Stepping foot onto the well-worn and salted boardwalk, you and Shanks stroll to a spot devoid of people and fishermen. Pausing at the railing, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. This day has been exactly what you needed. As the salty breeze tousles your hair, you feel a gentle touch on your head. Opening your eyes, you see Shanks beside you, a tender smile playing on his lips. He reaches out, his fingers deftly fixing the stray strands of hair that have tangled themselves in your new earrings from the wind.

“I should have bought you hair clips,” Shanks muses, joking, of course, but enjoying the brief scowl that appears on your face. “Wouldn’t want your beauty to be smothered by your lovely hair.”

Rolling your eyes, you let out a small huff and indulge in the light touches of his fingers occasionally brushing against your cheek. Rather than simply reject his joke, you decide to dish it right back with a witty smile. With an innocent tone and a slight smirk playing at the corner of your glowing smile, you offer, “Perhaps next time?”

Shanks laughs heartily at your response, his fingers still caressing your cheek. "I'll have to keep that in mind," he says playfully.

Your laugh is lost in the sound of the waves gently crashing against the dock below. Standing face to face, you gaze up at Shanks, admiring how his hair seems to glow crimson. Giggles fading, you stare into his eyes and feel your heart clench in your chest. You place your hand on his chest, over his own heart, to distract yourself from the almost suffocating feeling building in your body.

“Did you enjoy today?” Shanks broaches softly.

"Immensely," you say softly, your voice barely above a breath. Your hand lingers on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips, so steady compared to the erratic thrumming of your own pulse. “Did you?”

Shanks smiles warmly at your response, his gaze softening as he looks down at you. The fading light of the sunset paints shadows on his face, accentuating the lines around his eyes that crinkle with his smile. Leaning in closer, he whispers, “You make even the simplest days extraordinary, treasure.” His words hang in the air, charged with unspoken emotions that crackle like electricity between you. Be still my beating heart. I can hardly hear myself think!

His face draws near yours, and your breath catches in your throat. You might have thought about how Collins had never kissed you, and you are grateful for that. But instead, your thoughts are consumed by the intense want and need to kiss Shanks. Kiss Shanks? The thought makes heat rush to your cheeks, but the embarrassment for those thoughts is buried under hazel eyes. His hand moves from your hair to gently cup your face, his thumb tracing a soft line along your jaw.

As the world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you standing on the creaky boardwalk, time seems to stand still. As ridiculous as that sounds. Every nerve in your body is tingling with anticipation, the moment hanging heavy between you both. Shanks’ breath mingles with yours, warm and comforting, as he draws even closer.

The salty breeze carries the scent of the sea and the sound of seagulls crying out in the distance. But all you can focus on is Shanks, his face mere inches away from yours, his eyes searching yours for permission. Your heart shifts to a drumming in your chest, a wild rhythm matching the chaos of your thoughts. In that suspended moment, you feel a jolt of courage surge through you. Your choice. He would always give you a choice. Oh gods, you love him for that. You are moments from lifting yourself onto your toes to press your lips against his when the suspended peace is obliterated.

“This is the marines! Release Lady Bonn immediately!” Your heart plummets as the stern voice cuts through the idyllic atmosphere. The moment shatters like fragile glass, and your body immediately goes into flight mode. Before you even have a chance to think of how you will escape, Shanks grabs your hand and pulls you away from the incoming marines.

You stumble after Shanks, your feet slipping on the damp wood of the boardwalk, the sound of heavy boots pounding behind you. Shouts and orders echo behind you, and you take the chance to look over your shoulder to search for your scorned ex-groom. Nowhere. He probably wouldn’t bother putting his polished boots on such a lowly town. Certainly not when the grunts could do his dirty work for him. But why come after you? After all this time? You’ve been gone for months!

By right, you should be panicking at the thought of Thomas Collins coming after you for ditching him. Fearful of what would come to you once in his grasp, dragged back to Kuri Island. This certainly is what fills Shanks’ mind. Everything is going splendidly. Your little guarded heart is down, and your radiance is shining so brightly it is nearly blinding. But Collins has to come along, ruining the date and most likely causing you distress! All he wants is one damn day alone with you, and he can’t even have that! Yet as Shanks curses the Commodore out in his mind and heads for a narrow alleyway of the harbor town, you begin giggling. Giggling!

Despite the overwhelming rush of emotions you are no doubt feeling, you don't shrink into yourself. Instead, your laughter bubbles up and out with each stride. Your face is aglow with a wide, toothy grin as you run. It feels like pure glee surging through your body, invigorating every muscle and bone. Not a trace of fear can be found within your eyes. Shanks falls more in love with you at the sight and grins in return.

Of course, he and the crew have a plan in place for every island they stop at in the event the marines attempt to take you back. The men will meet you and him at a dock away from the main harbor.

Running alongside Shanks, your hat’s strap catches against your throat. Rather than ignore the pressure, you reach up and yank your hat from your body, throwing it down an alleyway you pass. That will buy you time, right? The briny air whips at your hair as you run, catching in your earrings. You’ll let him buy you those hair clips after this chase! The marines' shouts grow more distant as you navigate the labyrinth pathways, their heavy footsteps struggling to keep up with your nimble movements.

“Here,” Shanks calls, directing you in front of him once you reach a hidden-away dock. As predicted, the Red Force is waiting for you, and running for the gangplank, Benn holds out his hand for you to take. Without pausing, you clasp Benn’s hand and leap onto the gangplank, Shanks following closely behind. The familiar creak of wood beneath your feet feels like a reassuring embrace as you hurry on board.

While you catch your breath, the crew springs into action, releasing the ropes that tether the ship to the dock with practiced efficiency. The sails overhead billow as the wind catches them, propelling the Red Force away from the chaotic harbor and out to sea. But as the ship sails into open water, a marine ship gives chase. Running to the bow, you look closer at the marines standing on deck. Drat.

“I’m surprised he came,” you comment, a sour feeling now blooming within your stomach. Shanks materializes at your side as Benn continues to bark out orders.

“He’s not touching you,” Shanks states firmly, his gaze unwavering as he watches the marine ship gaining on them.

“Tell him that,” you mutter as your overly dressed-up ex-groom brings out a snail speaker. “Doesn’t seem to get my message.”

“Pirate vessel! By order of the marines, lower your sails and return my bride!” Collins growls into the snail speaker. You can hear his fury beneath his words. Has he been searching for you this whole time?

“Gods, he sounds even more entitled than I remember,” you scoff, remembering the way Collins had treated you before you left him waiting at the altar.

“Ignore him, Aria,” Shanks says firmly, his hand gently squeezing your shoulder in a reassuring manner. “He has no power over you now.”

“True, but I do have something to say to him,” you say before turning back to Collins. "I'd rather spend eternity consuming moldy chestnuts than tie myself to your dull-witted existence, you bumbling cretin!"

That insult sounded way better in your head than it does in real life. But it has its effect. Even from your distance, you can see Collins’ face turning red in anger. Verbally rejected in front of the entire marine crew, oh, that has to sting.

It goes quiet on both ships as you smirk triumphantly, for you have managed to stun everyone. Particularly the marines. It isn’t like anyone expects you to speak like that. Shanks, however, is the fastest to respond and does so by catching the side of your head. A fire burns deep within his eyes as he locks them onto yours, an intense desire emanating from his gaze. He pulls you towards him with a fierce determination and claims your lips in a fervent kiss that leaves you breathless and reeling with emotion. Shanks kisses you deeply, his lips moving with a hunger that matches the intensity of his eyes.

The taste of salt from the sea air mingles with the sharpness of the whiskey he’s been drinking. Breath catching in your throat, Shanks catches your inhale and urges your lips to part. You part your lips, allowing Shanks to chase after your tongue and taste how sweet you really are. Deliciously sweet in his opinion. But as Shanks is getting high on your taste and you are basking in the sensations running across your lips and tongue, Collins explodes with anger.

His voice booms with rage, veins bulging in his neck as he spits out the words. "You insolent harlot! I will not rest until that filthy pirate's head is mounted on my wall!"

You rip yourself from Shanks’ hold, hand taking the pommel of his sword and drawing it as you spin and point the tip at the marines. With venomous rage coursing through your veins, you brandish the sword at the Commodore. "I am going to shove this fucking blade so far up your ass that even Hongo will not be able to retrieve it!" you snarl at the Commodore. “Then I’ll let Monster rip your face off and wear it as a fu—”

A strong hand clamps over your mouth, muffling your curses and rage as you're forcefully pulled back against an all-too-familiar chest. Your free hand flails uselessly while Shanks holds you tightly, ignoring your muffled protests and growls. His livid gaze fixes on the crew of the Red Force, who all look away in guilt.

“Which one of you taught the madam how to curse?”

Date Published: 5/3/24

Last Edit: 7/29/24

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[littlenahsstuff]

Can you do alcina dimitrescu having to teach down her wife (the reader) because she got lost in the castle? Thank youu

Learning Curve

Yes, I can! I hope this is similar to what you were looking for. Sorry this took too long I was struggling with it and writers block for quite awhile.

Overview: you were previously Donna’s maid. You and Alcina get married after a very official courting. You only ever had been to castle Dimitrescu’s dining hall, tea room, and the gardens. After the wedding, you feel the need to prove yourself and what better way to start than to know the ins and outs of your new home.

Warnings: maybe like the tiniest bit of anxiety and frustration, you hurt your ankle, 2nd person POV, kinda-incorrect layout of the castle. So much fluff at the end.

You were the happiest you’d ever be. After a lovely ceremony at the Church, headed by Mother Miranda, and an incredible party at the vineyard, you felt as if your future will be amazing with your wife. There was the slight issue of her being nobility, but it didn’t bother you almost at all. You were, however, far less educated; you planned to utilise the newfound resources at your fingertips to help that.

You decided that you would start small, then learn the family and business’ history, and then become more worldly from there. You now didn’t really have a job. Donna was considered a friend, so you could visit her and spend time with the girls, though you would need something to fill up your alone time.

Alcina was completely honest with you about what goes on at the castle, so you knew the cellar wasn’t safe. You do think that you’ll try working from the ground floor up and see where it takes you though.

You decided you would start with the main floor first, it was least confusing, especially with the semi-open theme. You got most of the main floor covered easily, the main hall, the hall of four, kitchen, and the quart yard. That area was more dilapidated than you remember so maybe a little later in your marriage you mention renovations.

The rest of the first floor led you to two new areas, a room connected to the hall of four with an adorable and very intricate replica of the castle. It was incredible to see it all at once. The other area was another bedchamber also connected to the hall of four.

The second floor was far less easy but you did know a few rooms. You knew Alcina’s… well your bedroom, the bathroom and a few other bedrooms.

You found a hallway you’ve never been down and went through all of the doors. There was a room with a statue. You didn’t mean to but you tripped on the carpet and almost knocked the statue over, or you would have if it wasn’t bolted in place. It turned with a click, leaving you confused. A painting of a boat swung open.

You were amazed to find the secret passage and with wonder and bedazzlement you stepped through. There were a few cobwebs that made you shiver as well at some dust making you sneeze. It was narrow but just large enough you could stand straight. It led you to the fork in the road with three new directions. You wondered how big the castle was and you had no idea where would lead back to a place you knew so you just went left.

The farther you went and you ended up somehow finding another secret passage fork in the road, this time you decided to go right. You walked until the passage narrowed. The rest of the way was filled with cobwebs and you were chilled to the bone. At one point you felt something small bight you and you let out a yelp. Your lantern broke as it hit the floor. That was the last straw, you needed to get out of there.

You turned around the best you could and started to head back, the cobweb part was dreaded. You shivered once again.

You realized you were unsure which way to go back. You thought you guessed correctly until you tripped over a rock that had definitely been large enough that you would have seen it on the way there. Your ankle throbbed in red hot pain. You let out a pained wail and sat there unsure of what to do. You were embarrassed. You felt so naive for taking the passage when you should’ve stayed on your normal route. Your ears rung at one point but you knew you needed to do. You were exhausted but you called out for Alcina.

Alcina swore she heard something behind her office walls. It wasn’t the loudest though, as if muffled. She ran to make sure it wasn’t you.

“Y/n, darling?” She called out, she knew you were hurt when she heard the groan and she also figured out that you were in a passage behind the wall. Thankfully she remembered how to access them from all those times the girls made her play hide and go seek. She pulled the torche on the wall and a bookshelf slid open. She saw you sitting there clutching your ankle with a wince.

“Oh no, whatever were you doing in there sweetie? Those areas can get dangerous.” She questions you with such concern that the dam breaks free. You explain how you wanted to be more knowledgeable for her and you wanted to start with learning the castle so you wouldn’t need help.

“I love helping you, and I don’t need you to be any smarter,” she says “I would love to show you around what is now our home.” You stop sobbing but the teary eyed persist. You now she’s happy tears and give as you are given, a look of poor adoration. She picks you up to your surprise and sets you in a lounge chair by her desk. She rings a maid to come in.

“Now just relax her for a bit, I’ll be right here with you.” She says.

“Thank you” you make out, smiling.

“Anything my love.” She turns her attention to the maid that appeared.

“I need ice, a pillow and some pain medication. Call the merchant as well for something better as well as a brace.” She looks so attractive when ordering someone around for you and it causes you to night your lip.

She mistakes it as sorry and gives you a questioning look.

“I just appreciate how much you show you card,” you relent with a soft tone.

“In every sense, I will give you anything.” She hums and rubs your arm as she waits.

The made comes back surprisingly haste. She takes the ice pouch and holds it delicately to your ankle. You flinch at first contact but soon come to appreciate the numb feeling it causes.

You hum in approval.

“Now, my dear, once you are healed up I can give you the tour. For now let’s enjoy each other’s company. She sits next to you and moves you onto her lap and adjusts in such a way she can keep the ice sitting on your a cl�� while propped up with a pillow. She leans down to kiss you on the lips.

“I would love to spend time with you” you finally respond after the kiss. You cuddle the best you can until the ice melts and even manage to fall asleep for a little after you take medicine and the pain starts to go away. All while in the love of your life’s comfy lap and arms.

[senualothbrok]

Hello friend!! I have been thinking about undiagnosed sorcerer Gale a lot lately, so I am making it your problem too.

You only gradually become aware of it, and once you are you wonder how you hadn't noticed. Maybe it's the passage of time, each day one step away from the nautiloid and the Netherbrain and all of it--each day that much more distance from Gale's last audience with Mystra. The burden of the Orb hadn't been yours, but it had been heavy enough that you felt lighter when you saw his face as he stepped out that portal. Maybe, like the wounds you both bring back with you to Waterdeep, your mind needed the chance to heal before it could process even more.

More in this case is living with Gale. It had been one thing being on the road, chased from danger to danger; all you'd been able to think those nights you'd collapsed into his tent with him was we made it, with a fervent hope he'd be next to you when you woke and still next to you the night following. Now, you lie down with him night after night and wake up to him morning after morning, and as you let yourself accept that this is how things will be, you start to notice.

The tower is suffused with magic.

It's not only the spells and wards that Gale has woven into the very heart of it, or the numerous enchantments he's created to make life easier, or the artifacts and books you've brought home with you. It's Gale himself.

Surrounded by magic and slow to shed the exhaustion that's clung to you since Baldur's Gate, you need some time to sense the difference, but once you do it's there, a touch on your sleeve or a whisper to catch your attention. When you search for it you can't see it, there's no breeze to stir the curtains or the profusion of flowers Gale brings home day after day. You don't smell that dreaded rosewater or taste cloying honey-sweetness on your tongue. It's a sense that goes beyond sense, speaking to the parts of you that lie under your bones and between your nerves--it's something that escapes your words just as you think you've found the ones to describe it. The sense of him wraps around you like a comforting memory, smoothing its unfelt fingers across your unquiet spirit; the happiness you feel, the life that suffuses you, doesn't compel you but invites you just to be.

It's different when you're in bed together, like tonight, when Gale is salting your skin with kisses. Tonight he's all around you, flowing into and filling every part of you like water, Gale himself spilling over at the edges. He's not glowing but you feel alight with him, woven into him, his threads twisting around yours to draw you close. You're not in one of his illusions--the world around you is very real, if hazy and distant, and Gale's body is hungry, solid flesh and bone against yours. The sensation doesn't vanish even when Gale pauses to ask you what's wrong and you realize you're staring at him.

"I can feel you," you say awkwardly.

"I'd hope so," Gale says laughingly, though he notices your uncertainty and sits up, bracing himself back on his haunches. "What is it?"

You explain as best you can, though every word out of your mouth sounds more foolish and inaccurate than the last. You find yourself tangled in a thicket of your own making and are just about to panic your way out of it when Gale says, faintly embarrassed, "Oh. That--that hasn't happened in quite some time. Years."

I'm so sorry, friend, that it's taken me so long to reply to your once again beautiful piece. I feel like my writing is pretty awful at the moment so I do apologise. I just wanted to get it out though (despite being in a weird creative space and putting off writing a little bit!)

Thank you so much, as always, for your exquisite work <3 ---

You do not need to ask. There is an intuition that exists between you, so that you often know his intentions before he speaks, and he senses your desire before you tell him. You know that part of this comes from the joining of your souls, sealed by your love. But you suspect the other part comes from something altogether different, that sensation that you cannot yet name.

“Admittedly, it wasn’t as innocuous as what you’ve described, back then.”

He pulls you closer, as if he needs your skin on his, even though you feel his being like a flame inside you.

“By all accounts, there was more force to it. It was more of an explosion, if you would.”

You arch an eyebrow. He flashes you that languid half smirk that drives you wild. You wonder if he feels your arousal as his own, like two rivers flowing into each other. He watches you with dancing eyes, savouring your reaction.

“Not that kind of explosion.”

You laugh a little. His lips are smooth and warm as they graze the tips of your fingers. For a while, you fumble for words to explain, ever grateful for his patience.

“It feels like a spell,” you manage eventually. “Even when you’re not casting. Like I’m floating in the Weave, except that you’re the Weave. You’re all around me, inside me, everywhere.”

He gazes at you, fingering this chin absently. And then he nods. There is a kind of solemnity in the gesture, the slight gathering of Gale’s brow. You wonder how long Gale has hidden this part of his nature, or shied away from examining it too closely.

“When I was a child, I learned to control it. But with you…”

He buries his head into the crook of your neck, the heat of his sigh blazing like your pulse. There is a force to it, then, an ache to his longing. You feel it like a flood.

“I want all of you,” he rasps. “And I want to give you all of me. Perhaps that’s why.”

Your open mouth finds his, wet and desperate. His breaths are ragged, swirling into yours like a clouds swallowing clouds. He is a warm bath, lapping at every inch of you. You are about to drown yourself in him when he draws back, so abruptly you feel bereft.

“Does it disturb you?”

The wavering in his eyes almost makes you wince. Traces of his uncertainty, the measure against which he still judges himself. You shake your head sharply, immediately.

“No.” You press yourself against him, swelling with tenderness and desire. “The more I find out about you, the more I love you. Nothing could make me love you less.”

He hesitates for a moment. You feel, as well as see, the last of his doubt fading. His smile is a ripple of light through you, a pleasure almost as intense as pain.

“That’s a relief,” he whispers, as his fingers flutter downwards, and his taste becomes your own.

[fearwasalwaysanoption]

Mouthwashing Fix-it

supplement to these posts

very long explanation under cut (content warning: mentions of surgical procedures, stillbirth, and suicide attempts)

Curly- Skin grafts, rehab, right eye removed due to extensive damage. Has to take immunosuppressants for the rest of his life so his body doesn't reject the massive amounts of synthetic tissue. Eyelids were restored but have to be manually opened and closed, uses eye lubricant drops for any additional dryness.

Took the brunt of the blame for the crash, now a permanent stain on his reputation. The publicity of the incident died down in less than a week, but still makes it hard to find work (especially with his disabilities). Massive survivor's guilt and internalized ableism. Now that he can do most things himself, he hates asking for help. He doesn't want to seem weak, he wants to seem in control.

Hops around from job-to-job, typically in a management position but leaves once it becomes too familiar.

Anya- Treated with acetylcysteine, but liver damage was too extensive and had to be replaced robotically with a synthetic one. Embryo died in utero from paracemetol poisoning and was removed. Also has to take immunosuppressants so her body does not reject the new liver.

Somehow acquired a job at a clinic despite not at all having the credentials and is dreading the day they figure that out. In the meantime living paycheck-to-paycheck and swimming in debt.

Went through one painful and traumatic suicide attempt and would not want to take the chances of having to go through that again. Still incredibly anxious and not in a good place but clings to that hope she can get herself out of this rut. One of the only things keeping her going is the knowledge that she is helping people and in some little way making life better.

Daisuke- Skin grafts and extensive biodegradable stitching, especially in his face. Minimal reconstructive surgery to fix his nasal passage. Right eye is completely opaque from traumatic injury.

Not as joyful as he used to be, a lot more dark humoured but retains his optimism. Cautious, has matured quite a bit and is just trying to live his life. The collective trauma from the Tulpar makes it hard to connect with his peers and he only really wants to hang out with his former crew. Trying to make a name for himself and do something with his life, co-founded his and Swansea's independent mechanic business.

Does more manual labour on the side to help keep the business running.

Jimmy- Bullet and bone fragments removed, entered zygomatic bone barely avoiding the eye and exiting through the left mandible. Damaged tissue and teeth removed, in a coma for several months with reconstructive internal surgery to his skull.

Charged with attempted murder, reckless endangerment, and sexual assault. However the court deemed him unable to stand trial and committed him to a psychiatric institution for high risk individuals. Has been sent to solitary more times than he can count or cares to and is on suicide watch.

He's forced to take antipsychotics and has no control over anything in his life besides doing what he is told so he can get the hell out of this place. In the meantime he can reevaluate and be alone with his thoughts (a punishment i would not bestow upon my worst enemy).

Curly and Daisuke visit him sometimes because they still genuinely care about him and want him to get better. But their visits get less and less frequent every time. When they finally stop coming... who will he have left to blame for his circumstances?

Swansea- Bullets and fragments removed, right eye was too badly damaged to save and was removed. Clavicle plating applied to help solidify the shattered bone.

Similar case to Daisuke. Owns the independent mechanic business as well as doing random jobs to get more money. Family life is in pieces and is on the brink of a divorce with his wife but too drunk to really care. Preoccupies himself with work and alcohol to forget his miserable situation and money troubles. The only thing keeping him from drinking himself to death lying in a gutter is that he'd leave such a burden on Daisuke that the kid does not need any more of.

[modmad]

Do you have any advice for someone lowkey dreading/terrified of how long a comic story might take to pan out? I heavily admire that TPOH is still running, even despite things irl that might complicate release dates (thank you for all the hard work, btw, I hope you’re in good enough spirits today!). The passage of time is scary, but I also don’t want to OVER-stress on how fast I should push things out for people to see, either.

yet again I turn to that magnficient line that I didn't come up with: the time will pass anyway.

work to your own rhythm, make it for you first, nobody else can see the page inside your head so they don't know the one they're seeing is different/less good, the hardest part is starting so I just started without thinking about it and uhhh yeah! recommend that (also my story is like. basically a possession so I didn't get to choose whether or not to make it so that's a bit of a cheat on my end)

[lavandula-ipsum]

Chrysalis | Unclean (ch. 1/2)

Luke Skywalker x Reader | angst, hurt/comfort, non-sexual intimacy, descriptions of injuries | 1.5k words

Summary: After (Y/N) was captured, she was abandoned for unending days in hell. Only one sign indicated that she was still alive, the name she kept calling through the Force, even after she lost all hope. Luke.

For him, this has been all his fault. He should have been there.

Now his dearest friend is back to safety, sitting in the water, her spirit beaten and distorted. “Can’t get out yet. I’m not clean enough,” she insists. Luke does his best to swallow his anger. All he can do now is stay by her side.

Link to AO3 | pt. 2

With the currents of the Force feeling elusive to his grasp, Luke can’t concentrate. Too many accusations reverberate in the air. With a sigh, he pushes all distractions aside in order to see them better and represses a displeased sigh when he finds that they come from within himself. It’s the same old voices that he’s trained to push away when they come wailing bitter memories of failure. But they’re louder this time as he contemplates how they make his fists tremble on his lap no matter how hard he struggles with his wrath. But he must drown it. What they’re asking is not wise, it will not fix what’s broken. 

It won’t heal her pain. It won’t bring her peace.

There’s no changing the past, but all the chances he’s missed in the last few hours, the consequences of arriving too late when he was needed most… 

Also there’s no way he could focus on meditation with Han shuffling through their bags, his usual avoidance mixing with the dread already floating in the room with an accentuated need for a distraction.

“What are you doing?”

“Finally, thanks for stepping out of your trance, kid.” Solo signals to the bathroom door with a reluctant grimace on his face. “Does she have a change of clothes?”

Luke takes a few seconds to answer. It's true that the girls’ bag got left behind in the chaos. Barely a few days ago, (Y/N) had shrugged it off like it wasn’t a big deal. We’re supposed to be back soon, aren’t we? Little did she know about the gruesome end this mission would have. That she’d be captured

“Where’s Leia?”

“She helped (Y/N) earlier, I think, then left her soaking. She’s gone down with Lando and Chewie to try get us a passage out of this ball of mud now.” He scoffs at his friend’s sudden furrowed brow. “Don’t blame her, she said (Y/N) insisted on being left alone.”

The young Jedi’s attention is now directed towards the adjacent room, where the girl’s aura vibrates almost imperceptibly. He’s only ever sensed her this quiet when she’s sedated. However, she hasn’t slept yet. All offerings of tranquilizers were turned away, insisting that all she needed was to wash off the grime.

“Threepio?”

“They needed him, so he also went.” Han grunts, passing a hand over his face. “Look, kid, I know this isn't the best moment. But I don't wanna go and spook her. Do you have anything?” 

Take charge , he’s begging. The young Jedi swallows and starts rummaging through the few things he's brought. “Not much, a clean shirt.” 

Behind him, Artoo chirps some sassy remark he can’t answer but with an annoyed grimace. While Han keeps looking through his own things, Luke gazes down to a clean change of underwear and hopes (Y/N) won't get offended when he offers it to her. He’s then again forced out of his thoughts when the ex smuggler hands him a pair of pants.

“These are Lando’s.” 

“Yep. They're nicer. And he has to spare.”

“And you don’t? Gross.”

“Who are you to talk, you monk?”

“I wash my clothes,” Luke complains, raising an eyebrow. Han throws the pile of clothes they’ve gathered to his face, causing the astrodroid to beep in amusement. 

After rolling his eyes, Luke signals the droid to wait for him in the room while he steps into the dark corridor. 

“Hey kid, I’m heading down to the lobby to keep watch of things, ok?”

“Alright. Thank you, Han.”

The ex-smuggler barely looks at him, but he squeezes his shoulder warmly when passing by him on his way to the door. Once he’s alone again, Luke finds himself standing in front of the closed door to the bathroom, his hand hovering over the handle. The cold ghost of everything that went down mere hours before stops him from touching it. (Y/N)’s face, covered in dirt and dried blood while she looked up at him with pure terror, blinded by the light, unable to tell friends from enemies after days in the freezing dark.

His dear friend, his trusted training partner, was abandoned for unending days in the middle of hell while he couldn’t do anything other than keep looking tirelessly, her faintly calling his name through the Force the only sign that she was still even breathing. 

He wasn’t fast enough.

Luke knocks softly on the door, still feeling guilty for breaching her intimacy. The last thing he wants right now is making her feel unsafe.

“I don’t mean to interrupt. I… I brought you some clothes.”

No response is given.

“(Y/N)?” he calls, getting no answer once again. “Is everything alright?” 

Now that he thinks of it, how much time has she spent in there alone since Leia left? Way too long for someone in her state, weakened both physically and mentally. His fingers itch on the handle. What if she’s fallen ill? What if she passed out? What if she slipped? 

No, he must get his shit together. If something happened he would’ve sensed it. Right?

Only there are so many terrible things he’s missed recently, things that have hurt her. The silence makes his voice tremble. “I’m coming in, ok?”

The warm humidity inside immediately envelops him. Luke quickly steps to the bathtub hidden behind the plastifoil curtain and, just as his fingers graze it, the water stirs on the other side.

“I'm fine,” (Y/N)’s voice sounds faint and coarse but, with the possible image he could’ve found of her inert under the water still thundering in his brain, it’s the most precious sound he’s ever heard. “I just fell asleep.”

“That's dangerous.”

“It's just a bit of water.”

That's more water than he ever saw together before leaving Tatooine, worth a fortune. He remains standing there holding to the bundle of clothes, regretting his scolding tone. Through the Force, a weak shiver reaches him originating from the woman, making him realize he should probably close the door to keep the heat in.

“I’ll leave these here-” However, a tiny voice, or more like an emotion, echoes in his mind without a sound, ringing faintly in the Force. 

Please, don’t leave me , it seems to plead. 

Luke swallows thickly. “Can I do anything else for you?”

The water moves once again, and he can picture her fidgeting with her fingers. The ring she usually fiddles with rests next to the sink, however.  “Can’t get out yet. I’m not clean enough.”

The effort to articulate those few raspy words weigh heavy on her mind and body, so he probably shouldn’t push her for more explanations. Instead, Luke gently reaches out to her Force signature. His stomach turns at the fragile nature of her aura at the moment, at witnessing the brittle, paper thin ruins that remain where her strong mental shields once stood, revealing the vulnerable heart beneath. It shakes, too beaten up to cry. This is wrong, so fundamentally distorted.

And it is his fault. He should have been there. The men that got to her know nothing, nothing of what they had in their hands. They are nothing. Just the last pitiful death rattles of the Empire. It would be so easy to wipe them out alongside the rotting legacy of their filthy lives. If he goes after them on his own, hiding in the shadows, they would never see him coming. That dark tingling gathers once again around his fingers, urging him to pick up his weapon and making those imps regret ever laying a finger on her. He desires to hurt like she’s been hurt, like the whole galaxy has been hurt. To pierce the darkness responsible for this with his blade, to crack and tear those men from the inside out until there’s nothing left of them.

However, her quiet, wheezy breathing snaps him out of it. It reminds him to cast away the scarlet flare of wrath and slowly bring himself back into focus. Those thoughts are little more than delusions. It wouldn’t be wise, it wouldn’t be fair, after all that’s been discussed about how to rebuild the galaxy from the ashes left by the Empire, all the hard work Leia and so many others have put into this; after he himself, alongside (Y/N), insisted on how important it was for the leaders of the imperial remnants to be brought to justice, if he went and gutted them in the dark because of anger. There’s too much anger out there already, and he’s tired of its bitter taste in his mouth.

It takes the Jedi a bit of struggle to reconcile that what’s needed of him right now is to listen to the helpless plea coming from the water and stay . So Luke sucks up a sob himself and sits on the tiled floor, with his back against the bathtub and his head resting between his knees as he gently retreats from her mind, so bare and open at the moment, and remains close to her tiny aura in the Force.

[pecanwriter]

Not Big Enough (WG story)

Themes: fantasy-setting, body worship, fat-centric society

Words: 3053

Part: 1/1

Dainon was freezing to death. He managed to survive another night, huddled behind a smithy, where the furnace's heat radiated through walls, making even the nasty winter in Grothol survivable. His exhaustion was bone-deep. Soul-deep, even. So when he managed to sneak up behind the smithy without anyone noticing, he let himself fall into a deep sleep like a fool. Had he gotten up early, before the smiths started their day, he could squeeze in another few nights in this new hiding spot. But he didn’t get up, he didn’t even try, huddled up next to the warm wall and feeling like a baby in his mother’s womb, he slept on soundly until the very moment strong, calloused hands grabbed him by the rags he called clothes and kicked him out into the main street, where mud was ice. 

He fell into a puddle, the water so unbelievably cold at first he thought it was boiling. Dainon scrambled back to his feet, already shivering. A gust of wind swept through the street, penetrating his rags completely. His trousers were more holes than they were trousers and the patchy shirt was missing one sleeve. Despite his meagre stature, the coat he was wearing was way too small for him, he suspected it might have been made for a youth. Stretching the too-small garment over himself was better than nothing in the dreadful cold, but he could feel the seams coming apart more and more every day, wind and chilled air seeping in and assaulting his malnourished body. 

Dainon was the youngest son of a relatively wealthy merchant from a port town in the south of Grothol. His father was a strict and unyielding man. To his customers, to his workers, and to his children. Dainon’s sister left the house young, got married and had children of her own. His brother joined the army and that was the last time anyone saw him. And so his father’s ambitions about keeping the business in the family came full force down on Dainon. It wasn’t that he necessarily hated commerce, he would just much rather do anything else. When he suggested to his father that maybe he could get an apprenticeship as a kitchen boy to become a cook for a wealthy lord, his father beat the idea of out his head so forcefully that Dainon never dared to voice his opinions again. 

When Dainon turned eighteen, his father decided he was ready to prove himself. He gave Dainon a horse and a cart of goods and sent him on his way to the Gothol’s lavish capital city. “Bring back three times the value of the goods, or don’t come back at all,” his father told him, and Dainon knew without a shadow of a doubt he meant it. 

He made it to the capital, he even managed to make a few transactions that would make his father’s scorn soften. But then, just as he was warming up to his role, Dainon was robbed. They took everything; the goods, the card, the horse, even his shoes. 

There was nothing left for him to sell to gain passage back home, but even if he did, he couldn’t go back. Through spring, summer and autumn he managed to scrape by somehow. There was a lot of commerce everywhere and labour workers who would slave away all day for a piece of bread and a tanker of piss-poor beer were always needed. 

But then came the winter. 

Dainon, dragging his feet, so cold he could barely walk, stumbled into one of the smaller streets where shameful business was conducted. There was a high chance one would get robbed, but he had nothing to be robbed of, and at least they wouldn’t shoo him away like the smiths. Unable to walk any further, so sick and cold he didn’t even know where the icy mud ended and he began, Dainon squeezed himself between two barrels and the side of a gambling house and waited. For death or for an opportunity to rob some drunk fool. Whichever came first.

Doors opened on the opposite side of the street and a group of people stumbled out in a cloud of perfume, smoke and ruckus laughter. 

Dainon’s exhausted, nearly delirious brain made it seem as if the warm light pouring out of the door was pure gold. He stared at the people coming out. 

It was a whore house and a good one from what he heard. The people that emerged appeared to be two whores sending their client on his way. The whores were barely wearing any clothes, seemingly unbothered by the cold. As if enchanted, Dainon stared at the whores. He stared at their plump bodies, round, blushy faces, their smiles and thick, lustrous hair. One was a woman, and one was a man, but he had tits almost as big as she did, resting on top of a big, fleshy belly swaying in front of him proudly. Their thighs jiggled and rubbed against each other as they walked, pushing the drunk client along the street to the stables where his horse presumably waited. 

Dainon’s stomach was so empty he didn’t even remember how food tasted or how it was not to be hungry all the time. Even when he was asleep, he was still completely aware of the fact he was starving. The whores were coming back and Dainon looked at their enormous backsides jiggling, at their side rolls, at their arms so plump and soft their elbows were only dimples. He couldn’t imagine how amazingly rich and filling their meals had to be for them to be so big. Another wave of nauseating hunger and paralyzing cold rattled him so hard he had to close his eyes. When he opened them again the golden light of the brothel was no longer spilling into the street and the whores were gone. Dainon wept, his tears scorching hot on his freezing face. 

The door opened again and the beautiful light spilt out. Another boy was escorting his client to the exit. He was even bigger than the first two; his tits spilling to the sides of his enormous belly and his thighs so thick and fleshy he waddled as he took the few steps to see the client out. 

Dainon stared as the whore waddled back inside and he knew that if he couldn’t see that beautiful overfed body again he would simply die. 

This really was a good brothel, he realised. To have so many well-fed whores? In Gothol fatness was the sign of good fortune and prosperity. The King was expected to go to war, so he was usually lean or muscular, but it was traditional for the King’s consort, be it a woman or a man, to be as fat as possible. The fatter the consort, the more prosperous Gorthol was. Two hundred years ago, there was a plague that nearly threatened to undo the whole country. At that time, the King’s consort was so thin he didn’t even have a belly. Nearly all portraits of him have been destroyed for fear of casting bad fortune over the land again. The upper classes followed this trend diligently, every Lord and Lady stuffed themselves to grow bigger and fatter than their rivals in court. Amongst the lower classes and peasants, it was very uncommon to see someone appropriately fleshy; they couldn’t afford it. The only truly fat, well-fed peasants were whores. The customers spent nearly as much on the services as they spent on the food they bought to keep their whore nice and plump. With a fat, well-fed whore every simple man could feel like a King for a day. 

Driven by a desperate need to survive and with the memory of that golden light filling his heart, Dainon stumbled to the brothel doors. 

A young, slim whore opened the door. His hair was long and orange like the sunset, he cocked a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 

“Go away!” He barked “There’s nothing here for the kinds of you!”

“No,  please!” Dainon rasped, his voice scratchy “I want to work. Please, I will do anything. Please.” 

“Go away…” The man started saying again, but a hand with multiple golden rings on each finger ceased his arm and pulled him inside. 

“Move away, Robin, don’t you have something to do?” A woman who was past being middle-aged, but diligently tried to keep up the appearance stood in the door. The rest of her was as richly adorned as her fingers, gold was hanging off her every body part and she seemed to float in a cloud of pipe smoke and perfume. She looked at Dainon with a shrewd, keen eye of a Madam. 

“I want to work, please.” He repeated. 

She looked him over, grabbed his chin, looked at his face from every angle, and then grabbed his arm, examining his skin, its deep umber colour stood out even more against her pinkish fingers. 

“We have enough skinny boys.” She said with finality. 

“I don’t have to be one of the skinny boys!” He blurted out, almost desperately. His merchant senses smelled an opportunity and he grabbed it immediately “You don’t have to pay me! I will work just for food until I’m big enough for you to start making good money on me.” 

She gave him a steady look and Dainon forced himself to not break the eye contact. Her poker face was good, but he could see the change taking place deep inside her mind. The ring-clad hand wrapped around his arm and he was dragged inside, into the golden light. 

“Robin, Cuckoo, wash him and help him get ready to work.” She pushed him towards a pair of whores, the red-haired one from before and another skinny one with ashen blonde hair and pale eyes. “From now on,” She said, giving him one last measuring look “Your name is Starling.” 

And Starling let the young whores lead him deep inside the golden light and warmth of the warehouse. The smell and heat filled him so completely that he felt born anew. 

*

General Forthros jumped off his horse and let out a juicy curse as his boot landed perfectly in a pool of mud.

“Hello, good sir, may I welcome you…” He tossed the reigns to the stable master along with a purse of silver coins. He was in no mood for talk. It’s been way too long and he was prickly with need. It crawled under his skin like slow-acting poison. 

This brothel was way outside of the upper district, but Forthros heard stories. He heard they had whores here like nobody dreamed of; so soft and overfed, with their enormous rumps jiggling, their soft tits resting on top of round bellies, their faces with double chins and round rosy cheeks… 

Just thinking about it made his cock stir, but he had to keep himself in check. The last brothel he heard similar stories about turned out to be ludicrously expensive and the young man they gave him didn’t even waddle. 

None of them were big enough. Just not big enough. 

He dreamed of flesh so soft and filled with fat he could sleep on it as on a pillow after he’d fucked its owner into a whimpering, needy mess. He wanted a whore who would laugh at the feast he brought with him and demanded more food. He needed a whore so fat two others would have to be called to help him stand up. 

Forthros walked across the muddy street and opened the door, stepping out of the grey, dirty world and into a land of gold, potency and sweet smells. 

“Welcome!” A woman appeared as if out of nowhere, her hands and wrist so completely covered by gold jewellery that her skin was visible only from elbows up. “We haven’t seen you before in my fantastic establishment, Lord.” She said, not able to keep the glint of greed out of her eyes as she eyed his expensive clothes and the massive basket filled to the brim with lavish, expensive foods only made in the upper city. “How can I serve you? I have everything you could wish for, every girl and every boy the absolute best quality!”

He gave her an unimpressed look. She rubbed her hands, visibly slightly worried, but not dropping her selling pitch. She pressed on:

“Will it be a girl or a boy you’d be wanting, my Lord?” 

“I want a boy. The biggest one you have.” He said. “Money is no object.” 

Her eyes were ablaze with opportunity. 

“Of course, my Lord!” She bowed deeply. “Boy, fetch Swan.” She ordered the scrawny servant. He took off down the corridor. 

Swan was appropriately named; he was tall and pale, with a long neck and rosy lips. He had a soft chest and a flabby belly, he was smiling coquettishly. Forthros stopped him with a hand. 

“Not big enough.” He said. 

The Madam shooed Swan away and he retreated with a pout. 

“Bring me Blue Jay, boy!” She ordered the servant. 

Blue Jay was likewise appropriately named; he had some Djinn blood in him which was evident by his bright blue skin and navy blue hair woven into two thick braids. He sauntered over, shaking his big, round gut and plushy thighs. Forthros was intrigued but he was just…

“Not big enough.” He repeated and the Madam tsked but shooed the Djinn’s bastard away. 

“Bring Sparrow, be quick about it!” She snapped and the servant ran. 

Sparrow was brown-skinned and brown-eyed. His tits were big and soft, falling on top of a prominent, soft belly that swayed in front of him as he walked. His legs were thick and swollen, and Forthros' dick hardened as he saw him waddle up. This one was beautiful, but…

“Not. Big. Enough.” He said, looking the Madam right in the eyes. 

A sly, appreciative smile spread across her face. She slapped Sparrow’s jiggly ass, sending him away. 

“I see you are a connoisseur.” She said, bowing in acknowledgement. “Follow me.” 

He followed. They passed an open room full of whores killing time, waiting for clients. He spotted Sparrow sprawled on a mountain of pillows, idly popping sugar-coated grapes into his mouth. Forthros’ cock stirred again. If the Madam’s most priced possession didn’t prove to be satisfactory, he’d come back for Sparrow. 

The madam stopped in front of a door and opened it with a flourish. 

“This,” she said theatrically “is Starling. But he’s not cheap.” 

Forthros had to rest a hand against the door to keep himself upright, almost dropping the feast in the basket to the floor. He put it down with reverence at his feet and fished a purse out from his inside pocket, tossing it blindly at the Madam, still unable to look away from the sight before him. There was more coin in the purse that she probably made off all her whores in a day and they both knew it.

“Enjoy, Lord.” She bowed deeply and closed the door behind herself. 

The man on the bed, Starling, was a vision out of a dream. No, he was more beautiful than any dream Forthros ever had. 

He had dark umber skin that seemed covered with scented oils and perfumes that floated around the room. His dark hair was curled and adorned with gold, and two enormous emeralds hung on his ears. He was so big his hips spanned almost the entire width of the bed. Forthros took in the beautiful flesh, overstuffed to the brim with fat and folding on itself in fascinating, enchanting ways. Starling’s legs were shapeless as if formed of hefty sacks of jiggly fat folding in on themselves with the swollen feet at the end that Forthros doubted touched the floor often. The beautiful legs were spread wide to accommodate the gargantuan mass of Starling’s belly, that pooled in front of him like a see of soft flesh. Forthros couldn’t see a belly button but he guessed it was buried deep underneath fat where the upper and lower fat fold of Starling’s belly met. His breasts were blubbery and saggy, pushed to the sides by the improbable accumulation of soft flesh on Starling’s midriff. The nipples were dark and stretched and Forthros could feel his entire body tingling. Starling’s robust arms rested at almost acute angles to his body, unable to land any lower for the numerous chunky fat folds pushing outwards at his sides. His shoulders and chest were so thoroughly encased in fat he almost had no neck. His face was round, with incredible, fleshy cheeks and multiple chins. 

This was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man Forthros had ever seen, but what struck him most, was the man’s face. He was beautiful, of course, with a slightly hunched nose and wide-set dark eyes. But that wasn’t what it was, still. The striking thing was the expression on that angelic face. His plump lips were stretched into a smirk that seemed to hold all the secrets of the world in it and the dark eyes that stared at Forthros from underneath dark, heavy lashes were sharp like a fox’s. Quick wits and shrewdness were immediately apparent in that gaze. That, and immense satisfaction. Just his face alone seemed to be saying “I am everything you ever wanted and I know it.” 

The biggest whore he had before this, many years ago, was somewhere between Sparrow’s and Starling’s size, he was beautiful but the food had dulled his mind. His eyes were always glazed over, sleepy, almost unresponsive; he saw this happen to some people when the food was too much for their bodies to handle and they seemed almost dim-witted. Although that man was beautiful, Forthros couldn’t bring himself to fuck him, he didn’t want to fuck someone who barely knew what was happening. 

But Starling… Starling was perfect. 

Forthros swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, his cock almost painfully hard.

“I’ve brought you a feast, beautiful.” He said, hauling the enormous basket overflowing with the greatest delicacies Grothol had to offer to the bed. “I hope such a feast is to your liking?” 

Starling looked at the basket and then, looking straight into Forthros’ eyes with an almost devilish grin he said: 

“Not big enough.” 

[skyward-floored]

Hello!!

Um…

I really loved that one fic you wrote called “caged” with fable and legend, and I also really liked the sequel. I love how you described the scenes, it was really fun to read!

I saw that you were talking with another user about how legend got into the castle, and you mentioned that he probably got in through the secret passage way that he knows from alttp

I was wondering if maybe you were thinking about writing a prequel to that fic?

Maybe about how the chain lands in Legends Hyrule and they see Hyrule castle looming in the distance, perhaps under a spell of some kind and legend immediately runs towards it to find he can’t enter normally and he tells the chain that he does know of a way in. So they enter through the secret passageway and perhaps legend gets some flashbacks to alttp as they’re fighting monsters (or maybe brainwashed guards) and looking for fable.

It’s just a suggestion tho! I’m aware you have other stuff to do, so…

Uh anyways, I really liked this years whumptober fics a Lot too, they were all amazing! You are really such a talented writer!

That’s all, hugs!!🫂🫂🫂

I hope you have a nice day

So I wasn’t really thinking about writing a prequel at all, and I don’t do requests really but... well. The idea intrigued me, and I sat down and started writing, and this came out 😅

It’s minimally edited and certainly not my best work, but hey, it’s something. I hope you enjoy the little prequel anon, and thank you for the kind words :)

Caged

The sequel (Aftermath)

———————————————————

Again.

Again.

It was all Legend could think of as he stared at the castle in the distance, dread and anger and too many emotions for him to name making his hands shake.

They’d just exited a portal, landing in his Kakariko, and the relief of being back in his own time was immediately overshadowed by the oppressive dark magic in the air. Impa had found them soon after, and explained with a worried look in her eyes about a wizard who had tricked them, and overtaken the castle.

With Zelda inside.

The blood had begun to roar in Legend’s ears as Impa explained further, but he was barely listening anymore, his head spinning and chest tight with anger.

She’s in danger again, the kingdom’s in trouble again, and I wasn’t here to protect—

“Legend, what should we—?”

He took off.

He ignored the shouts of the others, the calls for him to wait up, and booked it towards the castle, his pegasus boots making it impossible for the other heroes to keep up with him. Rain had begun to fall at some point, but Legend didn’t let it stop him, not even when he nearly wiped out in a puddle.

He reached the castle gates in mere minutes, and banged a fist on the doors. They were shut tight though, sealed with magic that Legend knew he wouldn’t be able to break. But he pounded against them anyway, took out one of his rods and blasted at it, tried his rings and items and all sorts of things before finally kicking at them with an angry yell.

The others had caught up to him by then, and they joined his side, split evenly between looking at him and looking up at the gates.

“How are we going to get in?” Wind asked a little hesitantly, and Legend sighed, swiping some drops of rain off his face.

“I know a way.”

He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to use it, but it looked like it was the only way they could get inside.

Legend led them all around to the east side of the castle, the group’s weapons drawn and eyes squinted through the rain for any enemies. It was only a passing shower, not a torrential thunderstorm like the last time he’d used this passage, but the similarities still made Legend tense.

History sure does love repeating itself.

More then one concerned look was shot his way as they went, but Legend ignored them, as well as the memories that were trying to claw their way to the forefront of his mind. He had a job to do and a princess to save, and he wasn’t going to get lost in his head.

Even though this was at least the fourth time he’d done this and he was so tired of evil striking at his kingdom and the people he loved and having to stop them again and again. He wasn’t going to think about it.

Not now.

They didn’t run into any monsters on the way to the other side of the castle, which made Legend suspicious, but he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. He quickly revealed the secret passage that would lead them inside, and gestured the others in.

“That’s convenient,” Wild commented, and Warriors studied the passage in interest.

“Are you the only one who uses this tunnel? Seems like a security risk.”

“Only a few people know it exists,” Legend replied, then dropped in so he wouldn’t have to continue the conversation.

Legend took the lead as they began to walk down the tunnel, and kept himself several paces in front of the others, his shoulders slowly hitching upward.

Water dripped as they walked along the passage, running on the edges and making the floor damp. There weren’t any monsters in this spot either, which made it easy for Legend to stride as quickly as possible past the spot where his uncle had breathed his last.

He hated being down here. He hated the reason he was down here and the slimy feel of the floor under his boots, and the smell in the air and the squeak of rats he hated it.

And was it his imagination, or was he smelling blood?

“Legend?”

Legend breathed in sharply as a hand landed on his shoulder, and he looked over at Twilight, the older hero giving him a searching look. They were nearly to where the dungeons connected, he didn’t want to stop now.

“You alright?” Twilight asked, and Legend let out a bitter laugh.

“Sure, I love coming home to find out the kingdom got taken over in my absence. And nobody knows what happened to my Zelda, and getting to tromp around in the sewers, I’m having the time of my life, thanks,” he snapped. “What’s one more crisis for the kingdom of Hyrule?”

Twilight’s hand didn’t leave his shoulder. “Legend.”

Legend stopped in his tracks and glared back at Twilight, gripping his sword so tightly he was sure it was leaving lines in his palms. “What.”

“We’ll save her, Legend,” Twilight said firmly, and gave his shoulder a bracing squeeze. “You’re not alone. You’ve got us this time— whatever this wizard is capable of is no match for all nine of us. We’ll save Zelda, and the kingdom. We’ll stop this together.”

Legend stared, then looked behind Twilight to where the rest of the Links were standing, and they all gave him equally determined looks. Their eyes were bright and fierce, and full of just as much resolve to save Zelda as his own were.

Legend felt his eyes sting, but he forced himself to blink the tears back, and nodded at Twilight, breathing out as some of the emotions storming in his chest eased a bit.

Twilight released his shoulder, and Legend turned back around, waving them all onward.

“Only a bit further to the dungeons. We’ll check for Zelda there first, but if she’s not there, we’ll... we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Legend said firmly. “Finding her is our biggest objective. The wizard comes second.”

The others nodded as they crossed through a doorway, and Legend squared his shoulders, shoving away the rest of his anxiety and terror and digging up the courage in his chest that had gotten him through six adventures already.

We’re coming Zelda, hold on, he thought desperately, shouting a warning back to the others as they reached the dungeons, and an enemy’s sword nearly took his head off.

Please be okay.

[lavampira]

book recommendations

tysm @winedark and @rosenfey for the tag <:

passing it along to @hythlodaes @scionshtola @coldshrugs @likeabirdinflight @lesbianalicent @veeples @narrativefoiltrope @kirnet @disequilibria @jennystahl @elvves @queenofthieves @weird-ecologies @erielake @verbose-vespertine @solarisrenbeth @onceinabluemoony @queerbrujas @oldblood but ofc no pressure!!

1. the last book I read:

GOTH WESTERN by LIVALI WYLE — well. technically, it’s an indie graphic novel. but it’s a western meets magical realism about necromancy, revenge, and the power of love. and lesbians. I burned through it in a couple hours sitting because I was so gripped by it tbh.

2. a book I recommend:

THE HACIENDA by ISABEL CAÑAS — an absolute all time fave book in my heart; I would say one doesn’t even need to necessarily love horror to get invested in this one, since it also involves very interesting critique of spanish colonialism, religion, and class struggles in post-independence mexico only using hauntings as the lens to view it.

3. a book that I couldn’t put down:

THE PRIORY OF THE ORANGE TREE by SAMANTHA SHANNON — I was glued to this book for a solid two weeks despite its length. I have a lot that I would change about the pacing and certain events or qualities of some characters’ outcomes, but it was such a fun fantasy read, and I had a difficult time even moving on from the setting and protagonists once I was done.

4. a book I’ve read twice (or more):

THE SONG OF ACHILLES by MADELINE MILLER — my first time reading this myth retelling was my freshman year of college, so I reread it again ten years later to see if it would still hold up for how much I loved it, and it absolutely did. the perspective of the man standing beside and in love with the hero interwoven with the tragedy of achilles and patroclus takes me right out and the passages that tumblr enjoys to quote from it have so much more impact in the full context of the narrative.

5. a book on my TBR:

OUR WIVES UNDER THE SEA by JULIA ARMFIELD — this poor book keeps getting knocked down on my TBR but I’m determined to read it this year. I’m intrigued by the horror of the protagonist’s wife ‘coming back wrong’ in a sense, and the recommendations based on its similarity to ANNIHILATION, but also the fact it seems to be a wlw scifi horror, too.

6. a book I’ve put down:

AFFINITY by SARAH WATERS — I wanted to like this one so bad, considering how often waters has been hyped up to me as The Author for historical lesbian novels and the fact it delves into victorian spiritualism, but the pacing felt so slow at getting to the point in the plot, and when it finally did, the twist put me off on finishing the end. it’s probably more of a case of ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ but I def had to DNF it.

7. a book on my wishlist:

GHOST STATION by S.A. BARNES — space horror quickly became a fave niche genre that I got into last year, so I’ve been very excited for this release, too. I’m also a fan of how barnes writes atmospheric dread and I have high expectations for it.

8. a favorite book from my childhood:

WUTHERING HEIGHTS by EMILY BRONTË — it altered my brain chemistry as a teenager in high school and I haven’t been the same since I read it. I distinctly remember listening to ‘you said I killed you — haunt me then!’ read aloud and having to pretend like it didn’t make me feel so completely unhinged in the middle of class.

9. a book you would give to a friend:

PIRANESI by SUSANNA CLARKE — I was recommended this one by a friend to begin with, so it feels like an even more perfect book to pass forward. I think it’s one of those books that’s easy to get absorbed into even if it’s not a typical genre one would read, and it’s such a life-altering experience to go through with the protagonist, too. the underlying message that we’re all changed by our own trials and we’re never the same as we were before lingers with me.

10. a book of poetry or lyrics you own:

CRUSH by RICHARD SIKEN — it’s taken me so long to finally track down a physical copy at my bookstore but it was worth it because it remains my fave book of poetry to date. I could quote so many lines, after how hard they’ve hit me, and some of them have influenced my own writing or pairings in some ways.

11. a nonfiction book you own:

HAVANA NOCTURNE by T.J. ENGLISH — back in 2015-2016ish I went through a true crime phase in the prohibition era through the foundation of the US mafia, and this is a very informative book on how the mob became tied to cuba and how the revolution affected it.

12. what are you currently reading:

AN EDUCATION IN MALICE by S.T. GIBSON — I stumbled across this retelling of carmilla set in a late 60s massachusetts women’s college after reading gibson’s A DOWRY OF BLOOD and had to give it a try. I’m enjoying it so far; the prose is full of thick emotional yearning and electric chemistry, and the balance in the narrative of toxic mentorship, historical romantic and sensual attraction between women without shaming them for it, and vampiric elements is really fun.

13. what are you planning on reading next:

WHAT FEASTS AT NIGHT by T. KINGFISHER — I only found out the other day that the sequel to WHAT MOVES THE DEAD was even released but I’m so desperate for the next part of alex easton’s story (and how eerily kingfisher writes horror) that it shot up to my next read.

[blindmagdalena]

Hello, I have a request for Homelander x fem reader. The two of them having a skin care routine night. I've seen TikToks of couple doing their skincare together. I feel like Homelander would enjoy the feeling of the readers hands gently massaging his face. (He does have smooth skin when I watch the show.)

Initially, Homelander’s curiosity about your nightly routine manifests as mocking. Each night, while the two of you are getting ready for bed, he likes to pick up the array of tools you keep in your vanity and invent uses for them.

“You cannot tell me this isn’t a cock,” he says, holding up your facial roller. He gestures to the end of it. “C’mon, it has balls.”

You laugh, snatching it out of his grasp. “Stop it! It’s for your undereyes,” you insist. He likes the broad way you smile at his juvenile teasing, how it emphasizes the lines in your face that you spend so much time and product on minimizing.

Homelander’s relationship with the passage of time has become a complicated one. He doesn’t mind seeing signs of you aging, seeing the way you’ve changed. It’s an indication of the time he has spent with you, and you’ve only grown more beautiful the longer you’ve loved him.

On the other hand, the thought of how much time you have remaining fills him with an awful dread. Similarly, the same lines he admires around your eyes, he prods at in his own reflection, dismayed. You’ve brought an uncomfortable awareness to his mind regarding both of your ages. 

Regardless, watching you take the time to pamper yourself has become one of his favorite parts of the evening. He lingers in the doorway or leans against the counter while you both talk about your respective days. One day, you pop open a new product, and he leans in, taking a sniff.

“Smells good,” he comments offhandedly.

“Wanna try it?” You ask, holding the jar out to him. He stares skeptically at the goopy mixture inside. It isn’t as though his skin gets damaged, per se. He’s sensitive, but not to irritation. He supposes it couldn't hurt to give it a try.

So begins your new shared routine.

Days later, Homelander’s not entirely sure how exactly it escalated to this point–his blonde hair held back by a fuzzy pink headband–but he’s not going to complain while your knuckles are massaging soothing circles on his cheeks, pushing back towards his jaw and temples, slick with some kind of new serum. He doesn’t pay much attention to the products, if he’s being honest, but he likes listening to you talk about them nonetheless.

“Apparently vitamin C hydrates, helps with collagen production, and reduces hyperpigmentation,” you say, rolling your thumbs gently along his under eyes.

He hums noncommittally. “That sounds like words.” He opens his eyes just in time to see you playfully roll yours.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” you tell him, kissing his nose. 

He wrinkles it in turn, huffing a laugh. “Oh, don’t I know it.”

Next, you swirl your finger in a lip balm that comes in a tin. It seems to him an exceedingly awful way to package a lip product, but he’ll accept it in exchange for the intimacy of your index finger placing the product onto his lips, your face close to his, your other hand tilting his head back while you focus on applying the balm. Your own lips are shiny, parted in concentration.

“Alright, all-” you begin to say, but Homelander cuts you short with a kiss. He waited for as long as he could, but the rapt way you focus on him in these moments is too much to bear without tasting you for himself. He needs to feel you.

“Have I told you how sexy you are when you’re pampering me?” He asks between kisses, hands settling on your hips, pulling your body flush to his.

“Mmmmhm,” you hum, smiling with such warmth, such love, he thinks he might burst from it.  “I don’t mind hearing it again.”

“You’re sexy when you’re pampering me,” he purrs obligingly, kissing you long and slow. You push your fingers into his hair, knocking the headband loose, wringing a low moan from the back of his throat as your nails drag along his scalp.

“I love you,” your murmur, the words familiar yet no less wonderful against his lips.

“Love you,” he gives back, deciding he will spend the rest of the evening etching it into your skin with every touch, precisely the way you have taught him to.