#And to write with youuu

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; gn!reader

thinking about roomie!suguru, who steps out of the bathroom with just a towel hanging loosely around his waist. it's dangerously low and his happy trail is... leading your eyes to a forbidden place. water droplets cascade down his temple and his neck, his scarred chest and his toned muscles.

he finishes drying his hair with another, smaller towel before slinging it over his shoulder. he gives you a warm smile. there's still a bit of sleep in his tired eyes but he looks fresh, he looks good.

(he looks more than good.)

the morning light shines in through the small window of your shared kitchen and he hums at the smell of coffee. you're an angel leaning on the counter, hands busy with preparing your drink as he steps inside.

he chuckles. he asked you a question but you didn't hear it. he smells so fucking good; the smell of his shampoo and his fancy conditioner wash over your senses and it's easy to forget where you are. his eyes flick behind you before walking over to you with a smug little grin.

he bores his sharp purple eyes into yours – he loves how you react to him. he doesn't shy away from it, he's cockier than he looks. he loves the attention, he loves to be in your spotlight. he wouldn't care so much if you were a stranger, if you were a random person on the street ogling away, ut you're neither of those things, are you? no, you're something else.

he exudes warmth as he towers over you, his head tilted down to keep his eyes on you. he wants to play with you a little – he loves the way you're staring up at him right now. eyes big and wide, lip tucked under between your teeth. he's good with people, he can read them like a book and you're no different. he sees you swallow a dry lump, he sees you grace him with a flustered smile as you try to brush by the fact that he caught you admiring him red handed. he sees the way you're taking deeper breaths than normal, surely just to keep your composure. he can't wait to break you.

his arm reaches behind you to turn off the coffee machine with a small click.

"wouldn't wanna make a mess this early in the morning, now would we?"

melting. crumbling. falling down to your knees. you hate how much he teases (you love it), you hate how patronizing he sounds (it's hot). he's the only one that can get away with it – a charming smile that hides his deepest desires of sinking his teeth into little lambs like you, soft eyes that hide the need to watch them unfold before him.

his gentle hands long to hold, long to keep and covet. he thinks about you a lot; your shared mornings and afternoons, your exhausted naps and bitter rants about your days. shy gazes and lingering touches, stupid jokes and the cute little hidden sounds he keeps hearing from your room in the late hours. he's being patient, he's warming you up.

he's just as infatuated with you as you are with him. he's just more subtle with it.

or is he?

because you've heard him, too.

you don't know whether he's doing it unknowingly or he's actually trying to make you go insane – whichever it is, you are ready to bend at his will. soft groans accompanied by a steady slick pump; you didn't mean to listen in. you just wanted to make sure he's okay!

ear against the wooden door, you listened to him think about you. your name was on the tip of his tongue, but it was too early for that. he wants to smear you with his honey, he wants to drag you in but he needs to wait for it. this is perfect.

he did know you're were there.

he heard the floor creak, he heard the cutest gasp that left your pretty lips. fuck, you're perfect. his head was lolled back as he stroked himself to the thought of your wide, doe-eyes. how flustered you'd be, how flustered you were in that very moment. he imagined your trembling hands and your stuttered words and his dick twitched in his palm.

he thought about inviting you in and just making him watch as a form of punishment, for being a little pervert. he shuddered out a laugh and watched a glob of pre-cum cover his own fingers before mixing with the saliva and spit that's covering him already. he thought about making you sit between his legs so he could jerk off right in front of your beautiful face, he thought about your wobbly lips, your teary eyes. the way your thighs would press together.

your fingers would itch and twitch and he'd make you place them on your legs. he wouldn't want you to touch. yet. maybe he'd make you apologize and maybe he'd make you kiss the tip. he thought about how good you'd smell, how good you'd taste. another raspy groan crawled up his throat and you were about to cum untouched behind his door. like a creep.

he loves it. he's proud of you, he wants to push you even further. he wants to see what else he can make you do. this is exciting and he can't wait to devour you whole as a reward after he's done bullying himself into your body and your mind. utterly loved and corrupted—

— you're meant for him.

[gothmamas]

rural medicine

i wanna make this into a series hopefully so here's a short little introductory chapter to see if anyone likes :) made this all in one go lowkey so if its bad pls don't bully me thx

synopsis: what if robby was a sexy rural doctor basically lawl

a/n: hope i did robby justice

Environmental science is horrifically depressing. The whole world melts at a speed that is too rapid to ignore, but too slow for anyone important to care about. Every new chart or grid or essay you skim over never fails to drop a pound of heavyweight dread onto your heart. That’s how you felt for most- if not all of your freshman year. Constant. Without reprieve. Your morning coffee was often soured with images of polar bears slipping on slushy, grey ice popping into your mind. Nights out with friends are ruined when you remember just how many emissions your car puts out into the air- even when you’re carpooling. New research findings plague your every waking thought. Though mother earth never seems to catch a break, it’s clear that you so desperately need one. 

So you take a gap year. You look for a promise of peace, and you think you've found it in a fire lookout job listing. You’re not sure of it at first, but find a little reassurance in knowing that the location isn’t too far from its neighboring town. Besides, isn’t the whole point of this all to step outside of your comfort zone? Maybe your endless worries could be soothed by being closer to the very thing you’re so desperate to save. To feel like you’re making a difference for once.

So, you pack up your life and disappear up north.You don’t tell anyone, either. You want something fresh. Something you can make yours and only yours. Your parents had always nagged you about your career path, and you hardly doubt your friends would notice you leaving. You’d always felt like a thorn in everyone’s side. Sure, they kept you around, but you can tell that they can’t wait to pluck you out and toss you away before it’s too late. Besides, if you get one more call from your mother or have to hear another voicemail with a major course change suggestion, you feel like you’ll end up on the five o'clock news. 

It feels freeing, anyway. No calls to expect, no anxiety inducing essays to write, and certainly no after class job to slave away at. Just the wind in your face and the faint rustle of your belongings in the bed of your truck. 

The drive into an entirely new state had been a long one. Finding your way into town proved a little bit more difficult than anticipated, but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. The area around it is dense with trees, covering miles and miles of land with fresh greenery sprouted from heavy spring showers. 

When you finally roll into town, you find yourself pleasantly surprised. You’re not sure why, but you’d half expected to find the place bare and empty like in all of the movies and tv shows you’d seen. This might be the case for the outskirts, but as you cruise in deeper, it’s quite lively, and pleasantly so. 

The town square is set up for what looks like a late morning farmer’s market. Stalls are lined up in crooked rows, displaying various fruits, vegetables, a few pieces of clothing and what appears to be handmade art pieces. Wooden? You can’t tell from your seat in the cab. The children running around and giggling pause to stare when you put your truck into park, but look away again when another kid pulls them back into whatever game they’re playing. 

You’re tempted to join and poke around the stalls for a bit, but as if on cue, your stomach reminds you that it’s painfully empty. You’ll have to have a look when you get more time.

The diner you find isn’t picturesque by any means, but that appears to be the case for most things around here. It’s not as lively as the town square, but there’s a few people. A couple in a booth, an old man in the back, and another man perched on a stool in the front. He’s tall, almost intimidatingly so, with dark hair and a grey speckled beard. He’s having a polite conversation with a waitress behind the counter, and his low, gravelly voice can be heard above the soft country music playing from a rundown jukebox attached to the wall. 

“Oh, you know I can’t tell you that, Myrna.” He sounds amused as he cradles a cup of coffee, long fingers and a large palm splayed over the white porcelain. 

“Here we go, with the HIPPA bullshit again. I just wanna know if it was him. You know who I’m talking about.” The woman, presumably Myrna, retorts. He takes a long sip of his coffee, but you catch a sly smile behind the rim. He shrugs slowly, deliberately. Myrna seems to get the message. 

“How bad? She give him what he deserves?” Another shrug.

“Needed a lot of bleach to clean up the parking lot.” His answer seems to satisfy her enough for her to realize you’re sitting right there, and you politely give her your order afterwards. The man sitting next to you produces a small book from the breast pocket of his flannel when Myrna disappears into the kitchen, and though you can’t make out the small print from where you’re sitting, you assume it’s some kind of field guide. Either that or a pocket bible. 

You feel drawn to him, maybe even compelled to have a conversation with him, (because let’s be real, who wouldn’t, he’s pretty damn handsome,) until he catches your gaze out of the corner of his eyes. Shit. Abort. Your eyes immediately dart back with a little shame, and thankfully, Myrna returns with your eggs and waffles.

“Never seen you before.” She’s blunt, you’ll give her that. You think that maybe the tall stranger next to you is wondering the same thing, because you can practically feel a pair of eyes boring into the side of your head. But you’re too nervous to look and confirm. 

“Ah, you’re right. Just here for the summer.” You shrug, shoving a piece of egg in your mouth.

“Oh, really? What for?” She seems genuinely interested, and it eases your nervousness.

“Firewatch lookout.” There’s an almost intrigued grunt from beside you, but it’s followed by the clinking of coins and the muffled scuffing of a stool being pushed in. Sounds like he’s leaving. A wave of disappointment washes over you as he waves and shrugs on a carhartt jacket. Your eyebrows furrow at this. It’s like, almost eighty degrees out. On top of a flannel. As if she’d read your mind, Myrna just shrugs and mutters something about him being weird. 

She talks your ears off the rest of the time you’re there after he leaves. You learn that the man’s name is Michael Robinavitch, but he also goes by Robby sometimes. You also learn that he’s a doctor. When you asked her what kind, exactly, she just shrugs and says he works in the emergency room and that’s all she really knows. The rest of the meal is filled with small town gossip she seems extremely excited to share with somebody new for once.  

You tip her for the good company and conversation before you leave. A warm summer breeze brushes against your face as the door jingles shut behind you, and you briefly check your watch to make sure you’ll still be on track for your hike up. It’s not that far, anyway. You think. You’ll be fine.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when something heavy suddenly nudges your thigh, and when you look down, you see an absolute beast of a dog. The pup is huge, with a dark chocolate coat that glows a beautiful light brown in the sunlight. Her tail is wagging a million miles an hour, and she looks like she’s about to leap onto you and knock you out on the ground.

“Oh, hey there,” You croon, crouching down a little bit to give her some pets and pats along her back. 

You don’t realize Robby is standing nearby until an amused chuckle fills the air next to you. When you whip your head over to look at him he’s smiling, holding a little bag of dog treats in his hand. 

“She yours?” 

“Nah,” He shakes his head, “Doesn’t belong to anyone right now. Loves people, though. Started calling her Winn Dixie after a while.” He adds, beckoning the pup with a click of his tongue to toss her a treat- which she catches in the air beautifully. “I’ve tried to set her up with people, but no one’s too keen on taking her in.”

“Why not you?” You ask before you can stop yourself, and he’s quiet before he tosses another treat her way. 

“Long work hours. She’s too big for my trailer, anyway.” Right. Emergency room doctor and all. “She seems to like you, though. Heard you’re headed to the fire tower.” He smiles, almost mischievously. Aw, shit. Is he trying to set you up too? Cold and calculated, this guy. “Maaybe she’d enjoy the hike up with you?" There it is. 

“How do you figure that?” You reply, not too convinced that this dog will just calmly follow you up random terrain- especially with that amount of energy. You don’t want to even imagine what it would be like to hunt her down and wrangle her leash back on. But she doesn’t even seem to have one at the moment.

 “Took her up there with me once. She likes it.” He assures, nodding his head down toward Winn Dixie. She looks absolutely ecstatic at the proposition, like she can understand every word he’s saying. Or maybe she knows this game, too. Either way, the shining of hope in her big eyes is killing every little ounce of spirit you have to resist immediately taking her in. You kind of want to ask what the trouble with her finding a home is, but you think it might have something to do with her high energy and huge size. If she were human, she’d make a pretty good quarterback. 

“...aren’t you worried about, like, bad intentions?” You ask, eyebrows raising slightly when he holds out the treat bag to you.

“Mm, I think she knows how to pick ‘em.” He shakes his head slightly as you take the bag of treats from him. “She practically knocked you over just a minute ago. I think she can hold her own.” He’s right again.

Silence falls over the two of you while you gently feed Winn Dixie a treat, a smile spreading onto your face when she happily gobbles it up- and licks your hand to top it all off. Man, she is really laying it on thick.

With a heavy sigh, you relent. 

“...I’ll see how she likes it.” Robby’s face lights up at this, for some reason, and it almost makes you want to impress him- do something spectacular to see it again. “But I’m takin’ her right back here if she starts actin’ up.” He laughs at this, the sound low and gravelly as he begins to fish through his pocket. You squint a little to see that he’s pulling out his wallet, producing two twenty dollar bills. 

“Here. Can’t spring a kid on you without any financial support.” 

“Oh, no, it’s okay, I can-” He shakes his head, practically pressing the bills into your palm.

“Can’t have you getting her the shitty dog food, now. It’s for my peace of mind.” You sigh a little and tuck the bills into your pocket, and he straightens up with a gentle clap on your shoulder. “I’d give you my number to check in, but there’s no cell reception up there. Find me when you come back in town.” With that, he’s walking off before you can even ask how the hell you’re going to find him in a few weeks. Maybe he has a rigid schedule. You hope so, at least.

“...alright, Winnie. Let’s get you something for the road."

[spicycinnabun]

There's a sugar daddy au??!!!

Also let me be greedy and request my fave 🐺 🤭🤭🤭

there is!

have some werewolf courtship 🐺❤️

Buck set the heavy bag on his dining room table. It was filled with tomatoes, carrots, eggplant and zucchini, bits of dirt still clinging to the stems and leaves. There were also plump strawberries and a bundle of thyme. The aromas were strong under Buck’s sensitive nose. 

He had discovered it outside his door and wondered if someone had accidentally delivered their groceries to the wrong address—until he saw a note peeking out between some colorful bell peppers. It had familiar handwriting.

Buck picked it up and read it.

I have more than I know what to do with. Figured you could probably find a good use for them.

- Tommy

A trio of sunflowers were hanging over the side of the bag. Buck found a vase for them and gave them some water to drink. 

Nobody had ever given him flowers before. 

And nobody was around to see him stick his face in them like a lovesick dummy wolf. 

His emotions were being goofy. He was probably making a bigger deal over this than he should’ve. 

Everything was from Tommy’s garden, though. He had planted, tended, and hand-picked it all. They were the literal fruits of his labor, and he was giving them to Buck, of all people.

What did it mean?

Buck picked up his phone, opting for something silly instead of serious. 

This is a pretty big🍆

They had established a routine of texting each other. Tommy never left him hanging; he always seemed willing to talk. Not once had Buck ever felt brushed off. Tommy was witty as hell. His sarcastic remarks were sharp, but often offset by something sweet and genuine in the next minute. 

Buck was overdoing it—he knew he was, and the Alpha would eventually get sick of him—but he couldn’t help himself. He was just so interested. 

It didn’t take long for Tommy to answer. 

Thanks. Intimidated? 

Buck laughed. Nope. I like a challenge. Can already think of a whole bunch of fun things I wanna do with it. 

He sent a photo of himself holding the eggplant, quirking an eyebrow impishly.

Evan. We’re talking about cooking, right?

Of course. What else? :)

You’re a menace.

Buck laughed again. Wasn’t the first time he’d been called that. Thank you, by the way. 

You’re welcome. If you want more, just let me know. 

Buck bit his lip. We’re still talking about vegetables, right?

Tommy didn’t immediately bubble him, and Buck worried he’d pushed too far. It was a few minutes before his phone lit up.

What else? 

So, the ball was officially in his court. 

Buck swallowed, bouncing on his feet a few times to gear himself up. (Contrary to what Chim claimed, doing that wasn’t tippy tappies.) 

Maybe I want more of you?

The lack of bubbles that time was deafening. Buck smacked his forehead, then nearly dropped his phone as it started ringing. 

Tommy was FaceTiming him.

“Oh!”

Buck hastily ran fingers through his curls and propped his phone up against the fruit bowl on the island, accepting the call.

Tommy appeared on his screen. He was in his turnouts, rows of lockers behind him. His face was sooty, his eyes tired, but he looked content to see Buck.

“Hey,” Buck said, smiling. 

“Evan.”

Something about Tommy’s soft gaze and his tone, warm and low, made Buck’s belly squirm happily. “Just got back from a call?”

“Yeah. I’m about to clean up and have some dinner.” 

Buck put his chin in his palm. “What’s on the menu?” 

Tommy gave him an unreadable look, then smiled back. “Some jerky. Probably something on Wonder Bread. Hopefully, not Freddie’s chicken salad.” 

Some of them had contracted food poisoning from that in the past, Tommy had said. Tommy’s was brief, thanks to his fast healing. Still, Buck groaned in sympathy, a near whine hitting the edge of it. “Tommy, that hurts my culinary soul.”

Tommy chuckled. “It hurts my stomach more, I promise.” He sighed. Buck wanted to press his thumb against Tommy’s cleft and kiss him through the screen. He tried to dispel the thought. “I’ll admit, I miss Bobby’s meals.”

Buck had learned that the 217’s idea of crew dinner was abysmal at best. They rarely ate together, and the only time they had somewhat healthy food was when one of the guys’ wives brought something in.

Buck wondered if Tommy would like his cooking as much as Bobby’s. He was almost as good of a chef as Bobby now, though he excelled a bit more at baking. 

“You’re wearing my clothes again.” 

Tommy’s observation pulled Buck back to the conversation quickly. 

It had become a habit for him to wear the hoodie at home. Embarrassing that Tommy had caught him.

“Yeah. It—it—it’s comfortable.” It was more than that. Buck tugged on the strings, fighting a blush and losing. He attempted more playful banter. “I don’t think I’m going to give it back. In fact, the next time I see you, I’m going to steal another.”

Did werewolves share clothes? Buck didn’t have any other furry friendships to compare this to. He was probably way out of line.

A few of his old girlfriends had liked wearing his stuff. He’d always thought it was cute seeing them dwarfed in his baggy sweaters. He was starting to understand the appeal from the other side. 

But Tommy wasn't his boyfriend, and he bet it was only okay to share within a wolf pack, and he was acting like a total clingy weirdo, and Tommy was probably super skeeved out, and—

“I don’t want it back,” Tommy said. His eyes had darkened, zeroing in on Buck. “It’s yours.”

Buck swore he could hear—feel—Tommy’s heartbeat thudding powerfully in sync with his own. He had an insane and confusing desire to drop to his knees and offer up his bite mark like the Alpha was in the room with him.

You’re mine, Buck heard.

The fire bell ringing on Tommy’s end interrupted them, and whatever spell they were under broke.

Buck straightened up. His legs felt unsteady.

“Guess dinner will have to wait.”

…Why did Buck feel like he was dinner?

“Y-yeah.” 

Tommy smirked. “Talk to you later. Be good.”

Buck made a noise.

The call ended. 

⏾

Buck went to the grocery store. He loaded his cart, checked out without looking too hard at the total, and hauled his stand mixer out of the cupboard as soon as he returned. His kitchen soon became a disaster zone.

Tommy had fed him so well when he’d been bane sick. Though he’d said all he could really do was roast, grill, and dehydrate, it had been more than enough. 

It was Buck’s turn to take care of the Alpha. Not repayment, just appreciation. It wouldn’t be as good as a fresh kill, but Buck hoped Tommy would enjoy the transformation his produce had undergone. 

And Freddie’s chicken salmonella salad could be tossed in the trash where it belonged.

Buck wanted Tommy to feel his gratitude. Buck could fill his stomach and satisfy him. Win him over. 

It could make the Alpha see Buck as a potential mate.

…That was his wolf butting in again, of course.

Buck made spiced carrot cake, thyme and honey focaccia, a massive meaty lasagna with rich tomato sauce, and a ratatouille he spent an excessive amount of time making beautifully layered. 

The last thing he popped in the oven was a batch of strawberry muffins stuffed with homemade strawberry jam. Only the center muffin he decorated with vanilla buttercream and red sprinkles. He left a note in his chicken scratch on top of the tupperware.

The special one is for you. Don’t let anyone else have it.

- Evan

It was almost three AM when he finally shut the refrigerator doors and collapsed into bed with a grin on his face. 

⏾

The following day, Buck carefully loaded everything into an empty box he’d saved from a past delivery and stuck it in the back seat of his Jeep. (Maddie teased him for his millennial urge to save every box he acquired, but she couldn’t deny they were useful.)

Then, Buck set off for the harbor station. 

⏾

tag list: @justahumblecabbagemerchant @loulou-land @harmonic-intervention @sweaters-and-silly @theallyandhisbeast @brassm-tagged @scuderiadebauchery @chococara25 @darkqueen458 @cinderellarhea @setmeatopthepyre @buffaluff @eliotwaughdeservesbetter @figuringitoutaloud @cannibalhellhound @i-dont-even-know-anymore976 @ambernotember @the-omniscient-narrator @zeraparker @cometconnector @fenrirscarsback @moonydanny @espressopatronum454

previous parts

[butteronabun]

i think i read this concept somewhere before but imagine f! reader swooning with the other ladies of mondstadt abt this one particular romance novel that has been getting popular as of late. diluc gets word of this ( maybe it’s because of elzer, or probably even kaeya, the tease ) because don’t tell anyone this but he kinda likes you.

( “. . . kinda? what are we, twelve?”

“shut it, kaeya.” )

and he wonders what the fuss is all about—

“it seems that lady,” adelinde calls your name fondly, as she stands beside the master of the house eating his dinner. “has been involved with a book club. some of the maids are members, and they told me that it had been a joyous time. they would discuss the books over delicious cups of tea and pastries that she and her friends had made.”

diluc is happy to hear this, of course, that a delightful woman such as you is having the time of her life in mondstadt. his heart skips a beat in his chest as he imagines you, the ever beautiful, endearing you, sharing anecdotes. he tries to hide the growing smile on his face as he remembers how you focus into the small and tiniest details—it is no doubt that the people in your book club are always entertained by your presence.

they’re surely lucky to have you. diluc, if only he wasn’t so busy, would actually really love to be part of that book club as well. ( “eyeing something, master diluc?” lisa winks, when diluc finds himself in the library. ) but alas, it was only reserved for ladies, and he was too shy to actually be in it.

— not until this one fateful night. not until he finally understands why.

of course, the abyss is up to no good again. diluc does his daily patrols on the outskirts and even outside of the city.

then, he hears it.

( a cackling abyss mage approaches your quivering form. you have books in your arms, tightly clutching them to your chest. you bought these for the new members of your book club as gifts since some of them can’t even afford it, and like hell you’re gonna lose them to some monster! these are expensive!

and since gods do really like tampering with fate ( or is this just destiny? ) before the abyss mage gets to throw its icicle at you, it disintegrates, and you blink upon the arrival of a familiar figure.

clad in black and donned in a mask, your lips part in shock. the smell of burnt wood and grass reaches your nostrils. the figure—the man, turns around, and you can’t help but feel a little clumsy. “t–thank you so much, um—!” some of the books fall to the ground, and you yelp. the man kneels down to grab your novels, and you feel your cheeks begin to steam. “um, wait—!” )

after rescuing you from a pesky abyss mage, diluc is really happy to get to interact with you again. last time he did was when you were in the tavern, drinking out with your peers. there, he realized how low your tolerance is, and there, he also realized how actually weak he is for you. you had been so friendly and sweet to him—you included him in your conversations and was always so understanding. how can he not like someone like you?

or maybe the cherry on top was when you invited him to go stargaze at the starsnatch cliff ( how did you not know what that meant? is it because you’re from fontaine, and you’re still getting used to mondstadt? ) and requested for only diluc. no master of the house diluc, nor wine tycoon diluc. just diluc. just himself.

he’ll do everything for you, as long as it is okay with you.

as he descends to the ground to retrieve some of the novels that you carried, diluc lifts one. he listens to you stammer— and he wonders why you’re so flustered, not until he sees the front cover.

it’s an image of a man. he’s wearing a dark getup: a dark brown tunic, black pants, and a midnight cloak. diluc ponders over why he’s getting deja vu.

then, he also has a a bird mask, and red hair peeking out from his hood. wait, red hair?

on his muscular arms, is nothing but a damsel in distress looking at him with so much adoration. much like to the expressions you’ve had with the ladies whenever you ramble about the popular book that diluc has been curious on ever since forever—

oh.

diluc raises his head slowly, and sees you fumble over you words. “mr. darknight hero, i apologize—!”

oh.

[peppermint-whiskers]

COMRADES

(Sir!)

BRACE FOR A STOOOOOOOORM-

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57598009/chapters/162115204

Art by @emositecc uwu

[foxmreow]

Anti lmanburg propaganda in 2021-2022 was crazy, people were really out there claiming lmanburg was the root of all evil. Brother, they were doing communtiy theatre what were u on about 😭😭😭

The most they did to c!eret as a retaliation for her betrayal was cfundy shrinking down one of her towers as a stupid small penis joke 😭😭😭 he literally even put all the materials in a chest inside

[imissa3en]

TWST X FE3H

Heartslabyul here!

Notes:

On the left we have the academy phase outfit, and on the right we have the war phase (after a 5 year timeskip)!

I feel like the arrows should be self explanatory, up for good at, red for bad at, and the stars are for budding talents (things they could be good at)

Class explanations and extra notes under the cut!

Leona:

If he gets recruited he comes pre-promoted as wyvern rider

Easy wyvern lord choice honestly

Actually, every savanaclaw member is pretty easy to turn into a wyvern lord in end game

Personal skill would be either royal lineage (multiplies unit experience) or cat nap (restores hp if he doesn't do anything during player phase)

Not sure which one tbh

High strength growth, poor resistance?

Pre-timeskip he acts as sort of leader in training students into wyvern riders

During the war he acts more as strategist, only going into battle when things are looking dire

Ruggie:

When recruited, he comes with all the skill necessary to be reclassed into thief

Although his personal skill would probably be lock touch (can open chests without keys) so reclassing him into thief isn't too necessary

Probably better off in brigand to help his strength growth?

Can easily be turned into an assassin for the high speed and dex

DODGE TANK

His clothes are leona hand me downs

During the war he kinda replaces leona's position as a leader on the battlefield, which is why he also gets leona's armor

Jack:

Starts off as a fighter since he's a first year

Gameplay whise, he'd probably be turned into a war master

Which explains the MASSIVE GAUNTLETS I've chosen to give him

I picked gauntlets as his "canon weapon" since they kinda look like claws

But he wouldn't be too hard to turn into a wyvern lord in end game with his budding talent in flying

I think it'd be kinda cute if every savanaclaw member can be easily built into an army of wyvern lords

Like leona, he has poor resistance

But he has massive defense growths to help

Personal skill would be lone wolf (+5 attack without battalions)

Story Notes:

You(yuu) fill(s) byleths role as a "tactician"

They meet ace, deuce, chenya and neige in the woods while the four are attacked by bandits

After they show off their master strategies (a.k.a hiding in bushes for evasion), the four invite them to nrc and rsa's shared monastery)

At the monastery, Crowley and Ambrose (that's his name right?? The rsa principal? ) make you(yuu) join one of the two schools

No matter which school you pick, 2 of the four from the earlier battle join your side and you make another choice in picking one of two dorms to fill your roster

Yknow how when you first play twst your free ssr is always either from heartslabyul or savanaclaw? Kinda like that

If rsa is picked, cheya and neige join you + 3 other people the dorm you chose ( twst hasn't revealed any rsa dorms im sorry, idk??)

If nrc is picked, ace and deuce join you +either heartslabyul (riddle, trey and cater) or savanaclaw (leona, ruggie, jack)

You(yuu) first gets to show off their tactics during the mock battle where they fight with their team against either rsa/nrc(depending on which school you chose) and 5 dorm leaders from the school you chose.

[forestslocaldead]

umm... (frantically shuffles through all warm up sketch pages) have this ._.

[vellichor74]

𝓌ₕₐₜ ₜₕₑᵧ ₛₐᵢ𝒹

[rabotimagines]

"Pet names" pt5 GN BOT Reader + Tracks, Red Alert, Beachcomber, Omega Supreme, Smokescreen,

Summary: Reader has become partial to using human pet names for everyone.

G1 characters: Tracks, Red Alert, Beachcomber, Omega Supreme, Smokescreen,

Genre/Theme: Platonic with light crush hints here and there

Pronouns: You, Your, Yours

Notes: Beachcomber says "Mech" when talking to Reader but in a gender sorta way like how people say "Man" sometimes (His stoner vibes are peak I love him), Cybertronian Reader, Reader is around Ironhides age so older in mind

"Sweetspark, do you really need to be rinsing again? Blasters waiting for you so you can both go on patrol." You boldly say because you have absolutely no taste for Tracks perfect finish or a competent sense of style!

When he properly registers your words, Tracks cycles his optics and turns the solvent off. "I beg your pardon- what did you just say?" Because he must have misheard you over the solvent.

But you oh so boldly yet again, just continue to lean your frame against the shower entrance. "Sweetspark, you're already shiny enough for any night on the town. And your patrol buddy was worried you'd fallen in the showers. Are you ready to go?" Tracks wings fan high, and he has to force them back down with a scoff. All before he shoves himself past you to go find Blaster. He promptly ignores your field, trying to brush him on his way out.

Tracks is almost impressed by the gall you have to do what you do. Almost. But every time a name, or the touch of your perverse em field comes his way, his plating bristles, and his wings fan up. Tracks has to soothe it back down and readjust his wings before anyone can notice. If only you'd keep your sparkdamn mouth shut! Tracks can't be showing his beautiful frame off for everyone to see when you constantly have his plating fluffing the wrong way! He huffs and puffs and tells you to take your flirting where it's wanted.... away from Tracks! (Sparkdamn Blaster for actually entertaining your bothersome behavior!)

Tracks rightfully seethes, but eventually, loath as he would admit to his past self, your pet names eventuality become- acceptable... to a degree. As long as you're using none of the drab ones for his stunning self. He is, in fact, "gorgeous" and "beautiful" and Tracks is more than certainly "Darling." Now, Tracks never needed to be told any of those things (he was more than aware of his own grandiose). Though on the contrary, it was quite gratifying to be reminded of one's worth. So, Tracks begins to graciously accept the verbal praise. Tracks scoffs when the other Autobots try to claim your lionizing him. You were doing nothing of the sort! You were merely treating Tracks exactly how he should be.

-

Red Alert is trying to stop a full frazzled breakdown caused by his glitch hiking his sensors higher and higher. How could they have left the entrance open!? Anyone could have come in! Any of Soundwaves cassettes would have a field day here! Your expression does not change under Red Alert's panic. "Babe, it's okay. We're sweeping the area. If there's something there, we'll find it. Just take a vent first. You'll do better finding anything if you don't blow a fuse."

Oh, that's rich! Red Alert turns towards you, fully ready to snap, but then his processor catches up to him. And his whole building panic crumbles at the very abrupt wall his logic center had just smacked into. "Babe?" Red Alert can't not ask because what did you just call him?

You met his gaze and smiled gently. "Yes, babe, you'll do better finding any breaches if you calm down first." And something warm makes Red Alert jolt backwards, and what was that? That's your em field! Your em field was touching him! Your actions are so completely out of left field that his processor struggles to catch up to himself.

Red Alert doesn't know how he's supposed to compartmentalize your new actions! You were already in his business before- now your em field is petting him! It makes Red Alert jump, and he needs you to stop greeting him that way! He couldn't focus on keeping you all safe from the Decepticons if his processor lagged after every interaction with you! Red Alert did not want to be distracted when you called him "pet names" while he was trying to calculate the odds of The Ark exploding! (Red Alert didn't care if Inferno liked it. He's putting Inferno between the both of you then!)

As much as he loathed to admit it, your em field did seem to have a sort of grounding effect on his processor. It would pull him back to wherever he was and make it easier for him to focus on the twenty problems that actually needed to be rectified immediately. And that let him put the thirty would be problems away for later in his processor. Red Alert needed to deal with the now problems because the longer he was standing here being pet by your em field. The less time he had for those twenty current security breaches! He's leaving right now to close those breaches! Do not follow him he can't keep being distracted. No, you don't need to know why you're suddenly being requested to accompany Red Alert more often on shifts when you're available! It's a matter of Ark security.

-

"Wow now, careful mech." Beachcomber doesn't hesitate to grab a portion of the stack of datapads that risked toppling right out of your servos. The load he takes makes you stand the way you were supposed to be. Instead of like you were about to take a mean tumble down right in front of him.

You huff and readjust the other half of the datapads he'd left you with. "Ah- Thanks angel, much appreciated." Angel? You smile at Beachcomber and- oh hello there? Your em field brushes very nice against Beachcombers arm. The plating there puffing and relaxing under the warm feel of it. And it makes the rest of him wanna slack at the touch.

So he does just that. Letting his plating loosen further then it already had been. Letting the bit of warmth you were offering him seep up against his struts. Beachcomber offers you an easy smile back. "Anytime mech."

Beachcomber basically thinks it's a one-time thing since he helped you out when you'd needed it. But he's pleasantly surprised when it's apparently your new earthly habit. Beachcomber is with it from the start. It's not like he's gotten any sweet words or sweet touches quite like yours in a long time. Beachcomber knows how probably fleeting your guys' shared time on this beautiful planet would be in the grand scheme of things. In the grand scheme of this war. So Beachcomber makes sure to enjoy the little quality moments you're oh so willing to provide and share with little ol' him.

You'll be seeing him more often after battles the longer you're still on earth. Casually greeting you for a smile, a name, and the touch of your em field. And Beachcomber will make a point to say it afterwards- But he's glad you stuck around when he lingered from the destruction left after the electrum incident. You didn't say much to each other, but you stayed with your em field resting against his frame like you were all but leaning against him. After that, Beachcomber tries to share the joy a bit back with you. A "babe" or "baby" when Beachcomber sees you and his em field brushing back against yours. Or even pushing out against your frame first if he spots you before you spot him. Beachcomber thinks you do plenty for them and him, so he thinks he should keep doing what he's doing for you.

-

"Thanks for the ride, baby." You pat Omega Supreme's armor after exiting the travel portion of his alt mode. Omega merely shuts his shuttle door closed with a click.

"... I am not a baby." Omega does not feel anger over the casual insult you'd abruptly called him. He is, however, confused considering the context.

"Ah- it's a pet name, love. I'm not insulting you, the opposite, actually." You lean against the shuttle portion of his alt mode. The back of your servo brushes against the shell of his armor. And what he lately registers as your em field, fans over what portions of his armor you can reach. Omega's plating twitches over the warmth that drags along it, and he has to dismiss the immediate urge to lean away. Firstly, because you were not in any way a threat to Omega. Secondly, because he was in his alt mode and he would not be able to do that without shifting into root mode.

Omega Supreme feels- he's not sure what he feels, but he is aware he feels... something. Which considering his past and the unconsensual modification done to his personality module, he's surprised whatever he feels about it is as... solid as it is. No Omega was not completely void of emotion, far from it. Rather, some emotional outputs were now much less common in his frame than... others. And the soft but still present warmth he would feel when you would interact with him in this manner- was not one Omega had felt since before the modification.

Omega Supreme has the very strong urge to evacuate the area when you begin acting the way that causes it. His plating wanting to shift as if his own frame were... uncomfortable. He does not flee, however. You still were not a legitimate threat to him in any way. The longer you persist in your actions, the longer the warmth is no longer as... unpleasant as before. Omega allows the affections, but he does not allow himself to fall victim to the comforted urge to also relax around it. Omega would not allow himself to be harmed twice over. (He, however, finds himself keeping an optic out for your frame on the battlefield. Because it will not happen again. Omega will not allow it to.)

-

"Read 'em and weep, sugar." You drop your full house of metal made cards on the table in front of Smokescreeen, and he clicks his glossia at the sight. He doesn't let his foul mood linger for more than a nano-klick on his faceplate though. He wanted to see how you were settling in on the planet after all. He couldn't scare you away with a negative mood. Smokescreen slides you the polish he'd been betting across the table towards you. Preparing to congratulate you with a well worded compliment.

Only Smokescreen stops when he actually comprehends what you'd just said. Your servo reaches out to meet him halfway, and you lean forward. "What's the matter, Doll? Cybercat, got your glossia?" Your em field brushes warm across the Autobot symbol on his chassis, and he jerks back a touch. You only laugh and lean back in your chair, your new prize in your hold. While Smokescreen's processor runs a mile a klick and his door wings twitch.

Smokescreen takes it as a challenge. And it may very well be the hardest social challenge he's ever taken. But Smokescreen took his position in the Autobot's seriously. He wouldn't let himself get out charmed in a social setting without putting up a proper fight. So Smokescreen meets every little smile and name. He even tries to brush his em field against yours. The act actually made you pause for a moment in surprise. But then you smiled, and your em field pushed back and practically ran over Smokescreen with completely unrestrained affection so thick- he had to make a poor excuse and run before he would admit defeat!

Smokescreen was no youngling or stranger to these types of acts, but the genuine flavor of your actions was almost too much for Smokescreen to handle. He can handle the smiles they were easy- he could meet them. The sweet sound of the words you'd readily call him were harder, but he could keep up! He just couldn't handle your em field yet- but he would learn how to! It was a previously considered inappropriate aspect of social interaction Smokescreen hadn't even considered deploying like this. The results were definitely more than effective. Smokescreen knew just how you made him feel. Not even mentioning how the other Autobots seemed to hum under your attention. Smokescreen was a few vorns behind you, but he would manage to out charm you, just you wait!

[blushingsastiel]

Theo doesn't understand why Liam was so angry, pacing across the floor of his room. The beta still hasn't honed in on his supernatural abilities because it shouldn't have come as a surprise to Liam when Theo limped into his room.

He had carefully snuck past Jenna Dunbar, who had her back turned to the front door and was singing along to music from the kitchen radio. David's truck wasn't outside, so Theo made the reasonable assumption that he was at the hospital for his shift.

The chimera is as quiet as he possibly can be with slowly healing stab wounds across his torso (and an unlucky one on his upper thigh – causing the limp). His pants were soiled with blood and sweat, as was his shirt. It wasn't even his shirt; it was Liam's.

Sometimes when Liam and Theo forget to take their clothes out of the dryer, Jenna is very nice about it and folds the boys' clothes and puts it away in their respective bedrooms. However, sometimes she gives Theo some of Liam's shirts and sweatpants. Neither of the two mind very much (Theo because he likes to be blanketed by Liam's scent and Liam because he has some sort of kink — cough, Liam doesn't mind seeing the chimera in his clothes).

When Theo is right outside of Liam's opened bedroom, he calls out to the beta. "Why are you so anxious?"

It's comedic how fast Liam trips over his own feet to get to Theo when he realizes that it's Theo trying to get his attention. The beta rights himself to stay steady before launching at Theo. Liam's strong arms are quickly wrapped around his waist, an anchor that Theo didn't realize he needed (he loves the feeling of Liam holding onto him). Theo slowly puts his own arms around Liam's shoulders and clings to him.

The next second, Liam takes a small step back from Theo but doesn't take his arms off the chimera completely. Instead, he opts to put his hands on Theo's hips to inspect him.

Unfortunately, that's when Liam notices the blood that is still leaking out of Theo a bit and seeping into the light, grey shirt. The hands on his hips tighten slightly and his smile turns into a deep frown.

"What the fuck?"

The scent of anger and concern is rolling off of Liam in large waves, and Theo has to suppress a shiver at the intense emotions.

Liam brings his eyes up to Theo's and stares at him, his eyes slipping from a dazzling blue to a golden yellow . "Who did this to you?" It's basically a growl that comes out of the beta's mouth.

This time, Theo does shiver.

[oh-no-its-bird]

Hello

Goodbye

Who do u think shes aiming that at,,, there are so many options, there's really no one she wouldn't show attitude to, lets be real. Two specific kids come to mind though, so,

NO SHES SO CUTE IM GONG TO THROW UP !!! IM GONNA BE SICK !!!! I MEAN IT !!!!!!!! SHES SO FUCKING CCUTE IM GONNA SHAKE MY SCREEN TILL IT SHATTERS JUST TRYING TO SHAKE HER !!! YOU DREW HER SO CUTE IM ACTUALLY LOSING IT RN OH MY GODDD

THE SCREAM I LET OUT WHEN I SAW THIS IN MY INBOX?????? HIGH ENOUGH TO SHATTER GLASS I PROMISE U. I LOVE HER SO MUCH, THANK YOU SM FOR DRAWING HER??? LITERALLY OBSESSED. BLOWN AWAY. HONORED. IN AWE. OTHER POSITIVE ADJECTIVES I CANT THINK OF BC IM TOO BUSY STARING AT HER.

THANK YOU SO MUCH I WILL TREASURE THIS FOREER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EV

[alygator77]

a little sneak peak for you guys. motherhood and matrimony ch 10... 🩵🫶🏻

[whumpdoyoumean]

16, slow horses

xxx "Stay still."

"Cartwright!"

River gasps awake and immediately breaks into a coughing fit. Dust hangs heavy in the air and, evidently, in his lungs judging by the way he's currently hacking them up. When he's finally finished, his head and chest ache (his whole body aches, really) and he just lays there a minute, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath.

"You didn't pass out again, did you?"

River opens his eyes again and blinks. It takes a minute for them to adjust in the dim light. Shirley is leaning over him. Besides a general griminess, there's blood on the left side of her face from a deep cut above her eyebrow and she's guarding her ribs on the same side. She looks uncharacteristically worried. It makes River nervous.

"What happened?" he asks, the words scraping from his dry throat.

"You don't remember?"

"Obviously not."

"You don't remember the big fucking explosion?" She sounds mildly exasperated, and it's a welcome return to form.

"That does ring a bell," River murmurs, bits of memory flashing across his brain. He lets out a groan. "Fuck."

"Fuck is right," Shirley agrees. "We've got to get out of here. But we need to get that thing off of you, first."

River, still somewhat disoriented, hadn't even noticed the fact that his right leg is pinned under a large piece of debris. He swallows thickly. "Looks heavy."

Shirley rolls her eyes. "You don't say." Then she crouches down and, gripping the edge of the debris with both hands, says, "Ready?"

"Can you move it on your own?"

"I'm going to pretend you didn't ask that."

There's a determined set to her jaw and she adjusts her grip and stance before she starts to lift. River barely has time to be impressed at her strength before a sharp, blinding pain tears through his leg and he lets out a scream, stars dancing in his vision. By the time he can see again, the chunk of debris is gone. Shirley, panting, is crouched near River, staring at the newly freed limb with a pale, wide-eyed look that makes River's stomach do a back flip.

"What?" he says, moving his arms to push himself up on his elbows.

"Stay still!" Shirley says sharply, putting a firm hand on his right knee.

"What?" River repeats, making to sit up again, and Shirley glares at him.

"I said, don't fucking move!" she snaps.

"Then tell me what's happening!"

"What's happening is you've got a big fucking piece of metal sticking out of your thigh and if you move, you risk slicing right through your femoral artery! Or you'll knock it loose, and bleed out that way."

Ah. So that's why there's a bright, relentless pain on the inside of his right thigh. Now that he's paying attention, he can feel the wet warmth of blood, too, lazily flowing around the shrapnel sticking out of him. River lets out a shaky breath, trying to stave off the panic that's threatening to overtake him.

"Well, that's not good," he says, voice thin.

"Your constant need to state the obvious is starting to piss me off," Shirley says. She looks at his leg again. "How bad is it bleeding?"

"Not too bad, I think," River says, watching as Shirley stands. "What're you doing?" He thinks he knows the answer, but he hopes he's wrong.

"I can't get you out of here on my own. I need to go get help if you're going to stand any kind of chance."

River blanches, swallowing thickly. "You-you're gonna leave me here? Alone?"

"I don't have much choice, and neither do you. Look, try not to bleed out before I get back, yeah? And don't pass out, either. Just. Stay awake until I get back." She must see the fear on River's face, because her own expression softens a little. "I will be back."

"I know you will," River says, and he really does believe it. Whether it'll be before River slowly bleeds to death, or the precarious remnants of the blown-up building collapse on him, is less of a certainty.

Shirley nods. She starts to walk, picking her way through the ruined building, then hesitates, turning back to look at River. "You can do this."

River isn't certain, but he'll sure as hell try.

xxx

[evidenceof]

i have just said something ridiculous to you

Joe Toye has a nice face, George thinks. Strong nose, strong brows, and a scowl that George realized he liked to earn. Miles deep into 2nd Battalion's march to Atlanta, George Luz hears an Irish song from across their frozen campground.

happiest holidays, @blood-mocha-latte, my hbo war 2025 secret santa baby!! ♡ crossing my fingers and hoping i did their voices/headspaces justice. this present is brought to you by equal parts mary oliver's 'i have just said,' that you love, and toye's atlanta march predicament™. i very humbly give to you my very first luztoye fic.

I have just said something ridiculous to you and in response, your glorious laughter. - 'I Have Just Said' by Mary Oliver

-----------------------------------

December 1, 1942 | 2330 hours Campgrounds, 38 miles from Fort Benning

The butter tastes like nothing on his frozen tongue. George winces at the thin oily film it leaves behind in his mouth after he swallows. Too fucking cold, everything was too fucking cold. A ragged chuckle saws its way through his throat while he watches Perco fight a losing battle against his hard slice of bread. Eventually, he rips it in half, elbow colliding with the tent wall and almost costing them their flimsy shelter. A hundred and fifteen miles and they had to survive off of stale bread and pats of butter.

“The way we live you’d think we’re already at the front of the fucking lines.” Perco’s voice was muffled under a thick scarf. “I don’t know what’s worse. This or shit on a shingle.”

“Come on, we got it made.” George lights a cigarette, and flicks off his lighter in an attempt to sweep away any talk of war. “Sightseeing the backcountry, free food, free clothes. These fuckin’ boots? Babies are the best in General Patton's Third Army, so I’ve heard.” His boot lands back on the cold ground with a pathetic thump from where he lifted it. 

“Aw, shut up, Luz.” Perco shoves him backwards, hard, half a slice of bread still in his hand, but with a grin already plastered on his face.

Just barely missing the tent wall, George regains his balance. “All right, all right. Jeez,” he laughs. He presses his hand on Perco’s head to push himself up, earning him a scowl. “Gonna go find a fire before this thing collapses on us.”

The flap of the tent all but snaps in half when he throws it open. Ice crackles down the drab green canvas like peanut brittle. Outside, cold air smacks against George’s face as he takes in the columns of tents around him that stand frosted and gleaming in the moonlight. The temperature had dropped earlier in the afternoon, but tomorrow promised worse terrain because, as far as George was concerned, God had abandoned 2nd Battalion specifically. Why else would they be the only ones walking all the way to fucking Atlanta? There's thirty eight more miles and not nearly enough bad Sobel impressions in George’s back pocket to last them that far.

With a single drag, he polishes off the remainder of his cigarette. Squinting, he spots Lip and Guarnere in the middle of what looks like an attempt at walking without having to bend their knees. Their frosty puffs of breath mirror the smoke he exhales. He sees Lip’s hand raise to greet him at the same time a bad tune cuts across the field, louder than the muffled grousing from inside the pup tents. Only George whips his head towards the direction of the sound.

“Luz, what’re you up to?” Lip’s voice is firm. George doesn’t see, but he hears the smile in it.

“Better not be doin’ anything fuckin’ stupid. I’m goddamn tired of that pansy chicken-shit officer breathing down my neck all fuckin’ day,” spits Guarnere, digging his hands deeper into his pockets. “Sobel, I mean. Winters ain’t no chicken-shit at least.”

George doesn't expect the polite chuckle from Lip who's quick to follow it up with a stern, “Bill.” At that, Guarnere raises an eyebrow like a demanding child, a look that George knows he never let his ma see. “But he’s right, keep your head outta trouble, Luz. Got enough to deal with while Toye’s relegated to K.P,” continues Lip with a grimace.

George tips his head in the direction of the broken Irish song still flitting in the air. “That him?” The scowl on Guarnere’s face is confirmation enough. “What’d he do?”

“Go ask him if you’re so fuckin’ curious,” Guarnere sneers. “Hey, I’m serious Luz. Give Sobel an excuse to take away passes and I’ll shove a trench knife up your ass.”

George knuckles his forehead to mock-salute Guarnere and gives Lip a wink. “I’ll behave for you, Bill,” he sing-songs. It only takes him a second to quash his finished cigarette under his boot before his feet start moving towards the sound almost involuntarily. He finds Toye hunched over a fire, chin resting on his legs that are folded in front of him. Even tucked into himself, there was something intimidating about his angles. It’s those goddamn broad shoulders of his, wide like no one’s business. Certainly not George’s. He doesn’t recognize the words Joe is singing but the tune’s familiar enough. Once or twice, he found himself straining to hear it in the Toccoa showers. It almost feels like a shame to put an end to it. Almost.

“Thought someone was dying. Your bad singing why they’re making you do this?” chides George, nudging Toye with his boot before he takes a seat on the ground. 

Toye clenches his jaw in acknowledgment, any lingering mirth vanishing from his face. “Luz,” says Toye, already exasperated. George watches him jab the weak fire with a stick. The orange glow casts shadows on his irritated face. Nothing quite like pissing off Joe Toye. He has a nice face, George thinks. Strong nose, strong brows, a scowl that George realized he liked to earn. Even with the darkness under his eyes, Toye looks sturdy.

“Aw, c’mon Toye. Not happy to see me?” His teeth chatter and Toye’s lip twitches into the beginnings of a smile. “Lighten up will ya?”

A gust of wind makes them both adjust their scarves. From under his own, Toye shakes his head before glaring at the stick in his hand. George can see him weighing out the pros and cons of throwing it into the pit. “I did. Look where that got me,” says Toye, eventually.

“Hey, least you’re warm right?” George smiles at him while dislodging a clump of dirt from the sole of his boot to throw in Toye’s direction. When it hits the side of his leg, Toye barely flinches. So it was like that, huh? George digs his heel into the hardened ground, dragging himself closer to Joe. “So what’d you do? You can trust me. Who the fuck am I gonna tell?”

Toye continues staring at the flames like they’d done something to offend him. When he doesn’t answer, George inches forward, tracking cold moisture and mud on his trousers. For a moment he’s convinced Toye isn’t paying attention, but George sees how his eye twitches in time with the sound of his ODs scritching against the ground.

“Toye. Toye. Toye. Joe Toye. C’mon, buddy. Tell good ol’ George,” he says, slightly out of breath as he continues to drag himself closer. 

Bright dots of orange float up into the inky blue night when Toye jostles the firewood with his stick. “Not sure you wanna know, Luz,” he says gravely. “What, you need new source material or something? Running out of punchlines?”

“Me? Nah. Been practicing my Strayer,” says George, grinning. He’s not sure if he imagines the little nod from Toye. “When I get that pitch perfect, it'll last us ’til we ship out at least. You’ll fuckin’ see.” There’s caked mud on the ass of his ODs, he feels it. But now Toye was in perfect prodding distance and that made the journey worth it. With his fist, George nudges him once, twice, but he still looks like a goddamn statue staring at the fire, unmoving. “C’mon Toye. What’d you do?”

Nothing prepares him for how quickly Toye swivels his body towards his. He’s so close that George feels his breath on his cheek when Toye says, “You really wanna know? How about you ask me nice, Luz? Throw in a little favor?”

“Like what…?” says George, schooling his face into seriousness. Were Toye’s lashes always this long? George swears he feels the phantom brush of them against his goddamn forehead. He isn’t proud of the way it makes him miss a beat or causes that slight tremble in his voice. Nothing he couldn’t chalk up to the cold, he thinks. And he fucking would, if anyone asks.

“Like take over with these fires for me, you fuckin’ idiot,” growls Toye in his usual low gravelly voice. The white of his teeth catches the corner of George’s eye, then the pink of his lower lip. Damn. It feels almost too late when Toye thwacks the long stick against George’s chest and he nearly falls backwards. “My arm’s falling asleep.”

Clearing his throat to pull himself together is a decision George regrets immediately. It’s raw and cold like the rest of him. But he can deal with the shards of glass lodged into his windpipe better than the fucking knots that just erupted in his stomach. What was with that? He swipes the stick and turns to face the fire so that Joe is just a smudge in his periphery. From a few feet away, he hears Lieb and Alley laughing mercilessly. The thought of them witnessing all that makes his face burn, but he reminds himself everyone’s huddled in their own pup tents.

Toye's voice, resigned now, floats from beside George suddenly. It’s soft from fatigue. “Kid wanted to know what it felt like,” he says but doesn't continue. 

“What what felt like?” George pokes the fire. There’s a hiss and crackle of wood before Toye replies.

“What it’s like to pick up a skirt,” mumbles Toye, sounding embarrassed, forgiving maybe. “Says he gets nervous easy. He’s a buddy of mine from Dog Company, knew him from Pennsylvania, worked the coal mines together. He’s… you know? All stiff-like. Kinda like—”

“Like Winters?” George answers. “The fuck is wrong with you people from Pennsylvania. You born with a complimentary stick up your ass or what?” George wonders if that was too much, but he hears a huff from beside him—a sound that, from his limited knowledge, is the closest thing Toye gets to laughing. There’s a giddiness in his chest that tells him he’s been wanting to hear that for a while.

“Yeah. Yeah, like Lieutenant Winters,” replies Toye, less grave now. George turns to find him smiling down at the ground almost sleepily. It triggers a fresh set of knots right below George’s belly. It makes sense that the guy would ask Toye, George decides. With a face like that, eyes like that, he could bring home just about anyone he wanted. “Tells me he gets jittery, that friend of mine. Loses his fucking words. Needs practice. Needs advice,” says Toye. 

“Just need a face like yours.” It tumbles out of George’s mouth automatically. God, he wanted to shove one of the burning logs down his throat. But if Toye heard, he didn’t show it. Recovering, George continues, “What’d you tell him?”

Calm as anything, Toye lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I didn’t. Gave him a little practical exercise and pushed the guy against a wall,” he says with an even voice. From where he’s turned, the fire illuminates only a portion of his face. Even from a partial view, George could tell he wasn’t joking. Unsurprising; Toye rarely did. “Evans saw.”

“So he served you K.P. duty for jostling a guy? Sounds about right.” George laughs, imagining Evans’ prissy frown. “Your broads usually slam you against walls?”

As an answer, Toye smiles, all teeth, and George stops laughing. 

“It was nothing serious. Wanted to see how well he could come up with one of those lines of his in that position. Said he’s been practicing,” insists Toye. A tiny smirk tugs at the corner of his lip at the sudden shift in George’s face. “I was gentle though, but I think that was the problem. I, uh… I think he liked it.”

There was something about the image George couldn’t quite put together in his mind. He frowns. I think he liked it. 

“You shoulda seen Evans’ face. Kinda looks like yours right now actually, but less red,” Toye grins and George fights the urge to hide his head under his scarf. “Ripped my friend away from me and doled out the punishment. But really, the fucking kicker was him telling me to go see the chaplain. Fucking self-righteous asshole.”

“The chaplain? Since when the fuck do you need to—” Suddenly, it clicks in his mind, and he imagines the scene Evans must have walked into that night. Toye resting a hand against the wall beside the private’s face, the incline of his broad shoulders pointing inward, caging him. Gentle . Those big eyes and lashes too fucking close: Toye looking like the very picture of ease. Only in his head, George erases the face of the nameless PFC from Dog Company and replaces it with his own. Toye’s angles leaning towards him, lips inches away from his face, the feeling of his gravelly voice trailing from the tip of George’s nose all the way down under his shirt. He chokes a bit when he says, disbelieving, “No. Fuck, Toye. Nah, that ain’t right. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” says Toye tightly and looks up to glare at him. George can’t quite meet his eyes. “I was lightening up, remember?”

This close to the fire, George’s hands still feel like ice. “You’re insane, Joe. Fucking insane,” he says, trying to shake off the thought of Toye being close, peering up at a guy through his lashes like a dame. Suddenly, George’s trousers feel tight and his head was spinning in all possible directions.

“Didn’t hurt him. Was only trying to help. I was gentle, like I said,” Toye says lightly, voice already edged with sleep and without a trace of guilt. “Want a demonstration, Luz?”

“What, so you can get caught again? You plan on being K.P. until we’re shipped out?” George hears the higher register in his voice, and feels the way his heart rams against his sternum. He can’t look at Toye so he pokes the fire instead. A hot splinter flies onto his hand and he lets it sting, steering his full attention to the tiny patch of burning flesh.

Toye’s voice is thick with the lack of sleep, but more importantly is suddenly right behind George’s ear, brushing against the tiny hairs he didn’t know existed there. “I won’t tell if you don’t. I can keep a secret,” whispers Toye. George almost moans, but catches himself. It comes out a fumbling huff instead. The tightness of his trousers stop him from moving away.

“Well,” George tries to say. His zipper brushes against his skivvies and he almost jumps. If not for the jacket, the tented crotch area of his trousers would be on full display. Christ, he hopes Toye’s sleep-deprived enough to forget all this by the end of the march. “I can’t.” 

Toye laughs, fully now. George feels it on his nape, the hahas hitting his skin like long-burning coals. God, it felt good. 

“I’ll try it on you one day, Luz,” says Toye. George isn’t sure if he imagines Toye’s palm resting on his hip. It's too much and he feels like passing out. All the blood from his brain seems pool to right down into his crotch. It was getting harder to think, let alone respond. 

“You’re funny,” manages George eventually. Toye’s breath smells like Juicy Fruit, sweet.

“Yeah? I like surprising people like that,” says Toye, like a purr. When he moves away, Toye keeps the smile fixed on his face. The missing pressure of his hand leaves a cold mark on George’s side. So that was real. The affirmation only intensifies the heat below his stomach.

“You make a habit of shoving enlisted men against walls?” breathes George. It feels too good to keep this line of conversation going, everything in his body says so. But George couldn’t trust himself or his faculties. He was still thinking of Juicy Fruit in his mouth.

“Among other things.” Toye smirks lazily at him, and tilts his head up at the sky. George tells himself it’s the fatigue and the proximity to smoke that makes every word Toye says sound flirtatious. This fucking march had everyone acting strange, especially him.

“You are insane,” he says again, voice trembling. No way in hell was this guy a fairy. Didn’t fucking look like one anyway, all broad shouldered and angular. Nothing about him swished: not his fucking voice, or his fucking hips. Shit just don’t add up like that. But neither did the tightness in his OD trousers that didn't feel like it would disappear fast enough.

“A compliment coming from you, George.” Toye buries his face in his palms. “Fuck, I’m tired,” he says, the words drawn out of him like an exhale.

George watches his body sway slightly, tipping almost imperceptibly in and out of consciousness. “You sleep at all Joe?” Toye yawns as an answer; it shudders through him. He was just tired and spread thin, George thinks, they all were. And that got you acting different, that got you acting abnormal.

“No. But Evans still has it out for me. He’s lurking somewhere,” Toye says, not looking up from where George thinks he’s already fallen half asleep. The sharp angles of Toye’s shoulders droop, sagging under the weight of a second day without sleep. George lights another cigarette, finally, to keep his hands from doing something really fucking stupid like throwing a blanket over Toye and shoving his head onto his lap. Shit that guy from Dog Company can’t do, he thinks, feeling an odd barb of possessiveness while looking at Toye’s drooping head.

“Hey, I got this, all right?” argues George, gesturing at the growing fire.

“Shut up, Luz. I’m not looking for handouts.” But Toye’s voice dips in volume, belying the stubbornness in it.

“C’mon, Joe. You can’t be the only one handing out favors from the goodness of your heart,” George offers something like understanding. From his palms, Toye glances up at him, questioning. He’d look almost offended if he didn’t look so soft.

“Twenty minutes. Sleep. We got thirty-eight miles left in the morning and you look like shit,” continues George. Toye’s gaze doesn’t move away from him. So he stares back, feeling a little selfish, tracing Toye’s dark lashes and pink lips with his eyes. He wonders if they’ll ever get to sit this close again. “I’m saying if Evans comes around, I’ll charm him for ya.”

“Yeah?” says Toye, still looking at George, a small smile hooked on his lips. The sounds of the camp feel like they’ve all but disappeared. “Yeah. You’re good at that.”

His cigarette burns down to the filter but George continues to suck on it, unable to fish it out with his shaking hands that he’s hidden in his jacket pockets. They’re warm now, so it couldn’t have been the cold causing the trembling. He can still feel Toye’s laugh ricocheting on his neck.

Toye breaks their little staring contest and faces the fire. “Fine, twenty minutes.” 

“Sure buddy.” George watches Toye’s chin droop down onto his chest and his eyes flutter shut, lashes twitching. He’s asleep immediately. When he’s sure Toye was out cold, George fishes out a blanket from his pack and drapes the whole thing across Toye’s shoulders with a gentleness he didn’t know he had. “Take as long as you like.”

[vesanal]

YAHOOO! Officially OFFICIALLYYYY 100 of yall follow me(instead of just a collective of both accounts lol)!! That’s absolutely insane I could fill an entire room up of y’all. Wow. Thank yall so much for all the love and support, it’s crazy to think that I’ve only been here like 3 months. Just looking at the number is just unbelievable 🫶🫶

Now I wanna do something to thank all yall <3

But what should I do to celebrate?!?

Please reblog or reply or send an ask because I want to see what you guys wanna see from me!!

That’s it bye bye

taglist under cut since i never use it ever so i'll use it rn

@seastarblue @seafloor507 @stars-forever @viridis-icithus @estrellasxxminis @synthesistoagreatercreation @ink-stains-and-constellations @wyked-rebellion @satohqbanana @amatowriting @riverstixx @theodora47 @selfemployedmess @thebookishkiwi @17panicattacksinatrenchcoat @memento-morianon @the-ellia-west @write-with-will @jwritesalright @sunflowerrosy @myniceisniceblogbloglog @corinneglass