#Durable wooden flooring

[sorbetisfruity]

Guys Guys GUYSSS I have oh, Oh so many Thoughts right now.

Imagine:

Kiss the Girl scene with MC and TWST’s version of Ariel.

Rielle (his fan-given name) goes to Azul, saying he wants to become a human forever to stay with a human he’s fallen in love with!!

And who’s Azul to deny him?

He quickly finds out that the human he’s fallen for is NRA’s one and only magicless hero.

You!!

And, of course, Azuls not one to make a contract without getting something in return.

Especially when Rielle’s into the human he’s got a teeny tiny HUGEEEE crush on.

Soo, he makes him a deal.

If he can kiss MC within 3 days by sundown, he becomes human forever, and gets to keep his voice.

And if he can’t?

Azul keeps his voice, and him, forever.

Rielle makes the deal without thinking, throwing a scale he ripped off into the pot, allowing Azul to take his voice.

Azul sends him away after the transaction is complete, handing a shell-shaped locket to Jade and Floyd, who were giggling, knowing how this would go.

After hearing the very stupid deal Rielle made, his friends quickly came up with a plan.

You two would have a romantic boat ride, and kiss there!!

It was full proof-it HAD to be!

After all, nearly two days have already passed. They have no choice now.

What none of them accounted for was you-unintentionally-knowing everything.

———————————————————————

“Rielle? Where are ya takin me?” You laughed as he pulled you along, not saying a word to you.

It seems as if he was giving you the silent treatment these past few days, not saying a single word.

It struck you as weird, if you were honest. Rielle was always a chatterbox, constantly talking about things he’d find on the ocean floor and his adventures under water.

However, after talking to his friends, Flounder and Neige, you found out he had a big performance soon and was on vocal rest.

You didn’t believe them at first, as they stuttered nervously throughout their entire explanation. But you knew at least Neige would never lie to you.

Right?

The whole situation reminded you of the original Little Mermaid, with his lost voice and all. He hadn’t even went into the ocean lately, which he tends to do after school.

It all brought a feeling of unease upon you.

Though, you knew Rielle wasn’t in love with anybody, let alone you.

There was no way he made a deal with Azul…right?

Rielle looked back at you, a playful smile on his lips as he brought a finger up, silently shushing you.

You rolled your eyes as you giggled, continuing to let yourself be dragged around by him.

Once you two reached your destination, he pulled back a curtain of long, glowing vines, revealing a small wooden boat.

Your mouth dropped, immediately feeling your stomach start to swarm with butterflies.

Either you were going crazy, or this is playing out exactly as it did in the movie.

The missing voice, the way he’s been weirdly close to you these past two days, not going into the ocean…and now this!?!

You’re going to kick Azuls ass.

Rielle snapped you out of your trance, giving you a worried look.

“Ah, sorry! Don’t worry, I’m fine.” You nervously laughed it off, chewing on your bottom lip.

Rielle got into the boat first, testing the durability of it. Once he felt that it was fine, he reached his hand out to you softly, looking at you with eyes filled with something you couldn’t pinpoint.

You blushed as you took his hand, allowing him to yank you into his hard chest.

He held you there for a moment. His other arm around your waist as he held your hand close to his heart.

You didn’t dare look up. You wouldn’t allow yourself to.

You gently pushed yourself away from his chest, clearing your throat.

“So..you took me out here in the middle of the night to take a boat ride, huh?” You smiled, giggling a bit.

He grabbed your hands once again, making you look up at him.

You regretted it almost immediately.

He looked undeniably gorgeous under the soft yellow lights of the fire flies around you. A dark red covered his cheeks, and even his ears! The color rivaled his hair. His mouth was slightly agape as he stared down at you, seemingly speechless.

He nodded quickly, letting go of you and pushing the boat off before you had time to sit, making you fall back.

“Damn, a warning would’ve been nice..” you said lightheartedly, rubbing your sore back as you looked down at the water.

Your eyes widened as you looked down, swearing you saw a green tail quickly swim past…

You felt Rielle grab your hands with his own, clearly looking apologetic.

“I’m fine, don’t worry!! I was joshin, don’t sweat it Rielle..” you reassured, feeling something bump the boat.

‘Shit…that’s gotta be Jade and Floyd!!’ you thought, biting your bottom lip again.

You looked at Rielle, seeing how his gaze was fixated on your lips. Your face flushed, suddenly feeling hot as you shuffled in your spot.

“Rielle, listen…” you trailed off, watching him snap up and meet your eyes.

“I know what’s happening to you. I know you’re cursed, and I know you have to…kiss me..to break it. I know everything, Rielle.”

You felt another bump under the boat, this one more aggressive than the last.

Rielle looked upset, distraught, concerned..he gripped your hands tighter as his mouth moved, but no sounds came out.

“It’s okay!!! It’s okay. I’m gonna get your voice back, don’t worry Rielle. But first…”

You practically ripped your hands away from his, standing on the boat as you struggled to find your balance.

“I’ve gotta grab something.”

You eyed one of the green, slippery tails that has been bumping into the boat, before grabbing onto it with a tight, firm grip, yanking up one of the tweels onto the boat.

“Shrimpy?” “Floyd! What the fuck?!”

“If you don’t go and get my friends voice back right now, so help me god I will-“

“Calmmmm dooooown Shrimpy! If you want this little mermaids-well, used to be little mermaids-voice back, you’re gonna have to kiss him!! Ooorrrrr, go hunt down Azul.”

“And we are not going to let that first option happen.” Jade chimed in, leaning against the boat now.

“Okay, first of all, I’m gonna hunt down Azul either way. I thought he was better than this but apparently he’s not-and YOU TWO aren’t either.”

“And you!” You turned to Rielle, “you sacrificed your mermaid powers for me?? WHY?! You can turn into a human anyways! There was no need to sacrifice that for me! I’m not worth sacrificing shit like THAT for! Let alone anything!!” You stressed, tears starting to form at the corners of your eyes.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, turning back to Jade and Floyd.

“Take me to Azul. Now. I’m gonna have a little..talk with his octopus ass.”

“Rielle, go back to RSA. I’ll come for you in the morning and let you know what happened, okay? Stay safe. Don’t make anymore stupid deals.” You leaned down to his height, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek before getting yanked away by Floyd.

“Awwww come onnnn Shrimpy!~ Do we get kisses nowwww?” Floyd whined, squeezing you tightly.

“No, you guys aren’t getting anything from me until Rielle gets his voice back. Now let’s go.” You spoke sternly, wiggling yourself out of his slimy embrace.

“Of course, come on, let’s head back to NRA.” Jade chimed in, turning back into his human form as Floyd did the same, knowing you couldn’t breathe under water like they can.

You gave one last look at Rielle, a look full of determination, before walking off with the twins, sighing as Floyd began to talk your ear off.

———————————————————————

Part two Mayhaps?

This scenario has been playing in my mind since the live action Little Mermaid came out btw, I just hadn’t decided to write it out until nowwwww!!

I doooo have a pretty sick idea for a part two where MC (aka YOUUUU) gets Rielles voice back, but I’d love to know if you guys would like a part two just in case!

Byeeeeee guyssss >:0)

[tothosewholisten]

Forever Healed | TUA insert

Chapter: 08

<<previous chapter | next chapter>>

Masterlist

Tw: dead animal and copious amounts of blood

…

“Welcome to The Umbrella Academy, Number Zero.”

“Number Zero, get up.”

“Go to your room Number Zero.”

“Do what you're told, Number Zero.”

“Number Zero! Come here.”

“Stop crying Number Zero.”

“You aren’t a baby Number Zero.”

“No dinner for Number Zero.”

“You're not good enough Number Zero.”

“Stop misbehaving Number Zero.”

Phrases I've heard Reginald say time and time again. I hated that girl Number Zero, whoever she was.

My name is Y/n L/n, and Reginald Hargreeves knew that. But I hated him too because he made me like this. A freak of nature and it was clear he hated me too.

Not once would you ever hear praise and the words ‘Number Zero’ in the same sentence.

So I never understood why he adopted me if he couldn’t stand the sight of me. But deep down I knew why, it was the same reason why he adopted all of us children he needed our powers not us.

He would make me do whatever he wanted without concern or consequence. And nobody would dare tell him no, cause he did the same thing to everyone else around him.

I slept on the cold table for what felt like years, as my mind drifted to days I'd like to forget.

..

17 YEARS AGO

I stood alone in the middle of an unfamiliar room anxious for what was to come. There was no furniture or even windows except for a small wooden desk, and the only glow in said room came from the desk lamp.

Today was my first day of training, Reginald explained to me. And I was a scared twelve-year-old who’d just arrived at the Academy.

He stood in front of me, stopwatch in his bony hand. But he wasn't the only person in the room. There was another man I did not know, and all I can remember about him was how tall he was.

“Begin.”

My stance was shaky as a withering tree when Reginald uttered those words. I didn't know what to do, I just kept standing there. But the man didn't.

He inched closer and closer so I moved back, extremely terrified when it clicked in my head what the man was about to do.

“Do it.”

The man’s steps wavered, but he followed instructions. He raised the gun in his right hand and he shot me.

The sound of the bullet leaving the gun made the room shake and my screaming body instantly hit the cold wooden floor.

Then I heard the stopwatch start.

The bullet hit me directly in the heart. The man must've been some type of trained killer because of the way he would hit me with great accuracy each time. As expected I was still conscious but too scared to move, so I sat there paralyzed and cried. I cried because It hurt. I cried for my mother. I cried because that was all I could do.

Nobody in the room moved; they were waiting for the thing to happen.

And they didn't have to wait that long. At first, it felt like gears were turning in my head. But from the perspective of Reginald the somewhat dark room was illuminated by the swirls of bright light coming from my chest. Then I could move my feet and fingers and I could blink.

I sat upwards from my uncomfortable position as the bullet that had just been in me popped back out. And the spilled blood surrounding my body reversed back into my chest as well as my old bullet wound was completely healed.

I was as good as new.

“Again.”

..

“Number Zero, get up.”

Every day felt like a constant battle. I was beaten, mangled and killed every single day in new sick ways that he came up with.

“We have a lot to work on, Number Zero. You have missed years of training already. You cannot play anymore.”

I went to bed everyday yearning for it to be over but I kept coming back each day for more. I learned to fight from getting my ass kicked. He tested my durability and timed me, by telling me to break my bones and rip off body parts, just to see how long it would take for them to heal.

“You need to be better, Number Zero.”

“I'm trying!” I screamed but it fell on deaf ears. I'd never fought anyone before, he expected everything to be engraved in my head by day five. And when it wasn't he started taking things away.

“No dinner for Number Zero.”

..

I was angry. I threw tantrums, destroyed my room and hurt myself. Which never mattered to him.

“Stop misbehaving Number Zero.”

By thirteen I did what I had to but I tuned the world out. My thought process was whatever happened to me just happens and I'll always be okay.

He turned me into a shell of my past self. Who could kill whoever he needed and get back up whenever pushed down. And I don’t think anybody knew the extent my private lessons were going and I wasn't going to tell them either way.

..

“Number Zero! Come here.”

It wasn't only myself I had to heal, he tried to have me heal others too.

I'd found myself again in the same room where I was first trained. This time accompanied by a dog, I don’t remember what breed he was but he was cute and fluffy and I wished I could keep him.

The same man from before with the same gun stood against the wall.

“Begin.”

The dog was let off his leash and ran towards me. He licked my face, he wanted to play, he was a nice dog.

My happiness didn't last for long, because the man got off the wall and headed towards us. I hugged the small dog hoping that if I held him hard enough he wouldn't do what he was assigned. But that man always followed instructions.

“Do it.”

The fluffy dog was taken out of my arms. He barked in protest and tried to run back over to me but he never made it. He was shot right in his stomach. I burst into tears, trying to run out of the room.

“Stop crying Number Zero. You aren’t a baby.”

Reginald grabbed me and made me face the dying dog. He threw me towards him yelling a command.

“Do what you're told, Number Zero.”

I tried, I honestly did, but I couldn’t do it. No one told me how he just expected me to know how to heal the dog. I've only healed my mother and I wasn't even sure how I did that.

My hands were covered in the dog's blood as I sobbed. I thought if I just thought about it hard it would happen, and yes my hands did flicker but the dog still laid there dead.

“I can’t,” I whispered

I wanted to save that dog. I looked up at the disappointed Reginald, not knowing what to do.

“You're not good enough Number Zero.”

The dog's life force was officially gone. He was the first thing I let die.

I screamed and kicked trying to get my hands back on the dog but I was dragged out of the room.

“Mission one failed,” Reginald said out loud while writing in his book.

..

PRESENT DAY

“Miss Y/n, are you listening?” The ape snapped his fingers in front of my dazed face. I was still on the table in the operations room, and judging by Pogo’s restlessness I'd been here for a while.

I gasped while grabbing onto my head, which still felt partially bashed in. “How long have I been here for?” I asked him.

Pogo’s hairy hands went into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a tiny pocket watch. “Well, Master Diego dropped you off here around Nine pm yesterday and now it’s about a quarter till Nine am. Almost Ten hours Miss Y/n.”

“Ten hours and my head hasn’t healed yet?” My clasped hands moved from my head to my hair as I tugged and worried. “What’s going on with me, a—are my powers not working??” I started to hyperventilate. Without these powers, I'm sure that I’ll succumb to my injuries and die.

The ape shook his head. “Your powers are working just fine, don’t worry my dear. I've been here ever since Master Diego found me and told me of the situation. Your head is healing, yes, but very slowly.”

I didn’t want this to be the end, there was still so much I could do, but then again I've never actually put any thought into how it would go.

Being bludgeoned by a man with a kid’s mask on is not how I'm leaving this world.

I take a deep breath to calm my nerves just as Vanya taught me a while back. Oh shit. “Where’s Vanya?”

Pogo looks away from me. “After the attack on the academy yesterday, your other siblings minus Master Luther deemed it was too risky for her to stay. Because she cannot protect herself like the rest of you..”

“They kicked her out?” I begrudgingly stood up from my seat. “Why do they always do that? I saved her. It's okay now, and she would’ve never gotten hurt if she wasn't looking for me.”

“Miss Y/n please, I don't advise you to leave you aren’t healed. Please sit back down, you can find her later.” He was right, even just standing up took the wind out of me.

Maybe my age was finally catching up with me and this is how my life will continue. I took a seat back down as I finally registered what I was wearing by looking down, I no longer had my jacket. Just jeans and my black shirt.

“Oh! I think Master Diego hung up your jacket back in your bedroom.” Pogo said, sensing my confusion. “It’s a miracle that thing had no blood on it or tears, I know how much that jacket means to you.”

“That’s very nice of him? I didn't know he had it in him.”

“Of course my dear, everyone worries for you. You always took beating after beating with no repercussions. It always amazed me. That being said, you need to be careful.” He explains.

I scratch at my freezing skin. “What?”

“Because you need to take it easy, yes you are formidable but that doesn’t mean you can go around just injuring yourself.” The monkey's accent enunciated every word.

I laugh. “Reginald used to think so.” Pogo stops mid-thought at the mention of him. He looks at me with sorrow in his big eyes. “Never mind that.” He says boldly.

“You took lots of hits yesterday even before getting your head caved in. Other areas of your body heal faster but the brain is such a febrile thing. You need your brain to be able to connect with your powers, being shot once is one thing. But being hit with such intenseness, you're glad your brain was still able to do it. Other times in the future you won't be as lucky, my girl.”

Thank God I stayed awake. No literally thank God, whatever grass field I woke up in felt like death.

“Stay here for maybe five more hours and it should be healed.”

My tense body shivers as I speak up. “Pogo I can’t wait that long, who knows what I missed I need to get back out there.”

“No, I’m prescribing you to stay here and heal your injury.” The short man said.

“Vanya has been kicked out, people just attacked our house, I haven’t seen Klaus and Five forever and who knows what the idiot patrol is going to do next!” I ramble while on my fingers everything that's been going on recently.

He looks up at my disgruntled figure.

“Pogo, please.”

He sighs. “There is a slight alternative, however, it's never been tested and is probably quite painful.” Pogo turns from me to rummage in a few shelves.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I'm afraid you're not going to be happy when you figure out what it is, Miss Y/n.” He yelled from the other side of the room. “I'm sure I've heard worse, Pogo.”

The man returns with an old wooden box covered in small detailed vines. “Your father was always worried that any moment could be your last. For example, If you were too weak to activate your powers or didn’t on purpose.”

“Once you were around fourteen, he started to work on your blood by gathering samples. He did things to alter the samples to create the perfect healing serum or just a boost for your powers.”

I told Pogo I'd be ready for any news but this had been terrifying. “When did he have time to even do that?”

“All of your checkups here in the operations room.” Pogo tilts his head down. “That’s when he would take samples.”

“That is so fucked.” I yell. “How could I have never suspected something was happening when I would be in here almost every day?”

“None of this is your fault, your father just wanted to make sure you're safe. Even if his measures were a bit forward.”

I shake my head at him. “Pogo, this wasn't out of love at all, don't you realize he only did this because he needed me for his purpose? So that I couldn’t get free of this. He only needed me alive for my powers, not because he cared.”

“I assure you your father meant well, somewhere in his heart. But now is the time to use it to speed up the process of your head healing.” Pogo lifts open the top of the box revealing a velvet inside. And rows and rows of tiny indents in the velvet that held little vials of liquid. This liquid looked exactly like my powers, even though it was made out of my normal-colored blood.

It makes me shudder thinking about what he did to it, and me. But I know I had to get it done if I wanted to get out of here. “Okay, so we just inject it into my arm? And I walk out of here after?”

“Not exactly..” says Pogo. “We don't know what could happen, it’s never been tested on anyone. But my best guess is to inject it right into the injury so it will spread there.”

“You mean you're going to stick a needle into my head?” I look at him in horror.

“Why yes, unless you want to take my instructions to wait here for five hours.”

“Grab the needle.”

..

After a bunch of hesitance and worrying Pogo had me lay down on the table fully. He walked up to my indented head with the syringe and without warning stuck it in my head. “Pogo!” I cry out.

The ape didn't respond, instead, he put the box back on the shelf where he got it. “How do you feel?” He asked.

At this point I didn't feel anything different from the splitting headache my broken head was giving me. “I feel the same-“

Then it started to hit me. It felt like a mix of adrenaline and crack all at once.

My powers shined around my head, the healing felt like it was moving faster than I could compute it. It made my body feel like it was on fire, and I signaled that to the ape by screaming out in pain. But it didn't last long because like I said, my powers were moving fast. I blinked and my head felt as good as new.

Pogo stared at me in shock at the display he just watched. “It’s a miracle!” He grins. “How did it feel?”

My eyes darted across the room trying to put into words, outside of my head, how the sensation felt.

“Well I wouldn't recommend it, but it got the job done. Hopefully, I never have to take that again. But thank you Pogo” I reply standing up while my wobbly legs try to position themselves correctly.

“I need to do something that's going to contribute. Either find Five or Vanya or talk to everyone else.” I mutter under my breath.

He stuttered wanting to say more and try to convince me any way he could but my path to the door was clear.

“Thanks again, Pogo!” I shouted over my shoulder. I wasn't even sure how the rest of the mansion would look after the attack, I just wished everyone was okay.

…

Aug 14 update:

If you'd like to be added to the tag list for rest of the series (starts at chapter 10) say taglist in the comments!

[luna-desert]

i take notes text:

Let's design a house for 100 million slug pups, So after Five Pebbles fixed up the super structure he struck gold, adopted an exploding slug cat and cleared out the metropolis, life was awesome. Then his slug cat gave birth to 100 million slug pups all at once. The room was way too small. No problem for five pebbles though. He used his secret animal technique, with one powerful move he expanded the entire floor, borrowed 500 square meters from the neighbor Looks To The Moon, and then set up like this. Lay down the eco friendly wooden floor tiles and install slime mold and gooieduck on the ceiling to brighten up the room. He dug round holes on each floor of the exterior wall and installed extra small pin holes to keep the air fresh and let the slug pups in. Then he used tons of galvanized square steel to weld one billion bed frames, covering them with eco friendly wood veneers that are durable for 100 cycles. He borrowed a million clumps of moss from his neighbor Looks To The Moons super structure, so each of the million slug pups has their own separate bed. Now the slug pups are separated and dont make any noise. They even sleep smelling like nothing at night. He didn't waste any space under the beds either. Five Pebbles installed long drawers small enough for all the slug pups pearls and baby rattle toys. The newly welded and covered eco friendly floor slab is beautiful, strong, and sturdy. Between floors he installed cages full of lizards and scavengers for entertainment. Big investments bring high returns, and the focus is on the billion slug pups. Going up and down the walls is now easier and more convenient. Forget traditional den entrances, they're too easy for naughty slug pups to kick open. Instead he installed heavy titanium alloy doors that even a miros vultures blast cant dent. To top it off, five pebbles installed a set of access controls at the door with facial recognition its safer for the slug pups to enter and exit ensuring no smelly scavengers sneak in. Five Pebble added a few more galvanized square steel beams on the wall and set up filled with snacks that slug pups love encouraging them to develop the good habit of hunting every day. And a wet pond to play in borrowed from Looks To The Moon. In the middle he placed a large statue of the ancients for the slug pups to worship daily. Inspiring dreams of karma and ascending. This is how little Pebble organized his home comfortably accommodating 1 billion slug pups. More slug cats more joy more happiness and fewer worries.

[ceask]

Nightmare's castle is literally so fancy. So elegant. So dark, so royal, so magical and whimsical.

Every window is covered with curtains, which are embroidered with silver thread in shapes of tree branches. Every piece of furniture is soft and nice, the wooden chairs having those fancy curves on them, and most of the beds have a fancy carcass to them.

Honestly, it's perfect for a King like Nightmare.

IF ONLY HE DIDNT HAVE A BUNCH OF PSYCHOPATHIC RATS RUNNING AROUND AND BREAKING EVERYTHING 😭😭😭😭😭

Killer is so modern compared to all the fancy stuff. Dust is just basic and plain. Horror looks like a homeless man. Cross is the closest thing to fancy that they have around there, and that's only if you count him as a baddie.

When I say most of the beds have a carcass, I mean some have literally been broken and had to be removed. Killer sleeps on the floor on a mattress because it's comfy for him like that, it's easy to roll out of and roll back into. Horror had his carcass replaced with something simple and metal rather than wood because he would accidentally crush it.

Every chair in the dining room is now just some random chair. Except for one, there's one fancy chair left and Nightmare is literally gonna kill anyone that touches it. It's his now. The rest of the chairs are just random ones they stole from abandoned aus. Why are they all broken? TAKE A DAMN GUESS!! Obv it's Killer and Dust who just destroy everything around them like hostile cats whenever they're in a certain state of mind.

So many things are broken and worn down, making the castle look messy. Nightmare used to hate it, but it grew to him, plus he didn't really have the resources to fix everything. Like not until him and Dream signed a truce. Now, he just doesn't want to put down the framed hole in the wall that Dust somehow managed to punch through. The walls are like thick and durable. Guess that one was rotting.

[professional-yapper]

Proximity pt. 2

Neteyam x Olangi! Reader

Warnings: none just fluff and bonding, reader is kind of shy because they already messed up and don't wanna do it again, reader is in denial

"This will be our home," Neteyam said, ready to pull back the beaded curtain covering the entrance should you want to go inside. He hoped you would, at least. "I built it myself," he adds, trying not to sound like he's bragging but wanting to impress you nonetheless.

Kiri had made the curtain, after much pestering from Neteyam, who, though he hadn't been entirely onboard with the union, still wanted to give you a good first impression, both of him and the home he had built for you both. Kiri was more gifted with that sort of thing anyway.

You touched the beads, eyes widening a little as you turned a few strings over in your hand, admiring the way they sparkled in the sunlight.

There were many different kinds of beads. Some were shaped from glittering stones found in the river, others carved from wood and polished until they gleamed. Some were painted, some left to their natural colour.

All were painstakingly threaded onto numerous strings for Neteyam to hang up over the entrance of what he prayed to the Great Mother would be a happy home, even if there was no love in it.

"You like it? My sister Kiri made it for us," Neteyam said eagerly, ears angling forward as his golden eyes searched your face.

"Yeah," you hummed, still looking at the beads. "It's beautiful. Where do you get beads like this?"

Neteyam smiled. "Some Kiri found in the river, others were carved by Lo'ak, and some Tuk brought back from her exploring."

"That's sweet of them," you said, smiling back, ears drooping a little bashfully. "We don't get to have pretty things like this. Because we're nomadic. Everything has to be practical, durable, easily packed away and transported."

Neteyam noticed one of your braids had fallen across your face, the pearly bone beads bumping against your cheek. Without thinking, he reached out and tucked it behind your ear.

You stiffened under his touch but didn't say anything, just kept looking up at him.

"Sorry," Neteyam said, but didn't pull his hand away, instead letting his fingers linger on the curve of your jaw.

The world seems to hold its breath, and you wonder for a brief moment if he's flirting with you or if all Omaticaya are simply this affectionate, regardless of whether you're a fellow Omaticaya or the sheltered Olangi royalty they're being married off to.

You don't want to make another stupid assumption and look like an idiot in front of Neteyam again, so you smile again, tighter this time, lips pressed together in a thin line, and duck away, brushing past the bead curtain and into what is to be your home.

And his, you suppose, but the mating ceremony isn't for a week yet, so you'll be alone in this hut till then.

The beads clack together behind you, and you're dimly aware of Neteyam's burning gaze on the back of your head, but you're distracted by your new surroundings.

It's large and airy, sunlight spilling across the wooden floorboards. A stark contrast to the compact, airtight, dark tents you grew up in. You quite like it, though, if you're being honest. There's a beautiful view of the village on one side, and of the forest on the other, a nameless bird singing in the undergrowth. A warm breeze shifts through the space, carrying with it the heady scent of summer.

You're almost entranced, turning in a slow circle, feasting your eyes on everything. Something hanging in one of the windows catches your eye, and you pad across the floor to touch it. It clinks and rings out merrily under your fingers, and you find yourself looking back to Neteyam for answers.

Neteyam is standing by the entrance, watching you with an unreadable expression, arms folded as he leans against the frame, tail coiling and curling in the air behind him. You wonder what that means. Omaticaya tails are so much more flexible than Olangi tails, and you're pretty sure they use them to convey emotion. You're just not sure which motion means what.

"What is this?" you ask politely, closing your hand around what seem to be slender, hollow metal pipes to stop them from making the sound.

"A wind chime," Neteyam answered, voice warm with barely-hidden amusement. "My mother thought you might like it. Do you not? We can take it down if-"

"No, I like it!" you assure him, taking a final glance at the foreign object before releasing it and continuing to explore the hut.

Everything in it is so solid. So permanent. You've never lived in one place for more than a few months- half a year at a stretch. It will take a while to adapt to not packing up and moving every so often.

At least it's well-built, or as well-built as you can make out. "It's good," you murmur, tilting your head back to look at the roof. Tightly woven plants of some kind, to keep the rain out, you presume, over wooden beams. You wonder if they've ever tried it with animal skin.

"I'm glad you like it," Neteyam says from behind you, and you can hear him moving across the floor, coming to stand beside you, his shoulder brushing against your own. "It will take some getting used to, I guess."

You just hum in confirmation, not moving away, finding that you kind of enjoy the warmth of his arm against yours.

"Your paint's smudging a little," Neteyam added, giving your face a sideways glance.

You frown, hands flying to your face, though you know you won't be able to feel the paint, so carefully and lovingly painted onto your face by your mother for your union. You knew it wouldn't last and you'd have to redo it yourself before the actual ceremony, but the sentiment meant the world to you.

"Careful!" Neteyam said, catching your hands in his, grinning. "You'll smudge it more. It's not-" He pauses, scrutinising your face paint. "It's not that bad. Just a little smear. I'll get it."

You hold your breath as he takes ahold of your face with one hand, gentle but firm, and rubs his thumb across your cheekbone, leaving a red streak down the side of his digit and hopefully cleaning your paint up a little.

"Better," he murmurs, tilting his head, braids spilling across broad blue shoulders.

You didn't realise how attractive he was before. You wish you had. You could've looked at him more, appreciated his beauty more. But no matter.

You could stare at him now, since he didn't seem to be letting go of your face any time soon, and you did, drinking him in greedily, your eyes roaming across big, warm, golden eyes, soft, flat nose that was slightly pink at the end, thin lips that seemed to perpetually be hinting at a smile.

Neteyam took a minute to realise you were staring. Probably because he was staring too. He smiled.

Neteyam smiled a lot, you noted. Kind of like your oldest brother Ru'pa, except Ru'pa smiled at everything because he was an idiot. Ru'pa irritated you. Neteyam did not.

Neteyam smiled and his eyes flickered to your lips. At least, you thought they did. You hoped they did.

His lips parted, and you sucked in a silent breath, praying to the Great Mother that he wouldn't break the serene, warm silence that had fallen over the hut with something commonplace or boring, like more questions about your tribe.

Not that you minded the questions! Just that, for the first time in your life, you realised you wanted to kiss someone. Very badly.

"Do you think I'll smudge your paint more if I kiss you?" Neteyam murmured.

You blinked, then smiled a little too eagerly to be dignified. "I don't mind," you whispered.

Neteyam covered your mouth with his, warm and sweet and tasting of yovo, cradling your face almost reverently.

You were unsure of what to do with your hands, and settled on hooking your fingers into his neckpiece, inadvertently tugging him down a little.

Neteyam made a startled noise against your mouth, eyes flying open briefly, before he kissed you deeper, one arm shifting to slide around your lower back, tugging you closer in turn.

You were glad you two had your own home, honestly. And that it was far from your home, which was rich with exasperating older brothers with no sense of boundaries, who would delight in bursting in this very second and ruining it if they could.

You found kissing was better than you had imagined. More experienced friends back home had regaled you with tales of their own romantic experiences, though at the time it had just seemed dumb and kind of awkward and gross.

It wasn't so bad being proven wrong.

Neteyam's lips warmed you right down to the tip of your tail, and you instinctively tightened your hold on him, seeking to be closer even if it wasn't possible. Your action made him smile against your mouth, like your almost-childish desperation was funny to him.

Finally, he shifted back a little, resting his forehead against yours- which definitely would smudge your paint and possibly get it on him too, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop him. Blinking slowly, reminding you of a palulukan lazing in the sun, he draped both arms around your waist, and smiled again down at you.

You couldn't help laughing as you looked up at him, going a little cross-eyed as you found your paint had indeed smeared on his lips a little.

"What?" Neteyam demanded playfully, catching your tail in his hand and squeezing.

"Nothing, nothing," you said, trying to contain a smile, squeaking as he tugged on your tail lightly.

"C'mon, tell me," he coaxed, releasing your tail and running his thumb across your jaw to your chin, pressing into your bottom lip.

"It's just-" you began, beginning to laugh again, lifting your own hand in an attempt to wipe it off his face. "You've got paint on your face."

Neteyam just shrugged. "Worth it."

Mid-wipe, you registered it properly. The significance of your ceremonial paint on his face. Neteyam's ears pricked forward at the resulting flush creeping up your neck and ears. "What?" he prompted again, tilting his head in that irresistible way.

"You- oh, Eywa," you huffed, turning away, covering your own face. You just couldn't look at him anymore, his pretty fucking face, his hands with your paint smudged all over. Too much of a reminder of what awaits you in a week's time.

It made you hot all over just thinking about it.

I'm just making stuff up as I go along 😞 istg i feel like im repeating lines from other fics but 🤷 share your thoughts please! I love knowing people enjoy my writing!

Why do we think reader is having a mini freak out over Neteyam getting her paint on him?

@rivatar @lunamochii @luvv4j4ybe11

Part 3 >

[hazelsmirrorball]

Undercover Spider-Woman II. | Hazel Callahan

Spider-woman! Hazel Callahan x Villain! Reader Summary:  Green Goblin has a love hate relationship with Spider-Woman Warnings: english isn’t my main language, not proof-read,fighting, daddy issues a/n: Thank you so much for reading the first part. I hope you enjoy it!

part one

Y/n always wanted to please her dad. Maybe it was her daddy issues or the fact that he was the only thing she had left, both her mother and brother tragically passing away a few years back. They only had each other. He was the only person she could call family so she made it her mission to always keep him happy or at least somewhat. Y/n was deadly afraid of her father, never wanting to be on his bad side. She knew about his other persona and it scared her. 

Doctor Norman Virgil Osborn was a regular rich dude, founder and CEO of Oscorp which specialized in military research. Y/n’s father always wanted power so that’s what he got. He had created a powerful yet unsuitable performance enhancer, that was intended to enhance strengths to individuals but as he tried it on himself his superhuman levels increased giving him artificially enhanced physiology, superhuman durability, reflexes, regenerative healing factor, speed, stamina, agility and strength. But everything has its consequences making him develop a dissociative identity disorder, that’s when the chaotically sadistic psychopath Green Goblin was born. 

But that didn’t stop him, he wanted more so he involved his daughter, Y/n. Y/n could care less about her dad’s evil plans so when he had gotten a hold of another syringe full of that performance enhancer, things started to change. He had done several researches on it, perfecting the formula that he had used on himself, not waiting for his daughter to go insane as he was, he cared at least a little.

So in sophomore year, Y/n had become Green Goblin 2.0. Y/n at first  wasn’t completely convinced of the idea of having to be a psychopathic villain but her dad was finally proud of her, so she sucked it up. Having the performance enhancer made her powerful and her dad had managed to fix some of the flaws that he had suffered from. But she still had the Green Goblin inside of her. She found herself acting on anger and impulsiveness. So maybe she was caught up with being a true villain. 

Y/n walked as fast as she could, feeling as if someone was following her. She turned around scanning her surroundings knowing that tonight she was in for a treat. Having so much energy left from the fight club and building tension from the almost kiss with Hazel made her go into a little frenzy, throwing a little mischief in the city here and there. Nothing too big or problematic but something that would make Spider Woman's life a little difficult. She jumped on the lid of the dumpster pushing the window of the abandoned building open, slipping her body in with ease inside. 

Her dads evil lair, a stupid abandoned building in the middle of nowhere. She didn’t have a damn car so she found herself walking every dad to that dumpster in God  knows where. It was supposed to be their hideout, not too extravagant and a way from them to keep things on the low but she found this place being her second home, not wanting to face her dad when he was on the brink of insanity she decided to take the evil lair as her own. 

“Well at least I can somewhat relax a little” Y/n said to herself, quickly taking her shoes off. In an attempt to take them off while holding all her things she slammed her foot on the wall. “For fucks sakes” she yelled in pain as she rubbed the affected spot trying to ease the pain. Y/n found it quite difficult due to the fact that she was still holding all her things so she angrily threw her things on the floor and quickly held onto her left foot. While doing so her right foot got caught on her bag making her fall face first onto the floor. Y/n screamed onto the floor clearly frustrated, she dragged her body against the wooden floor, her laziness and  anger taking over. 

When she finally got a hold of the couch she reached forward gaining balance to stand up from the floor. Y/n looked towards the refrigerator as she hopped towards it, in an attempt to get some ice. When she finally reached it, she looked in the freezer only noticing a bag of peas and sighed, fight club was really taking a toll on her. She desperately wanted to take her mask off but before she did she heard someone clear her throat behind her, making her turn around.

And there she was in all her glory. Spider Woman hanging from the ceiling staring at her with her mask covering her face. She waved her hand slowly, like she was trying to taunt her in some way. She could bet she was smiling under that damn mask. Had she seen Y/n miserably drag herself on the floor? Or how she hit her leg? God, this was so embarrassing.   Too many things were going through the woman's head; she didn’t even notice Spider-Woman had started talking.

“Do I have to repeat myself?” She asked again, standing up and walking towards her, her  demeanor overpowering hers. Y/n closed the freezer groaning as she gripped on the counter in front of her. She didn’t have the energy to do this, not today.

“I know we don’t get along and what not but breaking into my place? That’s a new low, even for you. I thought Superheroes knew what boundaries were. ” Y/n said as she took a deep breath, gaining her composure and sending a fake smile towards Spider-Woman's way. 

“Wanted to know what your evil lair looked like in real life. I thought it was going to be all dark and evil, maybe a knife collection on the walls, torture devices here and there. But this? I wasn’t expecting this. It’s quite homey, I didn't expect you to have such a warm and welcoming house.” Spider- Woman said as she sat down on the counter while crossing her arms, a joking tone evident in her voice.

“ First of all, who said we didn’t hide the knife collection in the guest bedroom.  Plus dad studied interior design” she said sarcastically, while moving Spider–Woman’s legs off the counter. 

“Really?!” She exclaimed excitedly jumping off the counter. Y/n rolled her eyes, while shaking her head annoyed out of her mind. 

“No! Why the hell would he study that? Now let’s just cut to the chase. Listen, I really don’t give a damn of what you’re going to say or do. I’ve known you for years now and I know all your moves, I do something you think is “bad” then you confront me about it and put on your little show “taking me down” and blah blah blah. Today the last thing I want to do is deal with your shit. So, I believe you know the exit, it’s the same one you came in. Now do me a favor and leave.” She said getting face to  face with her  and pointing at her chest several times. 

“Explain to me what did you expect to happen when you decided to fuck around the city? A kiss and praise?” She asked while putting her head to the side inspecting her up and down. Her eyes ending on top of her also covered eyes. 

“Well, I can assure you, I expected more than  a kiss” Y/n responded without breaking the “stare down” getting closer towards her. 

“You do know I can take you down right now?” Spiderwoman said in a low voice making Y/n let out a chuckle. 

“You don’t even stand a chance” Y/n replied with a smirk leaning her hand on the wall behind Spider-Woman trapping her against the wall.

“Wanna bet?” She asked while getting inches closer to her, their foreheads almost touching.

“ I would like to see you t…” Her voice got cut by Spider-Woman pinning her up against the wall, her breathing getting unsteady from the harsh impact on her back. She pinned Y/n’s arms against the wall, making her groan angrily. 

“I like having you gasping for air, makes me proud that I’m doing my job right”

“ Are you sure about that?” She said while kicking her in the knees making her fall straight towards the ground. Y/n took the opportunity and straddled her pushing her head towards the floor in an attempt to keep her down.

“You know, I like the new changes to your suit, helps the evilness shine out”

“Makes me glow even more now that I’m winning” she said with a small smirk, making Spider-Woman groan. They both knew she could move at any time, Y/n knew it, Hazel  knew it. Y/n believe Spider-Woman never “busted” her because she liked having her around. She wouldn’t deny she had fun messing with her too, it actually made her day. Moments like this made her keep waiting to do her dad’s dirty work, because her dirty work also included Spider-Woman.

“Got lost in my beauty?” Spider-Woman asked while attempting to raise her head from the floor. Y/n pushed her down one again letting out a scoff. 

“Possibly. Now your time is up, get out. It’s time to go”  Y/n said while getting up, Spider-Woman quickly followed her actions and got up, standing dangerously close.

“That soon? I thought we were having fun?” Spider-Woman replied in a whiney voice following Y/n. 

“We were but I have things to do and places to be so how about you be a good girl and leave ” she said while putting her hand on her cheek and tapping it softly.

Hazel felt it. Like some source of power told her to leave, so she did. But not before doing the thing she had originally come here to do. 

“Don’t miss me too much” Spider- Woman grins as she shoots her spider webs sticking her hands on the counter. With ease she headed towards the freezer placing the bag of pees on her foot. “Same time next week?” She continued while taking the stash Y/n had stolen the past week. Shewaving the bag in the air and slipped out of the window. Y/n slammed her head against the counter pissed out of her mind but her eyes quickly adverted to her phone, which continuously vibrated next to her. 

“Dad is so going to kill me” Y/n slammed her head against the counter pissed out of her mind but her eyes quickly adverted to her phone, which continuously vibrated next to her. Before she could even attempt to see who was texting her due to the fact that her hands were glued onto the table her dad stumbled in a cynical look on his face. 

“What the hell dad ?!” She exclaimed, scared shitless at his sudden appearance. 

“You have to be alert, pumpkin. You can’t expect the good guys to give you a heads up before killing you” her dad responded in a bored tone while taking a mug and placing it  in front of her. He took a look at her as he sat down on the stool in front of her making himself  comfortable while Y/n stayed still looking at the mug. Why was he being nice? What did she do? Was he going to kill her? How did he find out about spiderman so quickly? 

“I thought you said, you weren’t going to be here today” She responded awkwardly shifting side to side. Her gaze turned to everywhere but her dad.  while sitting down on the couch she brought the coffee towards her lips but was met with nothing.

“Well I thought so too. I wanted to enjoy my time in the lab  but I saw through the security cameras you were almost kissing Spider Woman and decided it was time for me to come back.” He said while taking the mug in his hand while taking a sip. 

“Oh,  please dad. We weren’t flirting with each other. We are literal arch nemesis, I can’t stand her. How could I even flirt with her?  ” Y/n  muttered while looking at the sticky mess in her hands attempting to take it off. 

“Didn’t you have a crush on someone from your school? Mabel?” Her dad replied, placing the mug down. Y/n could feel her face turn red as she looked towards.

“It’s Haze..You know what it’s not important. That clearly isn’t the reason you’re here so please go on and tell me. What was the big plan you had for us?”

“We are going to kill Spider Woman” He responded nonchalantly while looking around the house.  

“What?” Y/n looked at him in shock, she had never killed anyone in her life. She wasn’t that type of criminal barely reaching  that high of a crime in their crime schemes.

“But before we do that I need your help” He responded shortly, looking at his daughter. Y/n let out a sigh turning to look at him. 

“You always do, dad”  

“I want you to find her real identity. Find it, become her friend, gain her trust and bring her to me so I can kill her. You’ll become the greatest sidekick known to mankind” He said while standing up from the chair. 

“I’m not your sidekick,” She muttered. “And to prove it, I’m taking this week off. I’m busy with school” Y/n replied as she watched her dad walk towards the door. 

“Well, when you come back you better find who’s Spider- Woman” he replied before slamming the door, leaving her alone with her thoughts. 

“How’s your day? Did you enjoy school? Did you eat?” She said to herself as she imitated her dads voice. 

She didn’t know what her dad’s fascination with Spider-Woman was. But part of her wanted to find out who she was and uncover it. She would get all the rep around the city for revealing her  identity . Y/n L/n  was going to uncover who she was even if it was the death of her. Her dad would be her sidekick. If Spider-Woman died it was going to be in her hands, that's for sure.

Before she could even finish fantasizing over killing Spider-Woman her phone vibrated once again making her turn towards it, reading the flashing messages. 

Hazel: 

Sorry for bothering you so late. But just wanted to know if you still want to do the project together. If not I can do both parts together, it’s no problem. 

Hazel: 

By the way, it’s Hazel. 

part one

...

thank you for reading

[defectivevillain]

judgment by the hounds

pairing: Loki Laufeyson & Reader (can be read as platonic or romantic; reader's race is ambiguous and gender/pronouns are unspecified)

summary:

Loki is captured and held in S.H.I.E.L.D. captivity. However, he doesn’t attempt to break free right away. Instead, he bides his time by waiting for something—or, more accurately, someone.

You’re an FBI agent called in by S.H.I.E.L.D. to interrogate their newest prisoner, Loki Laufeyson.

word count: 5.6k | ao3 version

warnings: blood, injury & gore typical to SotL; manipulation & mind games

I thought about writing this as I was reading Silence of the Lambs — I imagined questioning Loki & having a similar dynamic with him during his temporary imprisonment. There aren’t any explicit references to SoL in here, but I wanted to include it as a fandom tag because Hannibal & Clarice’s dynamic really inspired this fic.

This is not canon compliant, and there will likely be some discrepancies. Just pretend this is an alternate timeline. :>

The title of this fic is from I’m Your Man by Mitski. The lyrics “I’ll meet judgment by the hounds… People always gave me love… Others were never to blame after all… You believe me like a god, I’ll betray you like a man” felt pretty relevant to this fic.

The reader is racially ambiguous, gender is ambiguous, and pronouns aren't used. warnings: canon-typical violence and gore (typical to SotL)

thanks anna (@pinocchiospissrock) for the beta! (any remaining mistakes are mine.) luv u and so excited to see u soon!!!! <333

If you told your younger self that your criminal investigative work would earn you a conversation with the legendary Nick Fury, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., your younger self would have laughed. The mere thought would be preposterous. Fury is the face of the entire organization, and the founder of the Avengers! What would a mere FBI agent like yourself do to even earn a moment with him, let alone a full conversation? 

Apparently, you’re becoming somewhat renowned for your investigative work. You’ve always avoided the press—otherwise you would have noticed your name cropping up in cases with big profiles in the public eye. You would’ve noticed that you were slowly starting to get more and more credit for your accomplishments; you would’ve been able to connect the dots between Nick Fury—desperate for information and willing to do anything to get it—and you—an FBI agent rising in the ranks for important work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit and Jack Crawford. 

Despite these recognitions, however, you can’t quite believe that you’re being flown to the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters in New York City to speak with Nick Fury. Truly, this feels like some kind of fever dream. As you’re escorted through the high-level security installments on the ground floor of the building, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re not meant to be here. This must be some kind of mistake, you’re thinking to yourself, even as you’re given a visitor ID badge. You’re led into a glass elevator that rises to the twentieth floor, through a cold stone hall and even more security installments. Eventually, you come face-to-face with a nondescript wooden door. The security guard knocks on the door and opens it for you, revealing a clean and modern space with black leather furniture and an array of windows (bulletproof and likely very durable) overlooking the street below. There is a figure seated at the grand desk in the center of the room. Nick Fury looks up at the sudden disturbance, his brown eye immediately assessing your form before moving to the guard in the doorway. He nods and the guard steps out of the room, closing the door behind them. 

“Agent, have a seat,” Fury offers. It’s an order, not a simple statement. You comply immediately and Fury raises an eyebrow. For a long moment, tension settles in the air as Nick Fury unsubtly scrutinizes you. Fury puts a contemplative hand on his chin and stares at you. Despite the eye patch covering his left eye, his menacing gaze is enough to send a shiver down your spine. 

“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here,” Fury remarks vaguely. You nod. “I need you to do something for me.” You raise an eyebrow. When he continues, any confidence you gained from the notion of him requesting something of you promptly fades from existence. He tells you about a god with a penchant for mischief that borders on cruelty—about a devastating attack on New York City that left thousands injured and hundreds dead. You had heard about the attack on the news, but you had too much going on to truly process what you were seeing. Fury tells you that this trickster, a Norse god by the name of Loki, is currently in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most secure containment. It’s clear S.H.I.E.L.D. is desperate for information, otherwise they wouldn’t be bringing you in for something like this—this is far above your pay grade. Norse gods were never mentioned in your training at Quantico.

“Loki has been largely uncooperative,” Fury continues, immune to the emotional whiplash you’re currently experiencing. “We needed to try a different approach.” He looks at you after that. “And we need more information. Can I count on you to do this?” You take a slow breath in. Do you really have a choice? 

“Yes, sir,” you respond. Fury regards you for another second, before evidently deciding that your answer is satisfactory. He then hands you a device, which appears to be a pass that allows you entrance into the high-security cells. It’s an effective dismissal. You take it and murmur a word of thanks, before stepping out of the room. With the security guard’s guidance, you’re able to learn the location of the high-security prison and you take another elevator ride. When the doors ding, a giant metronome sounds off in your head. You can’t go back now, you think to yourself as you cross the threshold of the elevator and step towards the reinforced metal door with a fingerprint and retinal scanner. You glance at the guard, who nods and urges you to continue. Somehow, in the brief time that you spoke with Fury, your information must've been registered in the system—as your name appears on screen after it scans your finger. You then lean down and allow the machine to scan your retina, before a blue light flashes once. You frown at the door, before seeing a screen flashing on the left side. You press the pad Fury gave you to the screen and the door clicks, swinging open ominously.  

You take a step forward and leave the door open, expecting for the guard to follow you. They shoot you a disbelieving look and take a step backwards, letting the door fall shut. You’re left alone in a hallway reminiscent of a steel prison. As you slowly walk down the narrow path between iron bars, you feel hard gazes boring into your very skin. Someone jeers at you. You keep walking until you reach the solitary cell at the end of the hall. For the first time since entering the space, you allow yourself to look up—only to look into the glimmering green eyes of Loki Laufeyson. 

Safe to say, Fury neglected to mention that Loki would be the single most intimidating individual you’ve ever had the misfortune and displeasure to meet. Staring at him through the thick walls of glass, you’re suffocated with a sudden, intense dread. Even if Fury hadn’t given you any background on him, you’re sure you still would’ve been able to surmise this man’s maleficence and cruelty. He has long dark hair, sharp features, and a positively malevolent grin on his face. 

“Hello,” you murmur guardedly. The thick walls of glass aren’t enough to ensure you of your safety—that attentive gaze cuts straight through your skin and sinks deep into the bone. The god raises an eyebrow at you, pausing for a moment to allow you the opportunity to turn tail and run away. You very nearly take the gifted opportunity, before you remember that information on the invasion could save lives.

“Are you lost?” Loki asks, regarding you with as much respect as someone regards a pebble beneath their feet. Your hands are ever so slightly trembling from your sides and you stuff your hands in your pockets, suddenly feeling the need to keep yourself occupied. 

“No,” You eventually reply. You decide to introduce yourself, before raising your eyebrows at the god in return. You resist the urge to ask him to introduce himself. You know who he is, and you would likely end up insulting him with the question anyway. Unfortunately, you’re going to have to be very careful around him. The slightest word or provocation would lose the information for good. Why are you being called in for this, again?

“What could possibly have possessed Fury to send a mere agent such as yourself to speak with me?” The god questions, echoing your very own thoughts. You take a deep breath and try to steel your nerves. 

“I’m a criminal investigator,” you respond, once your tongue is no longer ironed to the roof of your mouth. “I’ve spent most of my life studying how criminal types think and what motivates them. I want to ask you a few questions.”

“Interesting,” Loki hums. He doesn’t seem the least bit intrigued; rather, he appears incredibly bored. “And you think this Midgardian experience is enough to grant you a conversation with me? You know nothing of who I am and what I am capable of.” 

You want to be surprised, but you expected something along those lines. A brief white-hot fury overtakes you as you remember the tension in Fury’s shoulders, the withdrawn tone in his voice, how he seemed to expect you to fail. Everyone is expecting you to fail. “I know enough,” you respond, before you can contemplate the consequences of doing so.  In truth, Fury had given you Loki’s file earlier. He also left you with a few words of warning. You manage to tear yourself away from your conversation with Fury and focus on what you viewed in Loki’s file. The information comes to mind within seconds. “You caused quite the scene in Germany. I suspect that was the intention.” There is no acknowledgement that he’s even listening to you, save for the intense gaze that seems to be dissecting you for his own amusement. 

The words slip from your tongue before you can stop them. “You’re the adopted son of Odin and Frigga, and the brother of Thor. Your real father is Laufey, the Frost Giant King. You’re the God of Mischief. And you’re a constant thorn in the side of the Avengers and Nick Fury.”

“Those are just the facts,” you conclude. You’re met with nothing but silence. There’s an undercurrent of expectation in the air, as if he’s waiting for you to continue. You grit your teeth. Somehow, you have his attention now. It would be best if you didn’t lose it. “As for my first impressions… You’re manipulative, obviously. Cunning and clever. Selfish, extremely controlling. You derive pleasure from other people’s pain. You enjoy being the chessmaster—manipulating your pawns and discarding them the moment they’ve fulfilled their purpose.”

“Beneath all that, you’re frighteningly human. Jealousy, envy, a visceral desire for Odin’s approval, and a thirst for power… You delight in your darkest urges and scorn any of the ones that come close to resembling even a hint of genuine emotion.”

“Now will you answer my questions?” You finish. 

Loki’s head is down now. His shoulders are shaking and for a second, you think he’s crying. Then he raises his head, revealing a twisted grin on his face. “No one has possessed the courage to talk to me in such a manner in millenia,” the god remarks, his hands clasped behind his back. He takes a step forward and inspects you through the glass. You remember your fear from earlier. “Who are you, exactly?”

“I’ve already told you,” you answer. You’ve done this song and dance before, and you have enough experience to know nothing good comes from giving a criminal your name. In the few rare instances in which it seemed that they simply wouldn’t give in, you would give a fake name. You weren't foolish enough to try that with the God of Mischief, though. “Besides, that doesn’t matter. I’m here for information.” You repeat for what feels like the umpteenth time. 

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Loki says, studying you with scrutiny. Your skin crawls. Everything about this feels like a horrible idea. Not for the first time, you question why you were called in for this assignment. “I’m not allowed visitors otherwise—on account of the last one being found in his home with his throat slit.” There’s another flash of amusement in his eyes. 

“Fun,” you remark flatly. Your heart is racing out of your chest, but you know not to show your apprehension. Fear is Loki’s game. “Seriously, though. I assume you want to get out of here in the next millennium.” You remark. 

“Au contraire,” Loki replies. It takes you a few seconds to process what he says, and several more seconds to recall the translation: ‘On the contrary.’ You wait patiently for the god to continue.  “You don’t really think I’ll be released, do you? And don’t bother pretending otherwise—you don’t have the power or authority to make promises here.”

“I’m not sure why you’re entertaining conversation with me in the first place, then,” you reason. You feel lost in this conversation, admittedly. It’s taking an unhealthy amount of mental energy to keep yourself afloat in these verbal traps.

“Maybe I’m bored,” Loki drawls. In the fluorescent lighting beaming down on him, he looks every bit as royal as he is rumored to be. “Maybe I’m waiting for you to let your guard down, for your mental defenses to fade away and corrode into nothingness before my control slips into your psyche, forcing you to be a spectator as I pilot your body and mind.”

You stare at him for a moment, heart hammering away in your chest. Somehow, it’s that sentiment that cements the reality of the situation. You’re not qualified enough for whatever the hell this is. You’ve interrogated loads of criminals before, but they’ve never posed a legitimate physical and mental threat to you in the same manner that Loki does. You find yourself genuinely fearing for your safety as you stare at Loki’s glittering green eyes. 

As your heart races and you take a few steps backwards, you catch a sudden blur in your peripheral vision, before you’re struck with white-hot pain that flares up the left side of your face. You blink dazedly and bring a hand up to your left cheek, only to find blood splattered across your skin. There’s a jagged fragment resting on the floor near your foot—evidently the cause of the wound. You turn to the left, only to find the man from before clutching at the bars of his cell with ferocity—a crazed look in his eyes as he stares at you. Your gaze then falls to the porcelain toilet in the corner of his cell, with a notable chunk missing. That must’ve been where he got the shard. The side of your face is burning, hot blood trickling down your cheek. You press the back of your hand to the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. Unsurprisingly, the wound doesn’t magically heal or stop bleeding. You grimace and set off down the hallway, intending to leave and find a first-aid kit. Just as your palm flattens on the door, Loki says your name. 

You pause, your cheek stinging. You feel Loki’s gaze at your back and you know you probably don’t have the luxury to continue walking away. Yet… you can’t bear to turn around. You open the door and walk away, unaware of the furious expression on Loki’s face. The security guard’s eyebrows climb up their face as they see the blood trickling down your face, but you simply hand them the keypad and walk away. 

You have nothing in lieu of information and a fresh, jagged cut on your cheek. You don’t expect to be called to the high-security cells again any time soon—not after that complete and utter failure. You leave S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters that day with a bandage on your cheek and wounded pride. The conversation with Loki keeps you up that night in your hotel room, as you turn over every statement in your head. There’s a notable disconnect between Loki’s words and his actions. Furthermore, if he’s truly so powerful, then why is he still contained? You know S.H.I.E.L.D. is well-equipped to handle villains, but Loki is a Norse god. Surely he could snap his fingers and transport himself somewhere else? If that’s the case, you can’t help but wonder why he hasn’t escaped yet. 

You avoid work the next few days to fully recover from the physical and mental injuries acquired that day. It’s nice to have some free time, but it is still somewhat dampened by the knowledge that you didn’t get any information from Loki. Fury is going to be, well, furious. 

Safe to say, you don’t expect to see Nick Fury on your doorstep one morning, a troubled expression on his face. You greet him and try to invite him in, but he remains outside. His dissecting gaze flits about your face, searching for something. “It’s been an interesting day, Agent,” he evidently decides to say.  

“How so?” You ask. Fury glances to his left and right, before taking a small step forward and leaning closer. 

“A prisoner in the high security area was murdered,” he murmurs, “He was found in his cell. It seems he was fed his own tongue before he choked and suffocated to death. Miggs. Awful guy, but… we had intended on getting more information from him.” Fury shakes his head. Meanwhile, you’re reeling. There’s no way the victim was the same prisoner who assaulted you earlier. That would be a truly troubling occurrence—one you’re not quite sure you could put down to coincidence. 

“Anyway…  I need you to speak with Loki again.” Fury continues, his expression serious. He raises an eyebrow upon seeing the slight shock that must be showing on your face. “You seem surprised.”

You nod. “I was under the impression that our conversation didn’t go well,” you decide to respond honestly. Fury seems to appreciate the truthfulness, although his eyebrows furrow and he takes a deep breath. 

There’s a beat of silence. “He’s refused to speak with anyone else we’ve sent,” Fury explains, “Since your last visit, he’s been exceptionally…Well. He asked for you specifically.”

What was Fury going to say just then? And, more importantly, did you even hear him correctly? Did Loki really ask to speak with you, even after the tense conversation you had? You’re immediately suspicious. 

“Listen,” Fury breaks off, looking conflicted and resolved all at once. “For whatever reason, he’s different with you. I’m not sure why, but whatever the reason, we need to take advantage. Loki has valuable information about the attack on New York.” 

“In reality, he asked for you a few days ago,” Fury continues, after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. You look over to him in surprise. “I refused. But… since then, he’s been extremely disagreeable—and we’re running out of time.”

“I’ll try to speak with him,” you answer. That’s the best you can promise. You certainly can’t promise that it’ll be a productive conversation, or that you’ll get any information from him. Indeed, the last discussion you had with Loki, it felt as if you were disclosing more information than he was. Still, the prospect seems to be good enough for Fury. 

“Thank you, Agent,” he nods, returning the keycard that grants access to the high security area. You take a deep breath and follow him back to his car, steeling your nerves as the city buildings pass before your vision. Once you reach the headquarters, you walk down the halls and head to the elevators. Fury and you part ways as he gets off the elevator, and he leaves you with a brief nod. 

It only takes a few steps in the hallway of the high-security cells for you to notice that something’s missing. A cell is empty—the same one that Miggs had occupied before. You feel dread coiling in your chest, yet you can’t stop yourself from taking a step closer and getting a better look at the empty cell. There’s blood splattered all across the ground—although it appears as if someone tried to clean it, since it bears a closer resemblance to dark brown than red. The sheets of the mattress are clean and the cell looks entirely untouched, save for the stains across the floor and the noticeable chunk missing from the toilet. 

Your attention is captured by the cell—so much so that you forget your company. “Ah, what a pleasant surprise,” Loki remarks, sending your heart racing as you remember his presence. You take a deep breath and tear your eyes away from the evidence of Miggs’s death. As you break the distance between Loki’s enclosure and you, you can’t help but shake the feeling that he had something to do with the death of Miggs. You don’t have any proof, but the awful feeling stirring in your gut certainly makes you question what you thought you knew. 

Loki clears his throat pointedly and you remember yourself. “You asked for me,” you then answer cautiously. 

“Yes, but I wasn’t sure if Fury would oblige,” Loki drawls, regarding you with mild amusement. You’re not sure what he thinks is entertaining, so you just pretend not to have noticed his smug grin. “He doesn’t seem to care for me much.”

“I’d argue most of us don’t,” you hear yourself blurt out. You really need a better filter, especially in a conversation as important as this one. If you want information from Loki, you’ll have to be nicer to him. Despite that thought, Loki is staring at you with the same amusement as before. There’s no sense that the insult even registered. 

“And yourself?” The god asks, once again reminding you that you’re the one at the mercy of the conversation. You grit your teeth and try to remain calm, despite the overwhelming feelings of inadequacy that threaten to send you down the hall. 

“What about me?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“You said most of us,” Loki says, “Does that include you?”

You don’t bother to dignify that question with a response. “What do you want?” He doesn’t respond and you resist the urge to exhibit any signs of your growing impatience. “You asked to speak with me—I’m assuming you want something.”

“I have information you want,” Loki states, his eyes boring into yours and sending a prickling sensation down your skin. His intense gaze is unnerving, and you feel as if you’re being intensely scrutinized. “You have information I want. I propose a trade.”

You’re not surprised by the remark, save for the idea that you have something he wants. “I’m not quite sure what information I could give you,” you frown, shifting your balance slightly to keep your body occupied. You cross your arms over your chest and pretend you don’t feel entirely vulnerable in front of Loki. 

“I’ll be the one to determine that,” the god says. His next statement is entirely unexpected. “Now, tell me about yourself, your childhood.”

“What?” You choke out. “About myself? I don’t see how that’s relevant.” You break off. Loki’s gaze is focused on you with burning intensity. You take a shuddering breath in and try to summon some information that isn’t dangerous for you to disclose. “I’m a criminal investigator—have been for years. I’m from around here, grew up here.” You end up settling for a mix of ambiguity and omission. Loki seems to pick up on it regardless. 

“Don’t lie to me.” His gaze is dark and dangerous. It suddenly feels as if the temperature dropped in the space around you. You’re pinned under the god’s watchful eyes. “I think I deserve more than that, don’t you?” You can’t find the words to answer. You have, once again, severely underestimated Loki’s capabilities. 

“Very well, then,” Loki murmurs some time later, after it’s clear that you’re unwilling to give him more information. His posture is effortlessly casual, but you know it’s just a façade. “I can start for you. You worked as a criminal investigator for years in your hometown, until you decided to become an FBI agent. With more responsibility came more criminals, and closer calls. Even so, you began to gain notoriety for your cases. Your name appears in more and more press coverage. Meanwhile, Nick Fury grows increasingly frustrated with me, with the lack of information. He sees you on the morning news and finds his perfect solution. He calls you here to New York, tells you that he needs you for this pivotal role. An exaggeration, of course.”

“You agree with his offer—surely, you don’t have any other choice. Meanwhile, Fury promptly forgets your existence, until he needs you once more. A tool in a toolbox is all you are to him. Why else would he send you to me? He doesn’t have faith in your abilities, Agent—he just needs bait.”

You know it’s true, but it still hurts. Truthfully, you had suspected the same thing; something about the Norse god speaking on your thoughts cements them in reality. Indeed, why else would Fury have called you in? There are plenty of high-ranking officials that would’ve been better suited for such a task. 

“You come in here and provoke me,” Loki continues, as if you aren’t even there. He seems entirely in his element as he paces about his cell. “I attack you, then break out of captivity. A group of agents lurks outside to interrupt my eventual escape. The whole thing is laughably predictable, really.” Your eyes widen as you realize just why the security guard lingered outside the door. They aren’t guarding the door—it’s secure enough on its own. They’re guarding you, waiting for you to fail and for Loki to escape. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. 

“And, of course, you have a visceral desire for Fury’s approval,” he continues, repeating what you said to him mere days ago. You feel as if a bucket of ice cold water was just dumped all over you, making you shiver and question everything you thought you knew. Are you really so formulaic? Have you been lured into a false sense of confidence these past few years? You try to grapple with these questions, while the god stares at you. “Am I ‘in the ballpark,’ as you mortals say?” There’s a sharp grin on Loki’s face that deeply unsettles you. 

It takes you several moments to collect your composure and find the words to say. “I think you know you are,” you respond, ignoring your heart pounding out of your chest. It’s unnerving that Loki could glean that much about you in such a short time span. Despite his obvious attempt at mockery, you know that you need to answer his questions if you want information. You keep silent and wait for Loki to continue. 

“Now, you still haven’t given me anything,” Loki reminds you, dispelling any hope that he may have forgotten. You feel extremely restless and steadily avoid his gaze, even when you feel his eyes practically tearing holes through your form. “So, I ask once more: what was your childhood like?”

You can’t afford to argue this time—not if you want information. The glint in Loki’s eyes grows brighter with each tidbit you give him. At his request, you tell him about your past—everything from your childhood home to the relationships you have with your family. Time becomes fickle and you don’t realize you’re oversharing until you glance down at your watch and see that far too much time has passed.  “That’s more than enough,” you interject some time later. You don’t feel as if you can truly grasp the severity of your actions just now. Even so, you know that you’ve given him too much ammunition. You pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache developing. “It’s your turn.”

“Very well,” Loki responds, his lips parting to reveal a crooked smirk. The expression on his face confirms your suspicions that he was planning on continuing the conversation until you stopped him. “I will answer two of your questions.” You feel your heart drop. 

“Two?” You exclaim in disbelief, “You must’ve asked me a hundred just now-”

“I didn’t force you to answer any of my questions,” Loki reasons. Unfortunately, he’s correct in that regard—you should’ve been more wary. You let your guard down and he was content to take advantage of it. “Now, do you want information or not?”

You grit your teeth. Damn it. Two questions is a very insignificant number. You try to remember what Fury told you mere minutes before. “He’s been extremely disagreeable… and we’re running out of time.” You can’t afford to slip up here. 

“Fine,” you say. The look on Loki’s face doesn’t change, but you can still sense arrogance radiating off of him. “Why?” You decide to ask. 

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Loki drawls, continuing to pace about. He looks completely and utterly bored. “Why does one do anything?” You resist an eye roll. 

“Why did you do it?” You rephrase. You don’t need to specify for Loki to understand what you’re referring to: the attack on New York, the Chitauri invasion. Surely, knowing his motivations would help S.H.I.E.L.D. prevent instances like it from happening in the future. Besides, you’re not sure what else to ask. As has been established, you don’t think you’re the best fit for this task of vital importance. 

“I was seeking revenge,” Loki answers without hesitation. His unblinking gaze is beginning to unnerve you. “Is that what you’d like me to say?”

“I’d like you to tell the truth,” you assert, unable to hide some of your irritation. The god picks up on it and smiles infuriatingly, as if your annoyance is entertaining. Perhaps it is entertaining to him. You take a deep breath and remind yourself to keep calm. It would do you no good to get riled up. You have one job: collecting information. 

“The truth,” Loki remarks languidly, tearing you from your thoughts. His answer comes without hesitation. “I was bored.” Boredom. Boredom pushed him to wreak havoc on the city, causing hundreds of casualties and inordinate bloodshed. Loki was motivated by a lack of fulfillment. The thought is extremely disconcerting. On the one hand, you’re not sure what you were expecting. On the other, you had been looking for a more clear-cut, legitimate reason to contextualize his actions. You weren’t planning on excusing his crimes, but if he provided something that seemed to somewhat justify his reaction, you would’ve been able to get more information and also deduce a clear motive to these kinds of attacks. Perhaps that was your error in thinking, though: Loki can’t be a predictor of a pattern. He is wildly unpredictable, and trying to predict him will both waste your time and result in more frustration.

“One more question,” Loki reminds you tauntingly. You grit your teeth, pushing past your irritation. The god seems to enjoy emphasizing the differences between you and him—your mortality, your weakness.  

You try to think a little harder. Admittedly, a particular question has been weighing on your mind throughout most of your interactions, burrowing into your subconscious and refusing to let go. After a few moments, you decide to verbalize it. “Why haven’t you escaped yet?”

The god laughs. “Haven’t I?” Loki asks in response. A shiver rolls down your spine. You watch warily as he takes one step forward, then another. From what you’ve seen, the god will often pace about his cell. However, his current movements make it seem as if he has a purpose, an endgame. Loki’s eyes flash. He takes another step forward and his foot crosses the threshold where the glass is supposed to be. Loki grins and crosses the entirety of the boundary, before looking at you with a truly malicious smile. He’s free from captivity.  

You can’t even take a step backwards before the god is there, extending a hand to your temple and pressing his fingertips past your skin, into your very being. And suddenly, you’re a child again. Everything you told Loki is rushing through your head all at once. You’re trapped in vivid memories. The world around you is blurred with childlike joy and hope. Your surroundings all seem to fall away; despite your knowledge that you aren’t a child anymore, you can’t escape this onslaught of memory that Loki seemed to force on you. 

When Loki removes his hand from your temple, you nearly choke on your breath. There’s an excruciating pain running through your head—strong enough to make you lose your balance. Despite the fact that you’re horribly outmatched, you still try to get away from him. You’re not sure what the God of Mischief wants, but you doubt it’s anything good. This interest—as Fury said—that he’s cultivated in you… It’s dangerous. 

You should be dead right now. Surely, were you any other S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, your corpse would be slowly decaying on the ground in front of you. You heard whispers of what Loki did to some of the agents that spoke to him before you. One of them was directly admitted to a mental hospital—unable to ground themself in reality. The thought shakes you to your core. 

You take another step backwards, only for him to match your retreat with a step forward. Your balance is growing more and more unsteady as you try to fight against the vertigo threatening to send you tumbling. Your vision is oscillating between painful sharpness and indiscernible blurriness. “What do you want from me?” You manage to spit out through the pained haze. 

“Everything.” Loki answers. Before you can push him away, he’s bringing a hand to your temple again. Your mind explodes with energy and you feel your eyelids fluttering shut of their own accord. You try your hardest to remain conscious and you manage to catch glimpses: Loki’s hand slipping from your temple as you fall to the ground, Loki carrying you out of the building. You’re stuck in the recesses of your own mind, with no hope for escape. Eventually, you’re forced to succumb to the darkness lurking in the corners of your vision.

It may strike you all as strange that Loki stays in captivity rather than escaping, but I think I can justify that with a multitude of reasons. First of all, he's immortal—time passes differently for him. While a mortal may agonize at the thought of being trapped in a capsule for an indefinite time, Loki is entirely unbothered by it. He knows that he has the ability to escape; the question then becomes when he will escape, not if he will escape. Second, Loki has a reason to stay: the reader. He is interested in the reader [the nature of this interest is up to you]. He enjoys the conversations they have, especially when they’re under the false guise of him being trapped and in a position of need. The God of Mischief isn’t one to rush things. Anyway, that’s how I justified these choices to myself. *shrugs*

I desperately wanted to add something like this, but I couldn’t find an authentic moment for it… It may seem a little out of character, too… So I’ll throw it here and walk away:

“You should put some ointment on that,” Loki suggests, looking pointedly at the scar on your face. “Don’t Midgardians care about that sort of thing? Quite foolish, in my opinion.” “How is that foolish?” You ask. “Scars are proof of conquest,” Loki responds. “Of course,” you sigh.

[juniper-simblr]

The Harris Sawmill

The Harris Sawmill, a prominent structure at the edge of town, stands as a testament to the community's industrious spirit. It’s one of the primary sources of employment in the small town, providing essential materials and craftsmanship that support both local needs and exports. Through many generations, the Harris family has owned this sawmill, and as of today, Michael Harris continues this tradition.

The heart of the operation is the expansive sawmill floor, filled with the hum of machinery and the rhythmic sound of saws cutting through timber. Here, logs are transformed into beams, planks, and various wood products.

Adjacent to the main floor is a workshop where workers build and assemble various wooden structures. This area is stocked with tools and workbenches, creating a space where creativity and craftsmanship converge. From custom furniture to intricate carvings, the workshop showcases the town’s skilled artisans.

As of year 2, the employees of the sawmill are:

Markus Estrada: Foreman. As the foreman, Markus oversees the day-to-day operations on the floor. He ensures that the work is done safely and efficiently, balancing the demands of Michael with the needs of the workers. His leadership is respected, providing a buffer between the workers and Michael’s stringent expectations.

Bill Kwon: Welder. Bill handles all the metalwork, ensuring that the machinery is well-maintained and that any custom metal fittings or repairs are expertly executed. His precision and skill are vital to the smooth running of the sawmill.

Nasir Bahij. Crane Operator. Nasir skillfully operates the crane, moving large logs and heavy materials with ease. His role is critical in maintaining the flow of raw materials into the sawmill and finished products out to customers.

Max Ford. Cladding Installer. Max specializes in cladding, applying finishes and protective layers to wood products. Her attention to detail ensures that the sawmill’s output meets the highest standards of durability and aesthetics.

Damian Murphy. Drill Press Operator. Damian operates the drill press, creating precise holes and cuts needed for various wood products. His meticulous nature and technical expertise contribute significantly to the quality of the mill’s craftsmanship.

At the front of the sawmill is a small hardware store managed by Michael Harris. The store is well-stocked with tools, building materials, and supplies needed for both professional projects and DIY endeavors.

[fanaticsnail]

Hello Snail! Just a stupid question :D

I'm writing a new fic and I have problems with a really silly thing: an onomatopoeia. I need to write the sound that boots made when the person is walking over wooden floor.

Context: Buggy shoes, he is walking slowly on deck, scrutinizing each pirate in a row one by one.

I thought first about: tap, tap, tap

And later: clunk? thud? stomp?

Which one would you use in a situation like this?

Thanks!!

Oh my gosh, hi Jintaka! Thank you for your ask, and I hope I can help! There's a few elements I would think about here before the sound is thought about.

Boots: Leather, buckles, braces, laces, steel-capped, matte, heavy, light, thick, plush, cinched ribbons, elevated heel.

Deck: waxed, polished, old, worn, unstable, thick, supporting, water-rotten, flimsy, swollen, soft, pliant, hard, durable.

Walking: Strides, intentional, furiously, enraged, purposeful, lengthy, disciplinary, fists balled, straining, buzzed, shoulders squared, chest puffed.

Now with all those in mind, how would it sound? Here is a little snippet, just in case:

{The captain walked with lengthy, intentional strides atop the wooden deck. Each moment he took an aggressive step, he would halt and pay insult to a row of his loyal crewmen.

"Where's the enthusiasm?" His voice cracked out a barked reprimand, "Row if your life depends on it! Because believe me, buttercup, it does."

Each heavy step he took, the thump of his matte boot-heel ricocheted from the swollen wood. Contrary to his furious steps, the soft jingle of his belt buckle rang melodically in dangerous harmony to his aggression.}

In saying all that, Buggy is known for pranking his crew and not taking himself too seriously.

Would he hide ballooned squeakers in his toes and whoopy cushions in his heels, so each time he took a step; a crude combination of a tooted mock-flatulence expelled from his boots? Possibly.

He'd absolutely use this as leeway to discipline his crew further if they ever dreamed of laughing.

I hope this helps! Let me know how you go 🖤

[violsva]

I wonder when cats started scratching the furniture.

No, really. Modern upholstery techniques are only a couple of centuries old. Carpets are much older, but also rarer. Most people, as I understand it, covered their floors with mats woven out of rushes or straw (if they covered them with anything). While that does sound like exactly the kind of thing a cat would love to tear up, I feel like if you're making your floor coverings literally out of grass you're probably not super concerned about durability?

Presumably there'd be wooden furniture to scratch, but none of my cats have ever bothered with the wooden furniture.

So, when did cats scratching the furniture become an actual problem? Who was the first person to find out that cats like scratching upholstery? (Who was the first cat to find out how awesome it is to tear up the upholstery?)

[blimbosworlddd]

Nirvana: A Rock Lee Tale (Chapter 4)

Summary: Your dating life is terrible. Your friends’ marriage is fantastic. Your career as a medic is doing great, though. But you aren’t happy. However, after one quick trip to the Mighty Rock Dojo, you stumble upon the most magnificent man you’ve ever met- the taijutsu master- Rock Lee.

Notes: slow burn fic, afab/fem/black reader.

Warnings: Mentions of sex, (light) descriptions of blood and violence, usage of the N word. The reader and Lee are in their 20s but virtually any age group that is 18 and up can enjoy this story. Again 18+, minors do not interact… pls.

Word count: 6.3k

Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Shikamaru loves his late father’s lighter. At the tender age of seventeen, he found it in one of his coat pockets in the closet after his funeral. It’s one of those old school classic lighters that you flick open and to this day, it’s the only one he uses to smoke. A morning glory flower is engraved into the sleek silver, and it’s the same flower that Shikamaru orders in his wife’s bouquets. Sometimes he doesn’t even use his lighter for smoking. He’ll just stare at it or keep it in his fist, rubbing the smooth round edges to ground him when logic and practicality no longer pay for his taxing burdens.

This is exactly what he’s doing now: one hand caging the lighter in his pocket while using the other to emphasize important phrases with gestures,as he tries to convince the couple why they need to buy this mansion. The words he finesses them with make up for almost any preconceived concern that they may have with the property, his gravelly tone carrying the undeniable confidence necessary to sell it.

The three stroll through the hallways, and the couple takes in the interior that they imagine looking at for the rest of their lives. The wife is beaming, running her fingers across the lustrous wallpaper while also investing her attention on the little history lesson Shikamaru teaches them about the house. The husband nods along to the story wordlessly, grabbing his woman’s hand as they follow the real estate agent into the kitchen.

He’s not really feeling how loudly the wood creaks beneath his feet, or how the cabinets in the kitchen are wooden despite the variety of building materials that adorn this establishment. However, Shikamaru ain’t paid to do nothing. So he turns around, releases the lighter in his pocket and raises both his hands to stop the customers.

“The intramural design of this house is pretty old, I’ll admit. But one of our most trusted general contractors is already drafting the modern upgrade of the interior.”

The husband raises a brow. “Such as?”

“Glad you asked.” He walks by the marble counters and opens one of the cabinets. “Why have wooden cabinets when there are significantly more durable options? Our contractor can laminate a sheet of acrylic or stainless steel over the medium-density fiberboard.”

Shikamaru leans on the countertop. “It's your choice, of course, but acrylic is susceptible to scratches.”

The wife hums in thought, realizing she hadn’t noticed the material of the cabinets until now. She feels her man let go of her hand, the chill air hitting her moistened palm. He clears his throat.

“Okay, but-“

Shika’s coldly sharp eyes quietly welcome the man with his full attention.

“How much will the installment cost? And what can we do about these creaky wooden floors? Will that also add to the price?”

“Nope.” Shika doesn’t miss a beat, lightly pushing himself off the marble. “Since our contractor has been working on this project before you found it, you won’t be paying for any upgrades on their behalf. S’just how we do business.”

The wife’s eyes crinkle in relief, hooking her elbow with her husband’s so she can rest her cheek on his shoulder.

“Does this apply to ordering a security system?” The husband continues.

“Well… no. You’ll hafta pay for that since it’s not a part of-“

Shika’s phone vibrates in his back pocket like a war cry in a distant battle zone. It’s on Do Not Disturb for obvious reasons, but his intuition tells him it’s a call he shouldn’t ignore. And he never ignores his gut. So, he excuses himself for a millisecond only to check who could be calling.

It’s his own wife.

What does this woman want? He thinks. I’m about to sell this house in fifteen minutes anyway. She can wait.

He turns off his phone, facing the couple whispering lowly to each other with approving nods and content-laced grins.

“Sorry about that.” He sighs. “Where were we?”

-

>>Your call has been forwarded to an au-

Temari shuts off her phone, eyebrows pinching into a soft cringe as she glares at the black screen.

This is the third time her husband hasn’t answered her calls, what’s worse is that they’ve barely seen or even interacted with each other in the last couple weeks. He always excused it with ‘gotta sell another house” or “too tired, we’ll talk later” or toe curling sex like that’s enough justification to shut her up. But Temari shuts up when Temari wants to shut up, and Temari once again may hafta spend another day sleeping on their shared california king bed without Temari’s man. 

The exhausted woman scoffs, tossing her device on the couch as she slouches to reach the TV remote. The screen illuminates with the press of a button, and the channel displays a reality show. Images of a bunch of older women are raising their drinks in a toast to celebrate whatever the fuck, and it made Temari think of you.

Y’all haven’t had a proper hang out since she and Shika took you to the dojo, maybe some girl time could give her a less jaded outlook on the situation.

I’ll reach out later, she thinks.

-

Today is Veteran’s Day. Lee is at a restaurant eating with his sensei, Might Guy, and Neji. They’re celebrating Guy’s survival of the Fourth Great War, so it’s not surprising that he and Neji have downed a couple shots of whiskey. Lee, on the other hand, contently sips on his humble glass of cranberry juice from a squiggly straw.

“And so get this,” Neji chuckles, talking as if his face isn't beet red with liquor. “He puts slippers on her feet like she's Cinderella, and then she thanks him with the most unamused tone possible and walks away with a face so lifeless you could mistake her for a zombie.”

Guy Sensei cackles and slaps an open palm on the table. Lee pouts, shooting Neji the sassiest side-eye he can muster at his stupid humor, but his friend just ignores him while slurping on some ramen. Lee hums, gently placing his glass cup down before resting his chin on his folded hands.

“And yet she's the same woman who agreed to go on a date with me tomorrow.”

Guy Sensei drops his jaw with a gasp and Neji drops his chopsticks. 

“And you're telling us this now?” Neji glares at him, but there's no real irritation in his tone. His eyes glow with pride for his friend.

Guy Sensei grips his shoulder lovingly, a serious expression adorns his face.

“I know I never really bothered teaching you how to love a woman.” The thrumming bass in his demanding voice carried subtle waves of regret and faith. “But despite all that you've been through, you taught yourself how to do it. That's how I know you've always had it in you. I'm proud of you, my boy.”

Lee feels his lips wobble with joy and turns to Neji who closes his eyes with his own knowing smile.

“Th-thanks Guy Sensei. I think I hit the jackpot with this one!”

Guy leans his back into his wheelchair with a hand rubbing his chin.

“I’m glad,” he grumbles. “Tenten’s lost her choke hold on you, I see.”

Neji’s eyes rip open and his smile melts away. He snaps his head to Lee, who’s already frowning while his eyes stare a thousand yards ahead of him. Guy catches onto the shift in the aura and watches his student’s depressing reaction with subtle horror.

“I’m sorry Lee,” Guy sighs guiltily. “I thought you were over her.”

Lee lowers his unfolding hands from his chin. No one’s mentioned my ex-fiance in years, he thinks. I thought I was over her too. He inhales deeply and takes a swig from his cranberry juice.

“Her memory still brings me pain,” he prompts reluctantly.

Neji side-eyes Guy before looking down at his now-cold ramen. He's losing his appetite, and it's not even about him, all because Sensei couldn't watch his mouth. 

Suddenly, images of your tear-stained face, your beautiful smile, and your relentless kindness replaces the void in his chest with a warmth only you can provide. And he can't help but smile, more tenderly, this time.

“But not only have I grown stronger, I have another chance with an amazing woman.” he turns to the window beside him and gazes up at the blue sky, hope twinkling in his eyes.

“For the first time in a long time,” he turns his gaze back to Guy. “I look forward to loving again.”

Neji and Guy silently marvel at his growth and maturity. It’s now Guy’s turn to make a wobbly smile, quietly sniffling as he reaches to hold Lee’s hand. He offers his hand to his other student as well, and Neji hesitantly accepts it with a hopeless sigh. But he's also smiling again, nonetheless.

-

Today is the day you go out with Lee! You both decided he’d pick you up at your place at 7 pm, so you have the whole day to pamper yourself. You’re with your best friend Bria, and both of you are getting your nails done by her nail tech. Bria is another childhood friend of yours, y’all met in elementary school. She had to move to a neighboring state for college, but y’all always kept in touch when you could.

You sigh happily against the massage chair, feeling the tension around your shoulder blades erode while watching the color on your nails blossom with each stroke of the tiny brush.

“Bri, this is the best,” you groan softly. “Thank you.”

“Girl don’t even stress it, you know I missed you.” She rolls her eyes lovingly.

You chuckle sweetly. Bria always showed her affection by spoiling the people who have their own little place in her big heart. You understood why, you just didn’t feel comfortable having money spent on you. However, as years passed, Bria helped you realize that you rejected the way she loved because you felt like a burden - like if she burned some cash for you it'd ultimately be a waste. 

But ever since y’all met, you’ve supported her through many trials and tribulations. You were her strength when she was weak, especially after she was homeless for a period after being kicked out by her abusive grandmother. You and your father took her in when no one else would, and helped her get back on her feet. You made her feel like a normal teen amidst all the chaos. Without you, she would've never been able to blossom into the highly successful woman she is today, finally having her own home and even owning two businesses. From Bria’s point of view, the very least she can do is prepare you for your highly anticipated date.

Your nails are finished and they’re so you: stiletto shaped with a French, purple chrome tip. Bria’s nails are long and Spongbob themed which makes you giggle uncontrollably but at the same time they look dumb good. All this pretty art and not a single dent in your pockets - as it should be.

-

Next up is a shopping spree, but y’all only buy from one store. It’s a small thrift boutique with tons of vintage brands, Bria knows you love your 20 plus year old classics. God, it’s like a hidden museum riddled with ancient yet modernized pieces here. You feel like you’re time traveling as you scan through so many garments; some premiered in 90s runways from Paco Rabanne to Mugler. Where the fuck did the store owner get these?? Your brain ponders in a fashion-crazed frenzy.

While remaining hyper vigilant, you make sure to find something that doesn’t stand out but still screams classy. Simple yet effective. 

“Ayo Bri,” you call out, unable to see your friend anywhere.

“Yeah, hun?” She responds from the other side of the boutique. Predicting her exact location, you put your items in a cart and follow her voice. You show her your selection. Her eyes and fingers silently run over every ridge, every crease, every edge. The cotton is smoothly refined, beautifully dyed and feels amazing.   Your bestie nods affirmingly with a sharp grin.

“…You gon drive him crazy.”

“Like I don’t already.” You scoff.

Bria guffaws as you eagerly throw your arms around her shoulders, swaying you both side to side.

-

It’s 4pm, and y’all finally make it back to your apartment. Luckily, you have a few hours to settle in so you won’t hafta rush to get ready. Both of you sit on your couch while watching Bernie Mac. Bria pours two glasses of Pinot Noir while you take down your twists. You feel the cushion drain your energy from beneath you, but the idea of missing Lee’s inevitable call straightens your back and forces you awake. 

“Pookieee, you never showed me a pic of your lover boyyy,” Bria whines before taking a sip of some wine. Her brow raises unexpectedly at its richness.

You cease your twist out and reach for your phone. You never caught a proper portrait of Lee’s face, but you would sneak a few pics of him sparring with multiple fighters at once. So you show her those. She brings the screen closer to her face, and her eyes bulge out of her sockets.

“DAMN,” She barks. “Bruce Lee who?”

Your jaw drops, gently slapping her thigh at her boldness.

“Don’t disrespect Bruce’s legacy like tha-

“I’M NOT! LOOK,” Bria scrunches her eyes and zooms in on his body. “You can see his muscles through the clothes. THROUGH THE CLOTHES!”

You feel yourself wheezing, a hand over your clenching abdomen to ease the burn of laughter. But you can’t disagree, Lee’s stunning like that.

“Bri… I can’t with you,” you huff with a weak smile.

“Sure ya can!” Bria chirps, framing her words with a fake southern accent. She stay playing.

-

It’s 6:45 pm and you’re all dolled up; hair done, makeup done, outfit on, perfume spritzed. Bria takes a bunch of pics, squealing in delight at how much you ate up this look. She’s proud, so proud of the queen you’ve become.

“Bitch, ya lover boy lucky I’m straight.” 

You smile goofily, about to respond to her joke until you feel your phone vibrate in your hand.

You take it out and Lee’s contact brightens your screen. Bria slaps a palm over her mouth when you answer the call.

“H-Hello?”

Lee closes his eyes, reveling in how sweet and lovely you sound.

“Hi angel,” he chuckles gently. “I’m downstairs.”

You press your thighs together. That voice of his; a deep raspiness thrumming with a tone so sensual, it caresses every nerve in your body. To top it off with a pet name, and he arrives early?? Wheww.

“Okay. C-coming down.”

You hang up and turn to face your friend. She hugs your shoulders and wishes you the best night ever. 

“You can spend the night here if you want, ‘kay?” You coo. Bria nods appreciatively against your neck.

“I’ll save some wine for you,” she whispers.

“No you won’t.” She snorts at how well you know her.

You take your keys, purse and blow Bria a kiss before locking the door behind you.

-

Lee stands outside, leaning against the door of his car as he waits patiently for you. He tugs at his gray slacks, wondering if he should have entrusted his suit to Neji’s personal tailor. He snaps his head up when he hears your door unlock. Your black stiletto pumps clack as you descend down the steps like a goddess from her shrine. He couldn’t look away. He just physically couldn’t.

“Oh my god…” he mumbles, staring hopelessly at your figure; a royal purple sweater dress that reaches your mid-calf, fitting you like a glove as the soft fabric hugs every curve, crease and roll that adorns your body; smoky eyes and a glossy lip accentuate your soft glow; pretty round face framed with an afro- the radiant moonlight illuminating your fluffy coils. You watch your step while gracefully lifting the bottom of the black vintage mink coat draped over your shoulders. He feels like falling to his knees at the sight of you.

After approaching him, you stop at arm’s length so you can take him in. Calling Lee sexy would be a disserving understatement; the gray suit he’s wearing clings to his body with tasteful minimalism; it’s not too baggy, nor is it too tight; the fabric’s at peak quality, smoothly pressed, but not too shiny; you could see the bulk of his thighs slightly stretch his pants (the hems are cropped to perfection); the top four buttons on his black shirt are undone, so you can see his sternum and a delicious peak of his pecs. This fit frames his build with such majestic subtlety, you can't help but undress him with your eyes from head to polished boot.

“Lee! You… you look so handsome,” there’s that familiar lilt of humble adoration in your voice he loves oh so much. It boosts his ego, yet doesn’t soar it to great heights- he’s used to not getting any compliments on his appearance besides his impeccable physique. The rosiness that blooms on his cheeks is evident enough of that.

“Thank you,” he smiles softly. “I know you’re always beautiful no matter what you wear. It- it’s just..”

He nibbles on his bottom lip without ceasing eye contact, the sight urges you to look down shyly but you’re too mesmerized by him to tear your gaze.

“Seeing you tonight has confirmed to me that you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met.”

Gravity wins the battle and you finally look down, feeling like you’ll melt into a puddle if he gives you any more sweet praises.

“Th-thank you, Lee. That means a lot.” 

“Of course,” There’s a reassurance in his tone that boosts your ego as well, making you feel like his flattery isn’t just flattery. He makes it feel like a widely accepted fact amongst the masses of an entire nation. No man has ever made you feel that way, you couldn’t depend on them to do that. It took your whole life up until now to realize yourself that you’re the shit, you were always the shit, and forever will be the shit.

He turns to open the door for you, making sure the ends of your fur don’t graze the pavement as you step inside the vehicle.

-

The ride to the restaurant is quiet, words have yet to be exchanged between you two.This kinda baffles Lee because he’s been on plenty of dates; but there’s something about your aura, the way you carry yourself with such poise, from how you speak to how you sit- his face just won’t stop heating up- he's terrifed of messing this up.

You on the other hand are just chilling; basking in the woody scent of his car that mixes with the expensive cologne radiating from Lee in small, balanced whiffs. He smells like cinnamon, sweet and warm while trailing a sharp spiciness. You sense his hesitation, but you don’t know what to say either. And date or not, you refuse to force small talk. It makes you feel icky. So you just enjoy his presence silently.

You’re both halfway to your destination and Lee decides to restart his brain a little. He turns on the radio, making sure the music is only loud enough for both of you to listen casually. Barbra Streisand’s The Way We Were plays in the background. I loved this song as a teen, you think. Gosh I was a hopeless romantic… still am. You ponder if that was ever a bad thing. Or if you were just scared of the fact that you either love passionately, or don’t at all. 

You ponder if that even matters right now.

Lee hums every note Barbra sings with attentive effort, his finger tapping against the wheel to match the feather-light percussion’s rhythm.

“Smiles we gave to one another,” you turn your head to him, not expecting his singing to enchant you the way it does. “For the way we were…”

He sounds so invested in the moment, simply appreciating the song by singing along. Your heart skips a beat when he shifts his gaze to you, a silly smile raising his cheeks before returning his focus on the road ahead. It makes you strangely jealous, the way he so easily erased the growing tension between you two.

You want to do that. You want to do that for yourself, for the people around you, for your patients. Maybe you already do, but you don’t think anyone can do it quite like Lee does.

-

“SO IT’S THE LAUGHTER WE WILL REMEMBER. WHENEVER WE REMEMBER..”  your mouths hang low as you both shout the sentimental lyrics at the top of your lungs. Your bodies sway to the music with fervent enthusiasm like you’re in a soap opera, like it’s the last song you both will ever sing. You feel so free. You both don’t mind how crazy y’all might sound belting notes slightly beyond your registers, for your hearts called out to Streisand’s magnificent delivery of an undeniably nostalgic message. You both feel so free.

“The way we were. The way we… were.” The song concludes with the introductory hums from earlier, and you feel yourself sink back into your seat.

“Damn!” You exclaim. “You got some pipes, Lee.”

Laughter erupts from Lee’s chest. “I can say the same for you too, y/n.”

-

You finally make it to the restaurant and the exterior design is sleek and well illuminated. Lee walks ahead to open the door for you, and you thank him before entering the establishment. You’d expect the interior to have a modern style similar to other restaurants you’ve dined at. To your delightful surprise it’s very old-school. The lights are dimmed to increase the intimacy but not to the point where it’s hard to see. Shika and Temari would love this place, you think. Speaking of that, I wonder if everything’s okay between those two.

A waiter approaches the two of you.

“Good evening, my name is Jeremy,” he prompts. “Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes,” Lee verifies. “Under the name Rock Lee.”

“Right this way.” Jeremy smiles politely and leads you both to a booth in a secluded corner.

The round table is draped in a black cloth and decorated with silver utensils, two Riesling wine glasses and burgundy twin candles. Even the seats are adorned in red velvet fabric. Is this how royalty dines everyday?

Before stopping yourself, you tug on the hem of Lee’s sleeve. He looks down at you and the concern in his expression almost makes your incoming words clog up your throat. It’s too all too much. He’s just too much.

“Lee… you didn’t hafta do all this.” You protest weakly.

Lee blinks at you, big eyes widening as he processes your remark.

“ ‘Course I did,” he says matter-of-factly. “You deserve it, princess. Now, let’s eat!”

He waits for you to release your hold. You let go of him, feeling your cheeks puff up in a small grin. He pulls back a chair, offering you your seat. You thank him once more as he steadily pushes your chair forward so you’re close enough to the table. He sits across from you while you shrug off your coat. 

After taking off his own jacket, he rolls up his sleeves and his forearms look delectable; the way his veins protrude as his muscles flex makes you imagine how they’d feel wrapped around your neck from behind as he p-

“Here are your menus,” Jeremy gives you each a fancy pamphlet listing all the available dishes and beverages. You both make sure to receive them with verbal gratitude and scan your options.

You want to pull out your phone so you can look up these Italian words, but you don’t want to violate the etiquette so you read the ingredients of each meal from the menu instead. Your eyes follow Lee’s confused ones, and hide a snort with your pamphlet when he asks the waiter what a certain meal is and completely butchers the pronunciation of the dish’s name.

After requesting your appetizers, you both wait patiently with a glass of wine in your hand and a glass of orange juice in Lee’s.

You raise your glass to the crease of your mouth, but something about Lee sitting prim and content with his orange juice peaks an interest within that urges you to indulge it.

“Not a fan of drinking?”

Lee lowers his glass at your question, swallowing a glob of spit to brace himself. Yes, he’s not obligated to answer that question and could just manage a way to politely change the subject. Or, he could tell the truth no matter how mercilessly his shame is clawing at his back. However, the sincerity behind the bleakness of his past sprouts in the form of a relaxed smile embellishing his features.

“I was an alcoholic,” Lee makes sure he’s loud enough so you can’t misconstrue the truth in his words. “Been sober for five years… going on six.”

Lee stares at you and waits. He waits for your reaction, your character, the potential volume of your heart. He sits and stares, looking for any judgment in your eyes. He knows how mature and grounded you are, Neji and Guy Sensei have helped him see those traits in admirable people. But you’re going to have to accept all of him if he’s going to give you all of him.

You turn your head, scanning the area for the nearest waiter. Luckily there’s one who’s an earshot away from you. To Lee’s confusion, you summon them for assistance.

“Hi, how can I help you?” Inquires the waiter.

“May I have a glass of orange juice, please? I’d like to return the wine.”

Lee’s eyes widen, wondering why his lungs no longer feel like they’re being buried by dumbbells. But rather, they feel like an inflated balloon, like a sky lantern floating gracefully into the atmosphere until they look like one of the infinite stars so impossibly far away. Except, you’re right in front of him.

“Yes, of course.” The waiter grabs the glass and bottle of Riesling, retreating to the kitchen.

“Thank you,” you mumble, mindlessly watching them walk away.

A heavy sigh pulls you from your trance. You turn your attention to the man before you, his chin resting on his palm while dreamily gazing at you.

“Why did you do that?” He blinks slowly, and the nonchalance of his grin almost perfectly masks his bewilderedness.

“Because I'm proud of you! Five years is no easy milestone.”

Lee leans back against his seat, carefully drinking in the subtle meekness in your eyes. Yes, you were a bit nervous, twiddling with your nails while wondering if the gesture you just pulled was really necessary.

“No one’s ever done something like that for me before. Thank you, angel.”

Lee raises his chin, briefly facing the decorated ceiling with his eyes closed while reveling in this moment you’ve blessed him with.

“Of course…!” You lean a tad bit forward, folding your hands on the dining table. “ You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. In body and spirit.”

A hearty chuckle slips through Lee’s lips, and the sound rumbles through your brain.

The waiter comes back with the orange juice and pours you a new drink. You thank them as they leave and raise your glass towards the man before you.

“To five years?” You prompt with a shy smile stretching your thick lips.

Lee straightens his posture, and reaches for his drink. He ascends the glass and clinks it gently against yours, the look on his face so relaxed and at peace. A quiet sombreness radiates from the satisfaction of this precious moment because of the unbearable days he had to bear just to experience it. And yet, that resentful trail of suffering led him to share an intimacy with someone he never ever thought he’d encounter. You are invaluable, and he’s gonna make sure you enjoy every second you spend with him.

“To five years.”

-

The ride back to your place is a bit noisier, y’all don’t sing this time but rather continue the intellectually fruitful and deeply polarizing conversations you shared back at the restaurant. So much depth:

“Fave powerpuff girl?”

Lee takes a shallow breath at your question, pondering on how to answer most truthfully.

“Y’know, quite a few people thought I liked Buttercup because we both have short black hair and our color is green but…” Lee kisses his teeth in thought while steadily swerving onto the next block..

“Bubble’s innocent naivety and relentless bliss always resonated with me,” he shrugs while looking ahead. “I wanted to be the ‘happiest citizen of Townsville’ for the sixth year in a row when I was a toddler.”

You snort, resting your elbow below the passenger window. “You know, she gets extremely aggressive when she’s mad though.”

“Another reason why I love her! She’s so underestimated as a fighter but is the most feared by Mojo Jojo himself.”

You loll your head in Lee’s direction. “Jojo is not a very impressive villain. I mean, you didn’t forget about HIM, did you?”

Lee catches a glimpse of how your pretty eyes slant a bit when you playfully smirk at him, an image he snapshots with his brain.

“Who can forget the most manipulative, morally inept character in that show? S’why he’s so interesting!”

“His fashion sense is interesting too,” you remark while recollecting the character’s iconic design. “Wanted to dress up as him for Halloween back in kindergarten.”

Lee bellows at the thought of a tiny version of you embellished in red crab hands and a pointy chin beard.  Shameless laughter has never sounded sexy to you. But after seeing his cheeks rise and eyes crinkle shut in hopeless glee; after seeing the way his sharp jaw falls open to let out that deep bass rumbling through the car. You want to make him do it again. You want to drink it in, to feel him do it again.

“You’d look so adorable,” he wheezes while resting his forehead against the wheel.

You try to ignore the effect he has on you. You try to ignore how contagious he is, but a few sniggers escape your lips in merry futility.

“Thank you…” you turn to look through your passenger window, taking in the streets and architecture that look more and more similar to your home as Lee drives by. 

“Your Bubbles cosplay would be quite convincing, if I do say so myself.” You add.

“Don't tempt me, princess.” Lee continues to look ahead, but you can see a sneer creep up his handsome features in a way that makes you cackle unabashedly.

-

“This is you, right?”

“Yep!”

Your date pulls up right in front of your apartment, and you reflect on your time with him while he unplugs the key from his car. You had so much fun; didn’t feel stressed in any way, you ate good, you learned so much more about Lee than you ever expected to; you secretly hope he knows more about you too.

Lee steps out of the car and opens your side of the door. He offers his hand for you to balance yourself as you step onto the jagged pavement. While nodding your head in gratitude, you feel your pores prick open at the rough texture of his palm. His fingers are solid and scarred, yet so soothingly warm just for you.

Before you take out your keys to unlock the gate, you turn to face the man’s chest before you. You look up to find those big eyes, and his gaze consumes you; he tucks his hands in his pockets, sighing as he stares lovingly at you; lidded eyes and a lazy smile, you got him on cloud nine. It gives you the urge to cower, but you don’t want to. The way he is looking at you right now, with such an undeniable bliss, urges you to face the fear. To judge yourself a little less. It’s quiet for a few moments, the both of you kinda just stare at each other but it’s comfortable. Not awkward, just the both of you. No one else. 

“I don’t want this night to end.” You pout, a little whine erupting in your throat.

Lee chuckles lowly at the adorable sight, quietly grateful that you show this side of yourself to him.

“It doesn’t have to,” his tender tone sugarcoats the fearless conviction in his words.

You briefly shut your eyes in a frown and take a deep breath. “Yes… yes it does.”

Lee’s smile doesn’t even falter, he’s simply grateful that you blessed him with your precious time and presence.

“Well,” he sighs. “I had a wonderful time with you. You’re wonderful, y’know that?” The bass in his voice rasps you away into the air while simultaneously grounding you. Your eyes drop to your heels so you can hide your silly grin. 

Lee takes a step closer, and he can smell the vanilla and honey wafting from your shiny coils. The warm cologne radiating from his body starts to insulate your own. His throat bobs with every subtle gulp, and you feel like taking a step back because it’s so much but not even close to enough.

A tiny gasp escapes your lips when Lee gently cups your chin with his hand, slowly tilting your head up so you can look him in the eyes. He tightens his grip on your cheeks, just enough to watch your lips squish cutely together.

“You know that, right sweetheart?” 

Oh. So it’s like that.

Didn’t take him for a fucking tease, you think.

“Right,” you whisper mindlessly. ”But if I’m so wonderful…”

 You gulp, “Then why don’t you kiss me already?”

Lee’s smirk grows back. There you go, he thinks. Demand what’s yours.

The man before you swipes a careful thumb over your bottom lip before dragging his other fingertips across your cheek. He caresses the smooth skin before gripping the back of your neck, and pulls you in.

Your hands instinctively find their place on his chest to brace yourself.

His mouth hovers just a stray hair from yours, and you can feel his minty breath set your goosebumps aflame. He languidly plants his lips onto your plush ones, groaning at how pillowy they are. Lee shamelessly expressing how good you make him feel makes you squirm slightly against his hold. He slowly snakes an arm around the small of your back, tugging you closer until your torsos press together. His hands massage your waist and upper back while holding you, appreciating as much of your body as he can. The print of his abs poke your soft tummy through his shirt and you melt against him, letting your shaky hands run up his chest until they grasp onto the junction between his neck and shoulders. Lee angles his head to deepen the kiss, your breaths get heavier and you start panting at how overwhelming he’s being.

He loosens his jaw to lick a teasing stripe up the corner of your lips, silently requesting more access which goes straight to your poor pussy. Your tongues mold together, muffling the pathetic whimpers that escape your mouth and Lee swallows the delectable sound. It’s filthy... You love it so much.

You haven’t been kissed like this in at least three years, don’t even know what to do with yourself anymore. You feel like this man’s delving into your soul, peeling you layer by layer with just his mouth. You can only imagine a pleasure that the rest of his body would drown you in.

You start feeling antsy, like if you don’t stop now Lee will take you to a corner store for some plan b. You scream inwardly, knowing you’ll be fucking your toy until its battery dies instead when you go upstairs. So you gently shove him away, causing your spit-slicked lips to separate with a lewd ‘pop’. Lee releases your waist, watching you inhale deeply as you awkwardly button his suit jacket.

“See you at the dojo. And get home safely,” you whisper with a tight smile, patting his chest conclusively before walking to your gate. The jingling of your keys snaps Lee out of his trance, a meek little “I will” tumbling from his lips before he retreats back into his vehicle.

Lee runs a tired hand through his black strands, lazily holding some hair in his fist while replaying his new three months worth of daydreaming fantasies. God you’re so divine to him; your lips are divine, the way your eyebrows scrunched together when he tongue-fucked your mouth was divine, how your tits pressed against him when he held you was divine, your needy voice when he french kissed you just how you like was divine. And the way Lee looks down to see a tent in his pants- beads of precum seeping into the fabric- harbors peak divinity.

-

You open your apartment door, catching Bria snuggling with your Kuromi in a blissful slumber. After closing the door behind you, you kick off your heels and pad your way to your bedroom. You decide to sleep naked tonight, chilling under your comforter while scrolling through Instagram.

Your phone vibrates and Temari’s caller ID pops up on your screen.

I haven’t heard from her in a while, you wonder. How’s she been doing?

You answer.

This work belongs solely to ©️ blimbosworlddd. Do not plagiarize, steal, copy or repost. I worked very hard on this; reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated.

[andthingsleftover]

Just finished watching Foolish's 100-floors perspective. He didn't have any more armour than a leather cap and no better weapons than a wooden sword and a stick with fire aspect 1 until literally floor 52 and somehow he kept up with everyone else in their iron and diamond armour and swords and axes. True, it was definitely his hiding in the crowd and keeping to the side and out of the way as much as possible and not using his sword unless actually necessary to preserve the durability.

but still. Shadoune, a very excellent fighter, was in enchanted diamond armour and had a sword and Foolish kept up with him and didn't die until floor 62. He lasted through three different creeper tnt explosion events that took out JoJo and Farfadox just by careful dodging and I dunno, the power of Main Character? If he'd actually had armour beyond the iron chestplate and leather pants he picked up and maybe found a weapon along the way (and spreen hadn't stolen the shield), he probably would have had as little trouble surviving as the ones that made it to the end.

Man's seriously underrated as a tactician. he knows how to navigate a fight.

[everyones-fangirl]

Delectable Little Pet

Warnings: 18+ This will be about after ascension Astarion so expect some extreme dark romance and future triggers. Female Masturbation. Stalking. Being super forward/not taking no for an answer.

Word Count: 4,247

Chapter 4

Cassara

The tavern was bustling, a hive of activity as patrons came and went, their laughter and shouts blending into a cacophony of noise. A large table of orcs in the corner grew louder with each drink, their raucous laughter and booming voices dominating the room. The sun shone bright today, its rays filtering through the windows and casting warm patches of light on the wooden floor. Sweat collected at my brow, and the only relief came when the door opened, allowing a brief, cool breeze to waft in and provide momentary respite. I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, grateful for the bandana that kept my hair off my face. Over the past few weeks, I had learned to favor pants over skirts for their practicality. My attire was a blend of practicality and understated elegance, reflecting both my elven heritage and my current circumstances. I favored garments that allowed me to move freely and withstand the rigors of working at the tavern, yet these clothes also subtly accentuated my natural beauty and grace.

My pants were made of supple, dark brown leather that hugged my curves while providing protection and flexibility. The leather was well-worn, softening over time but still retaining its durability. These pants were reinforced at the knees and hips, places most prone to wear and tear, showcasing thoughtful craftsmanship. Small, intricately embroidered patterns ran along the seams, adding a touch of elven artistry to the otherwise utilitarian garment. My shirt was a simple yet elegant white blouse made of fine linen. The fabric was lightweight and breathable, perfect for long, hot days in the bustling tavern. The blouse had billowing sleeves that cinched at the wrists with delicate, lace-trimmed cuffs. The neckline was modest, yet it featured a subtle, scalloped edge that added a hint of femininity. When I moved, the blouse flowed around me, hinting at the fluid grace with which I carried myself.

Over the blouse, I wore a corset top made of dark green brocade fabric. The corset was intricately designed, with patterns of leaves and vines woven into the material. The corset laced up the front with a series of delicate, silver eyelets, each thread carefully tied to ensure a snug fit that accentuated my waist and provided support. The boning in the corset was flexible yet firm, allowing me to maintain my posture while working long hours without discomfort. I often accessorized with a few select pieces that held personal significance. Around my neck, I wore a thin silver chain with a small pendant shaped like a leaf, a gift from my mother that I never took off. My fingers were adorned with simple silver rings, each one engraved with tiny runes of protection and healing, their magic subtle but ever-present.

My practical side showed in the sturdy boots I wore, made of the same dark brown leather as my pants. These boots were well-crafted, with reinforced soles and ankle support that allowed me to move swiftly and confidently across the tavern's creaky wooden floors. The boots reached just below my knees, laced up the front, and were adorned with small, silver buckles that added a touch of elegance to their rugged design. To keep my long, thick dark brown hair out of my face while I worked, I often tied it back with a crème-colored bandana. The bandana was made of soft, lightweight fabric, and I had a few in different shades to match my outfits. When I wasn't working, I would let my hair down, the dark waves cascading over my shoulders and down my back, shimmering with a faint green luminescence in the right light.

I had started working the counter and tables on my days off. Each coin earned brought me a step closer to moving on, to finding a new place where I could start fresh. As I moved between tables, balancing trays of drinks and plates of food, I felt a sense of purpose, even if it was just for a fleeting moment. The tavern’s interior was a mix of warm wood and rough stone, the walls adorned with faded tapestries and old hunting trophies. The air was thick with the scent of ale, roasted meat, and the earthy aroma of the orcs' sweat. The floorboards creaked under the weight of heavy boots, and the low hum of conversation was punctuated by the occasional cheer or bellow.

At the bar, Caty worked her magic, her fingers flying as she poured drinks and charmed the customers with her infectious smile. Her red hair was a vibrant flame in the dim light, and her laughter was a constant, cheerful background noise. I admired her ability to remain upbeat and engaging, even when the tavern was at its busiest.

As I served a group of dwarves seated near the fireplace, I couldn't help but steal glances at the door. Every time it opened, I hoped for a breeze to cool my flushed skin, but I also found myself scanning the faces of the newcomers. A habit formed from both curiosity and caution, ever since that night with Astarion. The orcs' table erupted in another wave of laughter, and I turned to see one of them pounding the table with a fist, causing mugs to jump and slosh their contents. I hurried over, deftly weaving through the crowd, and set down a fresh pitcher of ale. One of the orcs, a towering brute with a scar running down his cheek, grinned at me.

"More ale! You keep us happy, girl," he bellowed, his voice like rolling thunder.

I nodded, offering a polite smile. "Of course. Enjoy your drinks."

As I turned away, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a polished shield hanging on the wall. My face was flushed, not just from the heat but from the constant exertion. Despite the sweat and the noise, there was a determination in my eyes. I was working toward something, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. Moving toward the next table, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. The tavern was just a stepping stone, a place to gather strength and resources for whatever lay ahead.I refused to let anything get in my way—not my aching feet, the sweltering heat, or a certain unnaturally pale elf.

I hadn’t seen him in weeks, but I kept catching glimpses of his silver hair or piercing eyes in the crowd. Each time, a shiver ran down my spine. Something about him made my hair stand on end, and the way he looked at me—as if I were a meal—made me feel extremely conflicted. From the moment he approached our table, I knew he was used to getting what he wanted. When I turned him down, it only further proved my point.

He was dangerous, and I knew scheming when I saw it. It was all I did growing up. Underneath the fear he evoked in me, there was a certain type of heat or desire hidden. It was that feeling that kept him at the forefront of my mind, a secret yearning for him to come back, to approach me again. It had been a while since I found someone who could keep up with my banter. The look in his eyes while he observed me last time was borderline murderous, yet I couldn't deny the thrill it gave me.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts as I approached the next table. The constant motion, the clinking of mugs, the chatter of patrons—all of it was becoming familiar. Yet, despite the routine, my mind kept wandering back to him. His predatory gaze, the way his presence seemed to fill the room, even when he wasn't there.

I felt a mix of fear and excitement whenever I thought about him. He was a puzzle I wanted to solve, a danger I wanted to face. But I knew better than to let my guard down. The stakes were too high, and I couldn't afford to be reckless. My future depended on it.

I shrugged my shoulders as I picked up the dirty dishes from a newly empty table, the clatter of mugs and plates a familiar comfort amid the tavern's chaos. It’s not like he showed much interest in me anyway. I found myself glancing over at Caty, who was effortlessly working the bar. A large crowd had formed around her, captivated by her bright smile and quick hands as she mixed drinks with practiced ease. He was definitely more interested in her, and I couldn’t blame him. Caty’s personality was magnetic, drawing people in with her infectious laughter and boundless energy. But that only made me want to protect her more. The world was full of dangers we couldn’t see, and I had learned to be wary of anyone too smooth, too charming.

When Astarion had grabbed her to take her to the so-called “party” that night a few weeks back, panic surged within me. The memory was still vivid, a chilling reminder of how close we had come to losing her. The way he looked at her was different, predatory and cold. Something in me screamed that if she went with him, I would never see her again.

I gasped in surprise as familiar arms wrapped tightly around me from behind. A small laugh escaped my lips as I struggled to balance the tray of dirty dishes in my arms. “Woah, woah. Careful! If I break these, I’ll lose money!” I playfully frowned at my friend, my heart warming at the sound of her laughter.

Setting the tray down at the bar, I turned to see Caty grinning widely. She hopped up onto one of the stools, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “A couple of us are going out after this shift. You should come.”

I sighed heavily, shaking my head. “You know I can’t. I signed up for a double.” My voice was weary but firm. “I need this.”

Caty's expression fell, a hint of disappointment shadowing her features. She nodded reluctantly, understanding but not happy about it. “I know, I know. But you should take a break soon, or you’ll work yourself to death.”

I glanced around the bustling tavern, the noise of chatter and clinking glasses filling the air. The sun had finally set, and the evening crowd had settled in, making the place even more hectic. Sweat trickled down my forehead, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand, feeling the weight of exhaustion bearing down on me.

“I’ll be fine,” I assured her, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “Besides, we need the money if we want to move on from this place.”

Caty’s eyes softened, and she reached out, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “I just worry about you, Cassara. You’ve been pushing yourself so hard.”

I forced a smile, appreciating her concern but knowing I couldn’t afford to slow down. “I promise I’ll be careful. Just a little while longer, okay?”

She sighed but didn’t press the issue further. “Alright. Just don’t forget to take care of yourself, too.”

As she jumped off the stool and headed back to the bar to help with the evening rush, I watched her go, a pang of guilt tugging at my heart. I wished I could join her, to let loose and have some fun, but the reality of our situation kept me grounded. With a deep breath, I picked up the tray of dishes and made my way to the kitchen, weaving through the throngs of patrons. The tavern was packed tonight, the energy high and the atmosphere almost festive. Yet, despite the lively environment, I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled over me. I caught myself glancing at the door, out a window, or just simply over my shoulder more often than usual.

“Cassara, you’ve got a table waiting!” one of the other servers called out, snapping me back to reality.

“On it!” I replied, setting the tray down and grabbing a fresh one.

After the evening rush had subsided, Caty left with our group of coworkers, their laughter and chatter filling the air as they departed. They mentioned something about a circus being in town, and I waved them off with a smile, not entirely sure what a circus was. I made a mental note to ask Caty about it later. The night dragged on, and as the closing hour approached, the tavern slowly emptied. I leaned against the bar, lost in thought. My nightly cleaning duties were done, and now it was just a matter of waiting to lock the doors. The tavern, usually bustling with noise and activity, felt eerily quiet. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the wooden floor, adding to the sense of solitude.

I didn’t notice someone slipping in as the last few patrons were leaving. Nor did I see him walk up to the bar and sit down. The sudden noise of someone clearing their throat startled me, making me jump back. “My, my, jumpy little pup, aren’t we?” His familiar voice and the smirk that pulled at his lips made my cheeks flush hot.

“I am neither of those things,” I managed to say, frowning. My heart raced, a mix of fear and something else—something I didn’t want to acknowledge—coursing through me.

Astarion leaned forward, his intense gaze never leaving mine. The candlelight played across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face and the cold, calculating glint in his eyes. “You’re working late tonight,” he observed, his voice silky smooth.

“Yes, I needed the extra money,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “What do you want?”

His smirk widened. “Such hostility. I was merely hoping for a drink and some pleasant company.”

I didn’t believe him for a second. There was always an ulterior motive with Astarion. But I couldn’t afford to cause a scene or draw attention. “Fine. What will you have?” I asked, grabbing a clean mug.

“Surprise me,” he said, leaning back with an air of casual confidence.

I turned to the shelves, pulling down a bottle of our finest ale. My hands shook slightly as I poured the drink, my mind racing with thoughts of how to handle this situation. He was dangerous, and I knew I had to be careful. Placing the mug in front of him, I took a deep breath and tried to project an air of indifference.

“There. Enjoy,” I said curtly.

Astarion cut a striking figure as he lounged at the bar, his posture relaxed yet exuding an air of undeniable confidence. His angular features were accentuated by the flickering candlelight, casting shadows across his chiseled jawline and high cheekbones. His skin, pale as moonlight, seemed to glow softly in the dim tavern.

His silver hair fell in loose waves around his face, adding to the aura of otherworldly allure that surrounded him. His eyes, a piercing shade of violet, seemed to bore into mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. They held a hint of mischief, a dangerous glint that hinted at the depths of his unpredictable nature. Dressed in finely tailored clothing that hugged his lean frame, he looked every bit the aristocrat he claimed to be. The fabric of his shirt and trousers was of the highest quality, the deep crimson hue complementing the pale perfection of his skin. A silver pendant hung from his neck, catching the light as it swung gently with his movements.

But it was his presence, his undeniable charisma, that truly set him apart. There was something magnetic about him, something that drew people in despite the warning bells that rang in the back of their minds. It was a dangerous allure, one that promised pleasure and pain in equal measure.As he sat there, smirking at me with that infuriatingly confident grin, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease. Astarion was a predator, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and I had no idea of the danger that lurked beneath his charming facade.

Astarion took a sip, his eyes never leaving mine. “You know, Cassara, I’ve been thinking about our last encounter,” he said, his tone deceptively light.

“Oh?” I replied, trying to sound uninterested. “And what have you concluded?”

“That you’re quite a fascinating creature,” he said, leaning forward again. “So much fire and spirit. It’s rare to find someone who can resist my charm.”

“I’m not interested in your games, Astarion,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “So if that’s all, you can finish your drink and leave.”

He gave me a feigned sad look before breaking out into a devilish grin once more. With a swift movement, he was suddenly looming over me, his body pressed dangerously close. I could feel the heat radiating off him, sending shivers down my spine as his piercing gaze bore into mine. It was like staring into the eyes of a predator, and for a moment, I felt trapped, unable to tear myself away. Before I could react, his hand came up to brush a stray strand of hair from my face, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through me. I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart pounding in my chest as his fingers trailed lightly down my cheek. His scent, a heady mix of musk and danger, enveloped me, clouding my senses and leaving me dizzy with desire.

“Oh, but I think you are,” he purred, his voice dripping with dark amusement. He pressed closer, his body heat seeping into me, making it hard to think clearly. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from my face, his touch light but possessive. “I have a feeling you’re more interested than you let on.”

I scoffed, trying to push him away, but he held me firmly in place, his gaze burning into mine with an intensity that made my knees weak. I could feel the tension crackling between us, thick with unspoken promises and forbidden desires. “Let me go,” I demanded, trying to sound strong, but my voice wavered, betraying the fear and confusion roiling inside me.

Astarion leaned in, his lips just inches from mine. “Why would I do that when we’re having so much fun?” he whispered, his breath hot against my skin. He inhaled deeply, his nose grazing the curve of my neck. “You smell intoxicating,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.

I struggled to push him away, but his grip was firm, unyielding. “Stop it,” I spat, my anger and fear warring with an unwelcome thrill of excitement.

He chuckled softly, his fingers tracing a path down my arm. “Resistance is futile, darling. You can deny it all you want, but I can see the curiosity in your eyes, the way your body responds to my touch.” His hand slid down to my waist, pulling me even closer. “I can feel your heart racing. Tell me, is it fear... or something else?”

His words sent a flush of heat through me, and I hated myself for the way my body reacted to him. There was a magnetic pull between us, a dangerous allure that made it hard to think straight. But I couldn’t let him win, couldn’t let him see how much he affected me.

“I’m not like the others,” I said, my voice trembling but defiant. “I won’t be one of your conquests.”

Astarion’s eyes darkened, his smile turning wicked. “We’ll see about that,” he murmured. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against mine in a teasing, almost taunting kiss. I could feel his desire, the raw hunger in his touch, and it terrified me.

I shivered at the feel of his breath against my skin, my pulse racing as his words sent a thrill through me. Despite my best efforts to deny it, there was something undeniably exhilarating about being so close to danger, about dancing on the edge of the unknown. But even as my body responded to his touch, a voice in the back of my mind screamed at me to run, to get as far away from him as possible. Astarion was a predator, a creature of darkness and deceit, and I knew that to give in to him would be to invite nothing but trouble.

With a sudden surge of strength, I shoved him away, my breathing ragged. “Get out,” I said, my voice stronger this time. “I don’t want you here.”

His smirk faltered, he looked almost impressed, a flicker of respect in his eyes but also darkness— danger. But then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced by that infuriatingly charming grin.

“Suit yourself,” he said, his tone laced with amusement. “But don’t be surprised when you find yourself craving the thrill of the chase.” With a final wink, he turned and sauntered back to his seat as if the entire past three minutes never happened. He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. “I have a feeling our paths will cross again. You can’t resist the inevitable forever, little pup.”

I glared at him, refusing to be intimidated. “We’ll see about that.”

He finished his drink in one long gulp, setting the mug down with a satisfied sigh. “Until next time, Cassara,” he said, rising from his seat. As he walked towards the door, he paused and glanced back at me, his expression unreadable. “Take care. The night is full of dangers.”

With that, he was gone, leaving me alone in the empty tavern. The adrenaline from our encounter slowly ebbed away, leaving me feeling drained and exposed. I locked the doors with trembling hands and leaned against them, taking a moment to collect myself. Astarion’s presence always left me feeling unsettled, a mix of fear and something dangerously close to excitement. But I knew I couldn’t let him get to me. I couldn’t afford to. Taking a deep breath, I pushed away from the door and began to close up for the night. The tavern, once bustling with life and noise, now felt eerily silent. I methodically wiped down the tables, straightened the chairs, and swept the floor, trying to distract myself from the lingering tension. Every creak and shadow seemed amplified, making me jumpy and paranoid. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was still being watched, even after he had left.

As I finished my tasks and finally headed to my small room above the tavern, the unease stayed with me. I locked the door behind me and drew the curtains, trying to create a barrier between myself and the outside world. Yet, the sensation of being watched persisted, a prickling at the back of my neck that refused to go away. My instincts were hardly ever wrong, and they were screaming at me now.

I tried to ignore the feeling as I prepared for bed. I undressed slowly, letting my clothes fall to the floor, and made my way to the basin. The water was cool against my heated skin as I dipped the rag in and began to cleanse myself. My hair was pulled up in a messy bun, dark strands hanging in escaped tendrils around my face. I let the rag glide over my body, taking my time, trying to wash away the lingering tension. Despite my efforts, my mind kept drifting back to him. The way he had looked at me, the intensity in his eyes, the unsettling mix of threat and allure. As I ran the rag across my bare skin, my thoughts became more vivid, more intrusive. I could almost feel his hands on me instead, his touch igniting a fire within me that I couldn’t ignore.

I paid close attention to my nipples, my breath hitching as I imagined it was his fingers instead of the rag. The sensation sent a shiver down my spine, and I closed my eyes, allowing myself to get lost in the fantasy for a moment. The idea of him watching me, of those piercing eyes following my every movement, made my heart race. A moan escaped my lips, soft and needy, as I continued to cleanse myself with deliberate slowness. My body responded to the imagined touch, heat pooling low in my belly. I knew it was dangerous to let my mind wander down this path, but I couldn’t help it. The desire he awakened in me was as intoxicating as it was terrifying. Finally, I forced myself to stop, dropping the rag back into the basin and taking a deep, steadying breath. I couldn’t afford to lose control, not with someone like Astarion lurking around. I needed to stay vigilant, to protect myself from whatever game he was playing.

I climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin and trying to will myself to sleep. But even as I lay there, the memory of his touch, his voice, his presence lingered, haunting me in the darkness. I knew this was far from over. The hunt had only just begun, and I was caught in the middle of it, whether I wanted to be or not.

As exhaustion finally pulled me under, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my life had just taken a dangerous turn. And deep down, a part of me wondered if I would ever be able to find my way back or if I even wanted to.