#NONE OF THESE MUSES ARE ON THIS BLOG YET

[pink-sparkly-witch]

All She Wants, Part Two

Summary: Y/N decides to leave the bunker for good when Dean reiterates that he can never give her what she wants. Struggling to adjust without her, Dean turns to hormone suppressants, unable to stomach the thought of going through a rut with anyone else.

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Female Omega!Reader

Rating: 18+ Only

Bingo Square: Hormone Suppressants for @j3bingo

Warnings: omegaverse, A/B/O, A/B/O dynamics, angst, arguments, heats, ruts, language, Dean’s still a bit of an asshole.

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: The response to the first part of this angsty, angsty fic has been overwhelming. Thank you to every single one of you who read and commented and reblogged. It means so much 🥹 Now, without further ado, I hope you love part two!

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Being back in the bunker is suffocating, and you haven’t even been back twelve hours yet. The mild cramps in your stomach are now an annoying and constant discomfort, and being near Dean is only making it worse. Your body is so used to the green-eyed hunter that his scent has you craving him. If you don’t get out of here and find another alpha, you know you’ll cave and go to the man who keeps breaking your heart.

Digging into the depths of your meagre closet, you pull out one of the few dresses you have and get ready to have a night on the town. It’s nerve-wracking; you haven’t done this in a long time, but you need to kick old habits and rid yourself of your addiction to Dean. It’s no longer a healthy relationship—maybe it never had been—but your last time together opened your eyes and proved that he doesn’t see you as anything other than a fuck toy.

Walking through the hallways of the bunker, your heels click loudly on the cold, concrete floors as you head towards the library. You know at least one of the boys will be there, and you pray to Chuck it’s Sam. You’d skip this part entirely, given it’s none of their business, but as an unmated omega going to find someone to satisfy a heat, it’s probably best that someone knows your intentions.

As you turn the corner into the room, the scent of Dean’s agitation slaps you in the face. If you’re not careful and can’t control your emotions, it’ll end in a fight and a tumble in the sheets, and that’s really the last thing you need.

“Where are you going dressed like that?” Dean asks as soon as he sets eyes on you.

“Out,” you respond.

“You’re in heat, Omega,” Dean growls.

“I’m aware,” you can feel your body warm as his gaze on you intensifies.

“Do you think it’s wise to go out in your condition?” Dean questions, and you fight your biological instinct to shrink in on yourself and submit to him. 

“I need to find an alpha who’ll help me through this, so yes, I do think it’s wise.”

“You have me, Y/N.” Dean’s tone softens, and the hurt that flashes in his eyes almost makes you run to him.

“No, I don’t. Not anymore.” You don’t wait for his response, walking out of the library and up the stairs because you’re so close to saying screw it and making him take you right there in the library.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” you call out and shut the bunker door behind you.

You know you won’t find what you’re looking for in the bar a few towns over, but at least you’ll find someone who can scratch your current itch and make you forget about Dean fucking Winchester.

At least for a few days.

DEAN’S POV

Dean feels his heart shatter as he watches Y/N walk out the door. This isn’t how he wanted things to go with her. He wanted to talk to her and apologise for his behaviour during his last rut. At least if he’d done that, there was a chance they could still have some kind of relationship.

What they had is gone. He knows that. He’s hurt her too much. If he’d dealt with things differently, they’d still have had the potential to at least be civil to one another, but his gut’s telling him that the opportunity for civility has gone.

He can’t blame himself entirely; she hasn’t let herself be alone with him since he’d realised how much of an asshole he’d been to her. Dean had expected her to come to him last night when the scent of her heat became stronger and carried through the bunker, but she’d remained shut in her bedroom. He isn’t even sure she’d eaten since yesterday morning.

“Hey,” Sam says as he sits beside his brother and hands him a beer. “I heard you and Y/N talking. You alright?”

“No, Sammy, I’m not. You know, it never once occurred to me that what Y/N and I had could end?”

“It doesn’t have to,” Sam says softly, noticing tears in Dean’s eyes.

“Yeah, it does. I can’t give her what she wants—”

“Can’t or won’t?” Sam interrupts, and Dean’s heart pangs at the implication he’s being his usual stubborn ass alpha self.

“I can’t, Sam.” Dean didn’t usually show his vulnerabilities to Sam. He’s the pack leader and can’t afford to show weakness. The only person he’s ever shown vulnerability to is Y/N.

“Why?” Sam’s question is simple, but the weight of the answer is something Dean’s not sure he’s ready to admit out loud.

“It’s complicated,” Dean answers and takes a long swig of beer, drinking half the bottle in two swallows.

“Enlighten me, Dean, because from where I’m standing, it’s not complicated at all. You already have an emotional bond with her. You’ve been mating with her for what, six or seven years? Why is it so hard for you to claim her, have that deeper chemical bond, and make you both happy by having a couple of pups? It’d be nice to have some little ones running around here.”

“Because the second I claim her, she has a target on her back. She’ll become the hunted. Every monster on the continent will want to tear her apart to get to me. And that’s something I won’t survive.”

“So you do want to claim her?” Sam confirms, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“Of course I do!” Dean’s voice booms across the library. “I love her. More than anything. I always have, but I would rather die than put her in danger because of me and who I am,” Dean can’t keep his turmoil to himself anymore. Now it’s out in the open with Sam, he can’t shut the hell up. “I have thought of every way possible to give her what she wants… for years. Give us what we want, but in every scenario, she ends up dead, and I end up alone.”

“Dean, if you keep going the way you have been, she’ll die, and you’ll be alone anyway. And if you let her walk out of here and into the arms of another alpha, you’ll still be alone.”

“I know that, Sam! But I’d rather spend the rest of my life alone and know she was safe and happy with another alpha and a few pups than put a target on her back by claiming her! What part of that don’t you understand?”

“You think Y/N would be happy with another alpha? You think she wanted to go out hunting for someone else to fuck her through her heat? You think she’s not wishing it was you? You think she doesn’t love you? Because she does, Dean! It’s clear to everyone!” Sam’s frustrations reach boiling point, and he no longer has the patience to hold back. “That curse she saved me from loosely translated to stealing what your brother has broken and making it yours. If she hadn’t got between me and that witch, and I’d been hit by that curse, I’d have claimed Y/N for myself because you’re too chicken shit to do it. You know what that means, right? That even the witch knew you were in some kind of relationship. Even just being associated with you in the way she is makes her a target. And she’s an even bigger one without a claim.”

“Then maybe it’s for the best that she’s out there trying to find someone to take care of her,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows at Sam’s exasperation.

“No, Dean! It means that, claimed or not, monsters know what Y/N is to you and you to her. It means she’s already a target, and you’ve been protecting her from the monsters for a long time. Claiming her and having pups with her isn’t going to change that.”

“Look, can we just drop this? Y/N is better off without me, okay? And nothing you say will change my mind. She deserves something good, and I’m not good.” 

Pushing his chair back, Dean stands from the table and enters the kitchen. He grabs a bottle of Scotch from the cabinet and locks himself in his bedroom to lick his wounds.

It may not be the healthiest way to deal with things, but at least getting blind drunk on whiskey will stop the images of Y/N presenting for another alpha or taking another’s knot from playing like a video in his mind.

FIVE DAYS LATER

Y/N’S POV

“You’re alive, then,” Dean’s voice greets you as soon as you step into the bunker.

“I am,” you respond, warily making your way down the stairs. You’re on high alert, knowing this could turn volatile very quickly.

“You alright?” he asks next, his eyes scanning your body for signs of injury. His gaze lingers on your neck, and when he notices it remains unblemished, he releases a breath, and his shoulders relax slightly.

“I’m fine.” It feels like you cheated on Dean, and it makes you feel so sick you want to cry.

“Good. I’m glad you’re okay. I mean, you could’ve called. Let us know you were fine. It would’ve stopped Sam and me from worrying about you every second of the day. For all we knew, you were lying in a ditch somewhere.”

“My phone’s GPS was still…” you pause and sigh, knowing you don’t need to explain anything to him. “Look, can we not do this, please?” You plead. It’s been a rough few days, and you just want to shower and sleep.

You stop next to him, waiting for him to let you pass and frown when he rears back with a snarl. 

“Go shower, Omega. The stench of sex and Alpha makes me want to vomit,” Dean growls and walks away, leaving you standing at the entrance to the library, no longer able to keep the tears in.

The decision to leave is one of the hardest you’ve ever had to make. The bunker is your home, too. Still, you know you’re no longer welcome. Dean doesn’t want you, and you’ve hurt each other beyond repair. You could’ve tried to sort this mess out. You could’ve done that rather than look for a heat buddy, but had you not gone out, you’d have fallen straight back into bad habits and Dean’s bed. You had to break ties with him completely, and the only way to do that was to sleep with someone else, even if it broke both your hearts in the process.

Between the anxiety from you and Dean’s argument after the witch hunt and your heat, you’ve barely eaten for the past week. Before you leave for good, you head to the kitchen to grab something quickly, knowing it’s late enough that both Winchesters will be in their bedrooms, and you can eat and leave undetected.

“Sneaking out on us, huh? That’s mature,” Dean scoffs, and you jump, startled by his voice coming from somewhere in the dark kitchen.

“Any particular reason you’re sitting in the pitch black, Dean?” you ask, your hackles raised and ready to flee if needed.

“Answer my question first, then maybe I’ll answer yours.”

“Come on, Dean. We both know it’s not a good idea for me to stay here,” you reason.

“But this is your home,” Dean says, and where before you only heard contempt, you can now detect hurt.

“Not anymore.” You turn to leave, deciding to just forget about food so you can get the hell out of here.

“Please don’t walk away from me, Omega.”

“I told you I’m not your Omega, Dean. You’ve made that abundantly clear over the years.”

“Y/N, please, sweetheart,” he begs, and you turn to face him, your anger rising.

“No, Dean. I can’t do this with you anymore. We can’t keep doing this same dance over and over again. I want more. I need—” Your voice catches in your throat, and you swallow down the emotion that wants to spill from you. “I need to be claimed. I need to have pups. It’s in my biology, Dean, and I can’t change that. And I can’t change the fact that if I don’t settle down soon, I’ll go feral and die.”

“And you’re gonna do that with the asshat from the bar?” Dean spits back at you.

“No! I want to do it with you, but you don’t want me!” The tears spring from your eyes, and once again, you will Chuck, or whatever fucking angel is standing in his stead, to give you the strength you need to finally leave. To break this toxic bond that’s been forged under false pretences for years.

“Y/N, I do want you. I just can’t give you what you need,” Dean pleads.

“You can,” you nod with a tearful smile. “Because even if it wasn’t in the traditional way, you gave me what I needed for years. You just don’t want to.”

“No, Omega, please.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

DEAN’S POV

Y/N has been gone for two months, and there hasn’t been a peep from her. If Sam has heard anything, he’s kept it quiet, and Dean hasn’t asked. She’s turned off the GPS on her phone and removed the tracker from her car, and anyone he’s asked in their network either hasn’t seen or heard from her or has just told him she’s fine.

He misses her laugh and her smile. He misses her comforting scent that would linger around the bunker. He misses her soft, warm body sliding into bed next to him when she’d had a nightmare or wanted to cuddle in those first few hours of her heat before her need for him changed to something more carnal.

Yet, never once did he reach out to her. She’d made it pretty clear they were done, and he’s accepted that. What he did to her was unforgivable. Still, he’s hurting, too and feels betrayed by what she did. He may not have the right, but it’s how he feels, and try as he might, he can’t change it.

As the telltale signs of his next rut make themselves known, Dean knows this will be the hardest challenge he’s faced since Y/N left, but if she could so easily toss him aside and find someone else to mate with, so could he.

Standing at the bar, Dean preens under the attention of several omegas surrounding him. It’s been a long time since he’s had so many women fawn over him, and he guesses that being with Y/N has kept them at bay all these years.

Looking towards the other end of the bar, he does a double-take. The woman has similar features to Y/N: same eye colour, same shaped face, and from what he can see, a similar figure. It’s not her, but Dean is on his feet and making his way over to her before he can think twice about it.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean gives the woman his most charming smile and feels his confidence soar as she giggles and looks down briefly before raising her eyes and batting her lashes at him. “The name’s Dean.”

“Carly,” she responds shyly, and Dean smirks.

“Pretty name. It suits you, Omega. Can I buy you a drink?” he drawls, using his alpha tone.

“Sure, Alpha,” she smiles sweetly, batting her eyes at him once more, and Dean knows he’s found a rut partner for the next few days.

“So, what’s your poison?” Dean asks, grabbing the bartender’s attention.

“Appletini,” Carly says, and Dean fights a scoff at the girly concoction. Y/N would’ve ordered a whiskey or an Old Fashioned if the mood struck her, none of this fruity shit that makes you question whether there’s even any alcohol in it.

“Whiskey, neat, and an appletini for the lady,” Dean says to the bartender.

“So, Dean, what’s a handsome alpha like you doing in a place like this?” Carly asks.

Glancing at her kind eyes that remind him so much of Y/N’s, he finds himself spilling everything to her. He’s not sure why he finds it easier to talk to a stranger than his own brother or even Cas, but he does.

“Look,” Dean says after an hour of talking and a few more whiskeys. “I came here intending to find an omega to ride out my rut with, but I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he confesses. “I’m not even sure I could… physically… uh, you know.” he chuckles.

“I think that’s a wise decision, Dean,” Carly smiles kindly. “I don’t think you’re in the right frame of mind to be mating with someone new. You haven’t fully accepted that your mate left you, and it could be dangerous for both of us if we leave here together.”

“I wouldn’t say she’s my mate. I never claimed her, so…” Dean shrugs, feeling a little bad for leading her on.

“Doesn’t matter, Dean. You bonded with her intimately, and I’m guessing you stayed faithful and only had her the entire time, right?”

“I only ever wanted her,” Dean nods and swallows another whiskey.

“So, you were together like a beta couple would be, right? Like dating but not married?” Carly replies with a knowing smile, and Dean has to admit he’s never looked at his relationship with Y/N in that way before.

“I suppose we were,” he responds with a nod to the bartender for another drink.

“Do you know where she is? Can you go to her?” Carly asks.

“No,” Dean sighs. “We have some mutual friends, but they are very quiet about her whereabouts. Don’t get me wrong, I get it. I hurt her. A lot. And I wish I’d handled things differently.”

“You’ll get there, Dean,” she smiles. “And if you don’t, try begging your friends to tell you where she is and grovel until she forgives you!” Carly chuckles and squeezes his hand. “It could be an easy fix if you can overcome your fears. It’s clear you love her, and if you can give into those feelings, you’ll work it out.”

Carly hops off the barstool and pulls her purse strap over her shoulder. “Goodbye, Dean. I hope you find your girl and make things right,” she cups his cheek and winks at him before walking away and leaving him alone.

Downing the whiskey in one, Dean throws some bills on the bar and heads to the Impala. If he’s going to see himself through his rut, he’d need a lot of provisions.

It took six days, three bottles of lube, and the help of various knotting toys for Dean to come through the other side of his rut. He can’t remember the last time one had been so brutal or unforgiving. However, now he’s out and can start taking the suppressants he got from the drugstore, so he doesn’t need to go through one again.

“Hey, you alright?” Sam asks, seeing Dean at the hob, frying bacon and eggs.

“Still feeling rough, but some food and fresh air should do me good. Please tell me you found a hunt while I was out.”

“Yeah, looks like there’s a ghoul loose in Stillwater, Oklahoma.”

“Alright, then. We’ll get everything together and leave in a couple of hours.”

“Dean, are you sure you’re up for this? You still look a little… off.”

“I’m fine, Sammy. Just ready to get out of here. Been cooped up too long.”

For the next few months, that’s what they do; move from small town to small town, saving people and hunting things, and Dean? Well, he’s just peachy.

FOUR MONTHS LATER

Dean always knew the suppressants would take some getting used to. They’re the drug store variety and weren’t for long-term use. Still, the nausea and headaches are getting worse and are now accompanied by bouts of fever and a loss of appetite.

He knows his age probably isn’t helping, and the fact he’s been rejected by his mate in a roundabout way, so rejection sickness has been on his mind the past few days as his symptoms got worse.

Sam’s said he’s easier to anger than usual too, and Dean’s starting to feel constantly on edge now. He can only hope whatever this is will end soon because this fucking sucks.

Swallowing down another pill, Dean throws the pill bottle into his duffle so that he and Sam can get home, put this vampire hunt behind them, and take some time off.

Although sceptical at first, he’s now grateful he’d agreed to take a break from hunting for a couple of weeks to recoup and relax. They hadn’t stopped hunting in close to twelve weeks, and he feels awful. A little time off might be just what he needs.

“Ready to go, Dean?” Sam asks, frowning when he notices the pill bottle at the top of his brother’s bag. The younger Winchester walks over and picks it up, huffing loudly. “This is what you’ve been taking? Over the counter suppressants?”

“Yeah, so?” Dean replies.

“Dean, these aren’t for long-term use. They’re supposed to only delay a rut for a couple of weeks, not for taking every day. Why didn’t you go to a doctor and get the right thing?”

“Oh, because we have that luxury, Sammy!” Dean snaps. “‘Do you have insurance? No. What’s your address? An underground fortress in the middle of fucking nowhere.’ Seriously, you don’t see anything wrong with that? And they say you’re the smart one!” Dean scoffs and shakes his head.

“We would’ve found a way, Dean. We always do. These are probably doing more harm than good. I think it’s why you’re feeling off, and it’s only going to get worse.”

“It can’t get any worse, Sammy! Y/N left me. Nothing will ever be worse than that!” Dean yells as he grabs his bag and stalks out of the motel room, and slams the door.

Dean is agitated. So much so that even he can’t deny it. And the more he tries not to be, the worse he gets. He knows it’s annoying Sam—it’s annoying him, too—but it’s not something he has any control over. Everything is going haywire; his skin itches, sweat drips down his back, and he just wants to pick fights. That’s why he had a go at the idiot at the gas station and the douchebag from the diner. He blames Sam for that one. He wanted to keep driving, but Sammy just had to stretch his freakishly long fucking legs now, didn’t he?

When Sam finally rejoins him in the car, Dean tries to avoid his baby brother’s puppy eyes. He knows he’s fucked up. He knows he should’ve found a way to get the real thing, but the fear of a doctor telling him he’s a lost cause, that because his mate left him would mean that suppressants can’t fix him stopped him. Besides, it can’t take the ache of Y/N’s departure away. It doesn’t change the fact that as an alpha, it was his duty to claim her.

“What am I in for, Sammy?” Dean finally asks, breaking his silence on his suppressant use. He’s not sure he wants to know, but he needs to keep what’s left of his pack safe. If this ends the way he dreads, he needs to put a plan in place.

“You’ll go into a rut that can only be satisfied by uhm… your mate,” Sam says, avoiding her name so it doesn't set the older alpha off again. “And because she’s not here, you’ll go feral,” Sam sighs.

“And when I go feral, I’ll be dangerous to any omega who isn’t Y/N,” Dean finishes what Sam doesn’t say.

“I think it’s already started. I can smell your rut pheromones, but they’re… off.” Sam said.

“Listen to me, Sammy. I’m going to the safe house in Montana. I’ll let nature take its course. You will leave me there and take the Impala so I can’t get out.” Dean begins, but Sam’s quick to intervene.

“Dean, no. I can track down Y/N. When she hears what’s happening, she’ll—”

“Laugh and tell you to tell me to go fuck myself! I made my bed, Sammy. I gotta lie in it.”

“You’re signing your own death warrant!”

“Then so be it!” Dean roars, but Sam won’t back down.

“I can’t let you do that when someone can help you!”

“She won’t come because she doesn’t want me, Sam!” Dean yells. “How many times do I have to say it? She left me because I couldn’t give her what she wanted. For all we know, another alpha has already claimed her.”

“I have to try, Dean! I can’t just let you die!” Sam is trying to stay calm, not wanting to upset his brother more.

“Yeah? Well, maybe it’s what I deserve.”

“It’s not, and you know it. I’ll lock you in that cabin and take the car with me to keep you safe, but I will find Y/N.”

“Fine. I can’t stop you,” Dean relents. “But when she tells you she’s done with me, you will leave me there, and whatever happens, happens. Deal?”

“Deal,” Sam agrees reluctantly.

Next Chapter>>

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[m4rv3l-girl]

Truth or Dare

Loki x Y/N

Y/N and Loki play together

Requests Open - See blog!

Warnings: none, but Loki in this a warning itself..

“Come onnnn, it'll be fun!” Y/N's voice was a persistent whine, bordering on playful mischief, as she pestered Loki for the umpteenth time. Her eyes sparkled with the kind of infectious enthusiasm that Loki found irritating—and, perhaps secretly, a bit charming.

She had been insisting for hours that they play Truth or Dare, a game she claimed was an essential part of Midgardian culture, but one that Loki found particularly banal. After all, how could a game played by mere mortals ever hold any value for a God of Mischief?

"Not only are your Midgard games dull," Loki retorted, his deep, velvety voice holding a trace of disdain, "but they are incredibly repetitive. I refuse to lower myself to such pedestrian frivolity." He crossed his arms over his chest, emphasizing his refusal with a firm tone, the very picture of regal disinterest.

Y/N, however, remained unfazed. Her persistence was unyielding, as if she could see through his mask of indifference. She gave him a pleading look, her eyes wide and imploring, like a child on the verge of a tantrum. "Please? Just one game?" She stretched the words out dramatically, her voice lilting in a way she knew he couldn’t ignore. “I’ll stop bugging you…”

Loki let out an exaggerated huff, his eyes narrowing slightly. He had faced far greater trials in his long life—battles, betrayals, even near-death experiences—yet the persistence of a mortal girl seemed more vexing than any of them. But perhaps, he mused, indulging her just this once would get her to cease her annoying chatter. Surely one game wouldn’t be too much of a compromise.

"...Fine," he muttered, his voice dripping with reluctant resignation. “One game."

Y/N’s face lit up instantly, her grin spreading wide across her face like a child unwrapping a long-awaited gift. She nearly bounced from her seat in excitement, her hands clapping together with an impish giggle. Without a second thought, she scooted closer to him on the couch, her knee brushing against his. She looked up at him with an almost dog-like eagerness, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Come on, let’s get this over with.” Loki’s voice was dry, and he tried to layer his words with as much disinterest as possible. But Y/N could tell—there was a flicker of intrigue beneath his aloof exterior.

“Okay, so it’s simple,” she explained, her hands gesturing as if she were explaining a grand, ancient ritual. “One of us will ask the other Truth or Dare. If the other chooses truth, you can ask them anything, and they have to answer honestly. If they choose dare, they have to do whatever you tell them.”

Loki’s eyes rolled in exasperation, but a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. Primitive, he thought to himself. Mortals and their childish amusements.

"Right. I'll go first," Y/N declared, not wasting a second. She leaned forward, practically vibrating with energy. "Ask me!"

Loki sighed, rolling his head back slightly as if this entire ordeal were the greatest burden in existence. He supposed he could amuse her for a moment, if only to hasten the game's end.

“Truth or dare?” His voice was smooth and even, his disinterest more than apparent.

“Truth.” Her answer was quick and confident.

Loki narrowed his eyes slightly, thinking deeply. If he was going to play this ridiculous game, he might as well make the most of it. There was something to be gained here—a little insight, a little fun. His eyes glinted with an idea.

“Alright. Whom do you prefer: me or Thor?” He asked the question with casual arrogance, already knowing the answer, but curious nonetheless.

Y/N didn’t even hesitate. “You,” she said, her voice filled with certainty.

Loki’s brow raised, an almost feline smirk creeping onto his lips. “And why is that?” His curiosity was piqued, though his tone remained casual, feigning indifference.

Y/N grinned but didn’t fall for the bait. “It’s not my go anymore. Truth or dare?” Her eyes sparkled with challenge.

“Hm… I suppose I’ll pick the dare,” Loki replied, intrigued by what she would come up with. Surely nothing she could propose would be difficult for a God of Mischief.

Y/N’s mind worked quickly, a wicked grin spreading across her face. Her eyes danced with mischief as she leaned in, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “I dare you to say something in Asgardian.”

Loki blinked, slightly taken aback. Of all the dares she could have chosen, this was so... simple. He almost felt insulted. “Like what?” His voice was laced with boredom.

“Just something,” she pressed, her eyes alight with curiosity.

Loki grumbled, but complied, his voice sliding smoothly into his native tongue, the Asgardian words sounding like silk on air. “Du er altfor pen til å delta i en aktivitet så kjedelig.”

The words flowed effortlessly, the language rich and elegant, and for a moment, even he appreciated the beauty of it. Y/N’s eyes widened, mesmerized by the sound, even though she had no idea what he had said.

“What does it mean?” she asked, her voice soft and curious.

Loki’s smirk returned, a touch of amusement in his eyes. “It’s not my turn anymore. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” Her response came quickly, and there was a hint of intrigue behind her voice.

Loki’s smirk deepened, sensing an opportunity. “I dare you to reveal why you prefer me over my brother.”

Y/N blinked, surprised at how easily he had turned the tables. Clever, as always. She bit her lip, her voice faltering slightly as she responded. “I like Thor, don’t get me wrong. But you’re… more interesting.”

There was something in her voice, something she wasn’t saying. Loki noticed, of course, and his smirk grew wider.

“More interesting, you say?” Loki preened, leaning back slightly in his seat, clearly satisfied. “That is true. I always was the more exciting brother. Truth.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, thinking of a question, and then, in a quieter voice than usual, asked, “Why do you put up with me?”

Loki’s brow furrowed, and for the first time since the game began, he looked genuinely curious. “Excuse me?” He leaned forward slightly, his emerald eyes narrowing.

“I mean, I know I can be annoying,” Y/N continued, her voice soft, her gaze avoiding his. “Most people can’t tolerate me for this long. Why do you stick around?”

Loki sighed, but there was a warmth in it, as if he were letting down his guard just a fraction. “Three reasons, darling. One, you are not irritating—your spirited nature is something most mortals are too dim to appreciate. Two, you are enjoyable company, and few people in this realm or any other can claim that honor. And three...” He leaned in closer, his voice lowering, the air between them thickening. “I’m a god. It takes more than a lively mortal to crack my patience.”

Y/N felt her heart flutter at his words, a warmth spreading in her chest that she couldn’t ignore. The affection in his voice, veiled behind his usual arrogance, was enough to leave her speechless for a moment.

“Truth or dare,” Loki said, breaking the silence.

“Truth,” Y/N whispered, still trying to recover from the feeling his words had ignited.

Loki’s eyes darkened with mischief as he leaned even closer, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur. “Are you attracted to me, dear? Does my voice make you tremble? Do you feel your heart quicken when I am near?”

Y/N’s breath hitched. Her heart was pounding, and she knew he could hear it.

“That’s three questions...” she managed to whisper, trying to deflect.

Loki’s smirk widened, his eyes gleaming. “One question with sub-questions, love. And I suspect the answer to all three is the same.”

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she couldn’t deny it. “You would be correct,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Loki chuckled softly, the sound low and throaty. It sent shivers down her spine. “I thought as much. You don’t hide your emotions well, darling. Your skin turns the most delightful shade of scarlet whenever I touch you.”

Y/N’s face flushed even more at his teasing, and she quickly tried to regain control. “Truth or dare,” she said, her voice wavering slightly as she attempted to shift the focus away from herself.

Loki’s eyes gleamed, his smirk never fading. “Dare.”

The air between them seemed to grow heavy, and Y/N took a deep breath, summoning every ounce of courage she had. Her voice came out soft but determined. “I dare you to kiss me.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Loki’s eyes widened ever so slightly, his smirk faltering for the briefest of moments. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned in closer, his gaze locking with hers. The space between them seemed to shrink until there was nothing left but the anticipation hanging in the air.

[silenceandpatiencepining]

I am dusting off my little blog here because TTPD has my mind absolutely reeling. I am really wondering if anyone else listened to this and had this feeling that the album confirmed everything that they were thinking was going on with her. I know we talk so much about reading her songs beneath the surface of muses or certain details used to craft a story, but to me, TTPD reads so strongly of her reckoning with her life in the industry. like, it's so much more than the relationships. it's the comp het, it's the religious trauma, it's the being exploited as a child star, it's deep wound of abandonment and neglect when she as a person got split off from her brand and both could not thrive, it's giving everything to this brand and career and fandom and that still never being enough. it's her codependency with the very people that exploit her. it's the fact that she is bigger than she ever imagined and none of it feels how she wanted. it's the simultaneous love and resentment she has towards her family, and relationships, and career, and yes, even her fans.

the rawness of this album, the unrefined feel, the summation poem talking about this as mania, the continuation of the cage imagery and themes of escaping to her mind/fantasy, the coping with criticism, numbing it all with alcohol, the willingness to burn it all down and disgrace her name because none of this is what she wants or at least not how she wants.

I have seen so many criticisms of the album and honestly, I understand where they are coming from, but I also think the things they criticize make the exact point of what this body of work is - something that exists for it's own sake to turn things back on the people that made her into what she is now. art created not to be acclaimed but because it demands to be expressed. it is an exorcism, an expulsion. it is something that erupted from her. and it's so meta because this fandom and the industry are voyeurs in an echo chamber so desperate to see what they want that they miss that this is about them. that is what makes it brilliant to me - it is self-indulgent and metaphorical, and complex, and so direct, but yet still masked just enough that people miss it. her entire life has become performance art. it is a play within a play. and I fear the audience has not caught on.

it feels like she is reclaiming it all. I feel like this could either be a hint at a new beginning or a signal that she has broken and this is the end. this felt like the tell-all memoir written in code that everyone else will finally understand when she really leaves this spotlight. it's the lucky one come to life. she is daydreaming about fucking it all and leaving this life behind so she can finally have some goddamn peace.

I love this album for it as art. it is so expressive. it is so heartbreaking. it's messy and nuanced, and I think it is going way the fuck over most people's heads, especially when you really dig into poetry being the theme and the specific works she references. it's only been a week and I am just starting to really dig in but talk about a fucking iceberg.

[semiis]

I'LL BE BACK W/ SEMI EITA

pairing: semi eita x reader

genre: drabble ; fluff

warning(s): none

a/n: another old post from one of my old blogs. it was one of my personal favorites because i am the biggest semi fucker. hope you enjoy it!

you woke up to cold, flattened sheets. it was early morning, the crack of dawn, an hour you rarely saw. normally, you’d sleep in until 10 AM, feeling well-rested. yet the absence of warmth beside you, the vacancy where your lover should have been, woke you up. 

groggily, your eyes roamed the dimly lit room, catching a faint glow coming from the bathroom. the bathroom door, slightly ajar, revealed a fleeting glimpse of your lover’s figure before the door swung fully open, revealing himself dressed from head to toe. 

you frowned, confused. he wasn’t the type to get up early, let alone before you. you watched as he tousled his messy ash blonde hair. his dark brown eyes met yours, widening briefly before softening, a smile curling his lips.

“good morning love,” he said, approaching the bed. placing his hands on the mattress, he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “what are you doing up so early?”  

“i should be asking you the same thing, semi,” you replied, your hands instinctively finding their way to the back of his neck, drawing him closer. his chuckle, a melody to your ears, reverberated in the quiet room. 

his arms encircled your waist, his lips brushing your ear. you shivered at the warmth of his breath against your skin. “did you forget what day it is?”

before you could respond, the shrill of semi’s alarm shattered the moment. he let go of you to grab his phone, showing you the screen. a sigh escaped your lips as realization dawned. your hand gripped his wrist, pulling him back onto the bed, flipping the positions. you nestled your head against his chest, clutching his shirt tightly. 

he laughed softly and patted your head, then gently tilted your chin to meet his soft gaze. 

“do you really have to go?” you pouted. 

his thumb caressed your cheek, his fingers tracing the corners of your lips in an attempt to transform your pout into a smile, “baby…sadly i do”

with a resigned huff, you rolled off of him to let him get ready for his tour. you did not want to make him late for his flight. though the thought of his departure filled you with utter sorrow, you knew the joy performing brought him. and, in turn, brought you as well. knowing him since high school, your pride in his achievements were boundless.

lost in thought, you smiled without realizing, but it did not escape semi’s notice. his eyes softened at the sight, and he leaned in to place an unexpected kiss upon your lips. 

you watched as he gathered his backpack and suitcase, ready to leave. 

“i’ll try to bring you lots of souvenirs, okay?” he beamed, “and i’ll be back as soon as you know it.”

you rolled your eyes playfully, nodding to acknowledge his words. 

“i love you,” he stated softly, the sincerity in his voice causing your heart to melt. 

“i love you too, semi,” you replied, waving as he left the room. the door closed with a gentle click, and you collapsed back onto bed, your gaze fixed on the ceiling above. it was the only interesting thing at the moment.

“another 3 months to myself,” you mused, the weight of his absence already settling in. 

© semiis 2024 ; do not translate, repost, modify, or copy my work.

[darkbackalley]

No Words Left Unspoken - The Phantom of the Opera x Male Reader

Warnings: None, other than absolute tooth-rotting fluff and a TEENSY-WEENSY bit of projecting lol

FEM-ALIGNED BLOGS DNI

Note: OMG I ACTUALLY POSTED? I’m low key so sorry to everyone that I’ve been gone for so long, PLZ FORGIVE ME! I’ve been going through an INSANE Phantom of The Opera phase recently, and this idea has just been floating around in my brain, so I figured that I’d write it. I also wanted to write the dialogue in French and finally use my skills, but I realized that there’s way too much talking for that :( also this thing is SO LONG

FIC UNDER THE CUT

The Opéra Populaire had never seen anything like it before. A Kabuki troupe had arrived from Japan, bringing with them a style of performance so foreign, so alluring, that it transfixed everyone who witnessed it. Among them was Y/n, a star working with the company to achieve fame, and an onnagata—a male actor who specialized in female roles. His grace and beauty were unparalleled, his every movement capturing the very essence of womanhood. His long, flowing robes and painted face transformed him into a vision of ethereal femininity and often rivalled that of the women in the production team. One thing that y/n often struggled with, however, was many thinking that he is just a beautiful woman playing these roles, and as an actor, he was feminized into this twisted version of himself that wasn’t a true representation of him.

The Phantom of the Opera has always watched from the shadows. and here he was, watching yet again. But something was different this time. This new form of theatre was not unwelcome here, as the Opéra Populaire has always been a home of the arts, no matter which kind, and he had been entranced by the performers before, but Y/n was different. The Phantom had always believed that true beauty lay in tragedy, in the forbidden and impossible love he had harbored for Christine Daaé, But Y/n’s presence had stirred something new within him, a deep and unexpected longing. Slowly closing the hole Christine had left behind.

Night after night during the rehearsals, The Phantom watched as Y/n glided across the stage, his delicate hands moving with precision, his voice lilting in melodies foreign yet intoxicating. The Phantom could not take his eyes off of him. From the moment Y/n entered the opera house, Erik had been captivated, convinced that the performer was a woman of unmatched beauty and grace. His heart, once so hardened by rejection and isolation, softened at the sight of her— though Erik did not yet know the truth.

He left notes in Y/n’s dressing room, signed only with a flourish of a rose. He composed hauntingly beautiful pieces on his organ, each one inspired by the way Y/n moved, the way his voice danced in the air. Gone was his melancholy opera pieces, replaced by works that were softy and harboured unseen adornment towards his muse. The Phantom’s obsession grew, as it always did, until he could no longer bear to remain unseen.

On opening night, after the performance, The Phantom made his move. He waited in the fly tower, his heart racing as Y/n finished his final bow and made his way backstage. The theater was emptying of both patrons and performers, but Y/n stayed behind, unwinding from the night’s work, his silken robes draped around him. The Phantom, cloaked in darkness, stepped forward.

“You are a vision,” his voice echoed through the room, low and melodic, sending a shiver down Y/n’s spine. “An angel who has graced my stage and my theatre.” Y/n turned slowly, his eyes searching the shadows. “And you are you?” he asked, his voice gentle but curious, his accent wrapping around the French words in a way that made them sound even more delicate.

“I am the one who watches from the dark,” Erik replied, stepping into the dim light, his mask catching the glow. “I have admired you from afar, but I can no longer keep my distance.”

Y/n froze for a moment, thrown off, before his lips curved into a soft smile, his painted face serene. “You are the Phantom, are you not? The one the others speak of.”The Phantom nodded, his breath catching as he looked into the other’s eyes—so soft, so full of mystery. He had imagined this moment, this meeting, countless times. He could not resist the pull any longer. “I have seen many singers, many dancers, but none as captivating as you.”

Y/n tilted his head, curious. “Why do you find me so captivating?”

The Phantom stepped closer, his voice a whisper. “Because you are a woman of great beauty, of talent unmatched.”

Y/n’s smile faltered slightly, his eyes flickering with something The Phantom couldn’t quite read. He had encountered this before—audiences who fell in love with the woman they believed him to be, only to realize the truth later. But something in the Phantom’s intensity made Y/n hesitate.

“I am not what you think I am,” Y/n said softly, his voice gentle but firm.

The Phantom frowned. “What do you mean?”

Y/n hesitated, then gracefully reached up and began to remove his ornate wig, revealing his hair underneath. “I am not a woman,” he said quietly, turning away from the Phantom. “I am an actor. An onnagata. I play the role of women, but I am a man.”

For a long moment, The Phantom said nothing. He stared, his mind reeling with the revelation. Y/n’s delicate features, his graceful movements—how could this be true? But as the silence stretched on, the Phantom realized something that surprised even him.

It didn’t matter.

He stepped closer, his mask hiding the emotions that swirled within him. “You say you are not a woman,” he said slowly, “but that does not change what I see. You are an artist, a performer, and I am drawn to you—not because of the mask you wear, but because of the soul behind it.”

Y/n looked at him, his dark eyes wide with surprise. “You do not care that I am a man?”

The Phantom shook his head, his voice softer now. “No. I care that you are you. You are more than your role, more than the costume or the mask. I see beauty in your art, in your spirit. I have lived my life behind a mask, hiding from the world. I know what it means to be unseen for who you truly are.”

Y/n’s breath caught in his throat. He had never met someone like him, someone who saw beyond the surface, beyond the illusion. Slowly, he took a step closer to the Phantom, his eyes searching the latter’s for the truth.

“Then perhaps,” Y/n whispered, “we are not so different after all.”The Phantom’s heart pounded in his chest as he reached out, gently taking Y/n’s hand. “No, we are not.”

In that moment, there was no need for masks or performances. The Phantom, who had always believed himself incapable of love, found solace in the presence of the one person who understood his isolation, his need to hide. Y/n, who had spent his life transforming into someone else on stage, found comfort in being seen for who he truly was. They stood there, together, in the dim light of the opera house, their connection as real as the roles they had once played. And for the first time, both the Phantom and the Kabuki actor knew what it meant to be truly seen.

[jayywrites]

CURRENT STATUS: closed - not taking on any new plots but happy to connect for future writing!! <3

hi there, welcome in. i follow #JAYYWRITES & my discord is jayfl01 add me and lmk your username on tumblr so i know who you are. this is an indie rp penned by jay, 31, she/her. i am semi-selective, i write in para form, and i prefer discord. there will be NSFW content and kinky themes and NONE OF THIS WILL BE TAGGED, so please don't follow if easy triggered or under the age of 21. open to taboo plots but will need to be discussed as getting back into this and not yet created a list of plots/kinks im open to. kinks plot most open to: daddy/sir, breeding, 24/7, begging, overstimulation, age gaps (legal), and most things that can be done during kinky sex like slapping, choking, hair pulling, edging, dirty talk liiiike that stuff. banned kinks: grooming, underage, incest, trafficking, pee/poop/vomit, beastiality, this writer prefers m/f and has a preference for writing male muses. hmu as always looking for new plots and fun ideas! also i love plot and ships so do come if you would like to do just that with no smut involved. no pressure at all for smut to be the focus/or only thing. if you are bothered by any of the topics or writing in this blog please do not interact or follow. DO NOT INTERACT AT ALL if under 21! about ⚡︎ guidlines ⚡︎ muses ⚡︎ plots ideas ⚡︎ wanted faces

*ADDED TO EMPHASISE: I LOVE SHIPS AND PLOTS THAT ARE NOT SMUT/NSFW AS WELL SO YOU CAN WRITE WITH ME EVEN IF SMUT IS NOT YOUR THING!!

[bygone-visionary]

Hello, hello!

Just as I stated earlier, my name is Alzis Myers. I am a historian and an archaeologist, although I have not been able to do proper field work in some time. I primarily study Pokemon that were created by ancient civilizations, though that is far from the only thing I have worked on. (:

I am not a Pokemon trainer, but I do own two Pokemon.

Delphi, my Absol. She's simply a wonderful companion, and quite skilled at easing my anxieties... as well as being an ideal Pokemon to have around while I am working, for many reasons. She's wonderful, truly wonderful.

And... Atlas, my Sigilyph. The main inspiration behind my primary field of research. I caught it back during my first experiences with field work, back in university... Incredibly, incredibly odd.

It's much larger than the average Sigilyph, with a unique color variant, as well. It's been over half a decade since I caught it, and yet my knowledge on it is lacking... I suppose that is just how Sigilyph are by nature. Always so elusive and cryptic.

Other social media websites feel overwhelming and at times, hostile, in my experience, and frankly a pain to use, but I am hoping that I will be pleasantly surprised here. (I have also stumbled across a few rumors pertaining to this website, and I am very, very intrigued...)

That aside, however, I do hope at the very least, I can spread knowledge and interest in our history. I promise you all, it's worth learning a thing or two! (:

// ooc under the cut!

Hello! You mayyy recognize this guy if you've been following my stuff for a while. This is a hard reboot of his original blog (Extrasensory-absol or something I can't remember </3.) Almost none of the information from that blog is canon now! I fumbled so hard with that blog, he deserves better

ill be real I'm tired so I'm just copy pasting from Paris' blog, hang on:

Hello! This is the OOC part of the introduction! I follow from @act11as, and ooc posts will be tagged as such, and will usually have the color green.

My rotomblr "hub" account is @battle-subway-aftershow!

Muse is an adult, mod is a minor. Don't be weird, or I'll screenshot your ask and make fun of you with my friends. Into the hall of shame with you.

(Weird: NSFW/Suggestive asks, fetish mining, etc. Do not fucking do these.)

Additionally: If your main is NSFW, please do not follow me. I will block you for my own comfort.

ALL TRIGGER WARNINGS WILL BE TAGGED AS "[word] tw"! This is to make it easier to blacklist things! if I ever miss something or you need me to tag something in specific, shoot me an ask or a dm! I'll try to remember.

Guidelines/Rules I guess?

*ALMOST ANY kind of Pokemon Irl blog can interact! Eeby deebies, sapient pokemon, evil teams, whatever! I cannot guarantee that Alzis will be nice to you, however.

*Self-Insert fallers, please do not interact. I personally cannot handle these kinds of blogs. Self-insert ocs are fine, but the idea of a real person on rotomblr being isekaid into Pokémon is not.

IN CHARACTER anon hate is perfectly fine! Pester this guy he sucksssss (very affectionate.) Don't go too far, etc. etc. be civil this is a pokemon roleplaying community

Extra:

Mystery Gifts are open and preferred! Go wild! Just remember the rules!

Pelipper Mail, un-mail, and Malice are always open! Feel free to torment this guy. prone to being turned off if people begin sending live pokemon, or otherwise causing issues.

Musharna mail, (sending dreams) and Musharna malice (sending nightmares) are always on! Once again feel free to torment this guy.

Magic anons are usually off, unless I specifically specify otherwise!

Organizational tags:

#[nickname] the [pokemon] - Most posts about Alzis' pokemon should be tagged like this.

And, here's his playlist! No youtube version yet (although I hate spotify), I'll be working on that :]

[softly-potter]

White rose in Bloom Event - Day 6

Day six for WRW🌹hope you like this one!

@whiterose-fans-blog

Prompt: First kiss

Word count: 610

Warning: none

-

Ruby presses the back of her knuckles to her mouth, trying to slow her breathing as she watches Weiss brush out her hair.

Their last night together before Weiss goes back to Atlas, and yet Ruby had still not felt the timing. She’d dreamed of kissing Weiss for years, and now that she had the chance, she’d frozen every time.

“I think I'm all packed.” Weiss says, pulling Ruby from her thoughts. Blinking, Ruby drops her hand from her mouth, nodding quickly.

“G-good, that's good.” She replies, and Weiss raises a brow.

“Ruby, come on, are you still nervous about moving back with Tai?” Weiss asks, puts a hand on her hip. “I’m sure he’ll let you be just as independent as you are now. Trust me, when it comes to the dad department, you’re winning.”

Ruby smiles and settles on her haunches in front of her own bag. She had been packed since earlier this morning, her comic books settled nicely on top of her clothing, but she nervously double checked it anyways.

“Nah, I know,” Ruby says with a grin. “He’s the best.”

Her heels clicking on the wood floor paneling, Weiss walks across their dorm and sits on Ruby's bed, crossing her legs at the knees. “Is something going on? You know you can tell me anything right?”

Ruby looks up at her from her crouched position and finds Weiss beaming.

“I know, I-” Ruby swallows, standing straight before sitting next to Weiss. “You just make me nervous.”

Weiss lets out a laugh that sounds like the twinkling of bells. “Me? No way.”

“Yes way,” Ruby giggles. Weiss places a hand on her shoulder, fingers chilly before leaning close and pressing a chaste kiss to Ruby's cheek.

It could be friendly.

It could mean nothing. But Ruby is about to lose Weiss for the summer and she can’t let it slip by.

As Weiss begins to pull back, Ruby moves forward and presses her closed mouth to Weiss’. Weiss freezes, her hand clutched to Ruby’s shoulder, until her lips soften and she kisses her back.

Heart hammering, Ruby drops her chin, her lungs expanding before looking up nervously. Weiss’ eyes are wide, and she presses her hand to her mouth.

“That-”

“I’m sorry-”

They speak at the same time, and Ruby swallows thickly, nervous energy in her veins until Weiss’ face cracks, and she lets out a small laugh.

“What’re you apologizing for?” Weiss muses, scooting forward. “I’ve been thinking about that all semester.”

“You-” Ruby splutters, her face hot. “You have?”

Weiss rolls her eyes and cups the side of Ruby’s face, her thumb skimming over her chin. “Mhm. Now come back here.”

Closing the distance, Weiss kisses Ruby softly, her mouth smooth as her tongue runs across the seam of the other girl's mouth. Ruby hums in weak surprise, grabbing Weiss' wrist as she turns her face, relishing in the feel of Weiss against her.

It's soft and faint, Weiss’ tongue massaging Ruby’s in slow tandem. She tastes like sweet cream, her mouth plush and when she moans, Ruby feels a pull in her abdomen.

After a few moments, Weiss pulls away, scarlet painted on her pale cheeks, and it takes Ruby a few moments to remember to breathe correctly. Beside her, Weiss’ scroll buzzes and she swears as she reaches for it, her eyes rolling once she’s read the message.

“It’s my sister, I gotta go,” Weiss hums, and she grabs Ruby's hand, giving it a squeeze. “But… I look forward to doing more of that when we come back. Okay?”

Ruby smiles, squeezing Weiss’ digits and wishing she never had to let go.

[hells-morning-angel]

Welcome all to the circus! Please take your seats and let us begin, shall we? For my first performance, I'll recite my list of rules from the top of my head! Amazing, right? Totally! Now pay attention folks, you'll need to, as there is a hidden password hidden somewhere between the guidelines to this blog!

1) For my very first rule to you dear audience, it's a simple one to follow! Please do not rush my responses, I do have a life outside of this little blog! With that said, I do enjoy and prefer if we have conversations outside of roleplay too! I can be dmed for conversations most times! Believe it or not, I am very shy to approach one of your Audience members first, so please please approach first. If we have more conversations OOC, I'll become more confident in what I write with you and in turn, be open to more possibilities!

2) For my very second rule and I know this should not have to be said BUT I will say it anyways in the event some need to be reminded to have respect for others of different races and identities! In this circus we do not tolerate any hatred directed towards other races, sexualities or gender identities! We respect proper pronouns and names of adress! Any form of disrespect will result in a block!

3) For my very third rule and if this boundary is broken, then it'll result in an immediate ban! On this blog proshipping (Child x Adult content), incest (Family x Family) and problematic ships of that nature are absolutely prohibited! None of that belongs here!

4) And for the fourth rule, please be kind and respectful to people who have different opinions then you! In life, we won't all share the same opinion all the time and it's completely natural! There's no same person after all!

Moving right along onto our next topic, here is more information on the blog itself and the ships it will do!

On this blog, I welcome a variety of ships and pairings, including OC x Canon! I play a variety of the canon characters, Lucifer is simply my main muse! Here is a bulleted list of those I have mused before!

Lucifer Morningstar

Lilith Morningstar

Alastor

Angel Dust

Husk

Vaggie

Zestial

Vox

Adam

Lute

There are characters that I am open to trying as well in this other conveniently placed bulleted list!

Carmilla Carmine

Rosie

Mimzy

Nifty

Charlie Morningstar

Velvette

Emily

If you have another character, please request! I may also be willing to muse them for you! The one character I ban is Valentino!

As far as ships go, I do enjoy Huskerdust, Appleradio, all sorts of ships! I simply do not ship Charlastor or that one pairing with Vaggie and Angel Dust!

I am willing to muse characters on two different social media platforms! Discord and Tumblr! Just specify which audience member and you shall have your request honored! This is an 18+ blog only, please keep that in mind, viewer!

Annmd with that final message, I take my leave for now! Farewell dot now and goodnight! Did you find the password yet? The password is: There is no password! If your interested and only if your interested, please like, follow, comment, reblog or dm me!

[manganyeh]

Sumeru

Sethos

@vessel-of-hermanubis

@scthcs

@sethosaskblog

Kaveh

@the-kshahrewar-architect

@kavzz

@hydro-eidolon-kaveh-official (hydro kaveh blog)

@sumerus-light-of-kshahrewar

@ask-kaveh-the-architect

@kaveh-the-architect

@kavehaskblog

@askthe-architect

@adhd-kaveh

@theofficialkaveh

Faruzan

@manganyeh (this blog!)

@faruzxn

Layla

@layla-of-the-stars

@manganyeh (this blog)

Candace

@candace-official

Dori

[None Yet]

Collei

@sumerus-little-sprout

@the-most-beloved-colleiflower

Dehya

[None Yet]

Alhaitham

@scribe-alhaitham

@vultrv0lans

@alhaitham-the-akademiya-scribe

@feeble-scholar-alhaitham

@booksnsilence

@planted-knowledge

@akademiyas-scribe-alhaitham

@c3ntrifuga13qui1ibrium

@scribe-not-sage

@scarlxtleaves

@autistic-alhaitham

Wanderer/Scaramouche

@anemcreign

@thewanderingpuppet (past scarmouche)

@hat-guy-official

@notbrokenjustfake

@anemoclown

@the-6th-harbringer

@wandering-hat-guy

@heartlzz-doll

Nahida

@nahidasgarden

@manganyeh (this blog)

Nilou

@manganyeh (this blog!)

@lotus-dancer-nilou

@caenstars

Cyno

@cyno-issoalone

@cyno-the-adventurer

@mahamatra-cyno

@polearmofjustice

Tighnari

@tighnari-official

@veridian-vulpine

@ask-tighnari

@forest-watcher-tighnari

@fcreststridcr

@f0restwatcher

@vulpzz-zrrda

@par4disalh3rbs

Mehrak

@archit3cts-a1d

Like reblog + put your muses in the tags for multimuse blogs. (Post to reblog)

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

The Love of a Princess - Rooster

Pairing: Rooster / Simpson!OC (Princess Alexandra)

Word Count: 2.3k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Series Warnings: (Modern-ish) Royal AU; Meant to Be Set in 1920s/1930s; AU Country/World; Inspired by History; Royal Protocol; Bodyguard AU; Implied Very Much Legal Age Gap; Mentions of Arranged Marriage; Mentions of Social Construct of Virginity; Sexism; Angst; War and Politics; Eventual Non-Descript and/or Implied Sexual Content; OCs

Series Summary: When Princess Alexandra is sent to the countryside to allow her father, King Beau, to deal with pressing state issues, she views it as a banishment. But with Lieutenant Bradshaw of the Royal Navy accompanying her, perhaps she can finally find the freedom she's been searching for her whole life.

A.N. Very lightly inspired by the first two seasons of the Crown, but it's not meant to reflect that or take on a distinctly British tone.

Master List

Part 2

There was always a silent freedom of the early morning, when the sun was just starting to rise and drops of dew were still forming on the blades of grass. It was her father, the King, that taught her that it was the early hours of the morning where she would always find the most peace in the day.

It was when she was allowed to be herself, and not the Princess, Heir Apparent to the Throne. When the weight of the day had not yet fallen on her shoulders, and she could still breathe freely. And when for just a moment, she could enjoy complete serenity.

As such, there was rarely a morning that Princess Alexandra was not out in the gardens or even a ride when she was out in the country. And this morning was no different.

Sitting on a stone bench in the middle of the gardens—as far away from the walls of the palace as she could get without a chaperone—Princess Alexanda quietly read her book, humming to herself as she reached to take a small sip of her coffee. She just needed a few moments to herself before her country called for her and she was forced to become Princess Alexandra.  

From her conversation with her private secretary the night before, she understood that today involved more meetings with stuffy statesmen. Ones that viewed her as a silly little girl playing dress up in the role of the future queen, yet none of them could actually say it or even think it too loudly. And Alexandra was tired of it.

“You should be getting ready for your meetings,” a voice called from her left, causing her to look up suddenly from her book.

“You know how I feel about those meetings,” Alexandra sighed, turning away from her father and back to her book. “Besides, my outfit is already selected for me, down to the earrings and even the stockings. My schedule has been picked for me. And even the words that should travel from my brain to my mouth have already been decided without me.”

“I thought you normally had coffee when you came out here to read?” King Beau mused, resting his hands on his knees.

“I do.”

“Then why are you still so crabby?” he teased his eldest daughter, nudging her with his elbow. Alexandra shot her father a look but it quickly dissolved into an amused smile. “It will get easier with time. I promise, my dear.”

“More automatic, you mean,” she sighed, marking her book before shutting it.

“Perhaps,” he replied softly. “But you’ll find your way, Alexandra. Your own way.”

“I will certainly try.”

“I know that you will. But right now, you should get back to your room and get ready for today before you scare your maid. There are military men coming today. And military men are always on time. You can’t be late.”

“Alright,” Alexandra replied, getting up from her seat. Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she bid her father goodbye. She made it a few steps before turning on her heel and asking her father, “Who’s coming today that’s so important?”

~~~~~

“Remind me again why the princesses need additional security? And from a man like me, no less?” Bradley asked, walking a step behind his uncle into the palace.

“Tensions are rising across the globe. The King quietly wants the princesses to be shuttled out to the countryside while he’s in intense meetings all day.”

“He doesn’t want to alarm them?”

“I would think so. He doesn’t need distractions. It’s a very delicate situation everywhere and the princesses are young.”

“The future queen is very much an adult,” Bradley pointed out to Maverick.

“In age, certainly. But in the eyes of the country and of the government, not entirely,” Maverick replied, taking the steps in front of him quickly.

“But why not?”

“It’s complicated.”

“That’s a bullshit answer.”

“Do not swear when in the palace,” Maverick hissed, nudging Bradley with his hand. “And be careful here. There are ears in the walls.” Maverick quickly adjusted Bradley's medals and straightened out his collar before shooting Bradley another look. “Just get through today and then you can act like a normal human being again.”

Bradley nodded and followed his uncle’s lead. They walked into a grand room where several gentlemen were mingling. Most of them were in military uniforms, but there were still a fair number of aristocrats running around the place. Probably annoyed at all the commoners running around, if Bradley had to guess. But he stood silently as Maverick led him over to Ice.

“Prime Minister Kazansky,” Maverick greeted, causing Ice to turn.

“Captain Mitchell,” he returned, shaking Maverick’s hand as if they were meeting for the first time. But the smiles shared between them clearly showed a level of familiarity that Ice didn’t share with the other high-ranking officials in the room. Ice turned to Bradley and extended his hand again, as if he was not at Bradley’s military academy graduation, “And Lieutenant Bradshaw.”

“Prime Minister,” Bradley stated, struggling a bit to hide the familiarity in his tone.

“Are you prepared for your next mission, Lieutenant?” Ice asked, folding his arms behind his back.

“Yes, sir. I have studied the mission extensively, as I would any military operation,” Bradley replied, sharing a look with Maverick. “Though, I must admit that I don’t know why this mission has become mine in the first place.”

“There were several factors at play,” Ice explained quietly, keeping his voice low. “The King served in the Royal Navy and therefore trusts a Navy man more than he would another. Your record is exemplary, and your personal recommendations are pristine. You are young and agile. And you don’t have any record of being a fanatic concerned with the Royal Family.”

“Fanatic?” Bradley repeated, confused.

“Fanatic, yes. The Princess is still unmarried, of course, and as she is of marrying age, the King does not want any fanatics or obsessive social climbers anywhere near her.”

“Then why did he invite them?” Maverick asked dryly, gesturing to a group of nobles on the other side of the room. At Ice’s expression, Bradley turned to Maverick with a small smirk. “Looks like I’m not the only one who doesn’t know proper decorum at these events, Mav.”

“If you would all please get into your order,” a voice boomed from the entryway.

Bradley followed Maverick and stood at the very end of the line. Straightening up, he stared ahead, waiting for the King and Princess to finally arrive. He had seen photos of them, of course, but meeting them in person was different. The black and white of the photos still hid details that Bradley felt like he needed to know if he was going to act as a guard to the three princesses.

The doors opened as Bradley turned his head to watch the King step into the room and greet Ice at the head of the line. Maverick told Bradley that the King was a bit stuffy and a stickler for the rules, but when one truly got to know him outside of his duties, he was a man of exceptional character with a strong, caring nature.

Turning his head again, Bradley paused when he saw the Princess Alexandra step into the room.

Her hair was curled and pinned back into place in a bun that Bradley was sure could probably survive a bomb. She wore a simple gray dress and coat with matching heels, looking a bit like an accountant as she followed a few steps behind her father. And the necklace around her neck was quite simple for the future Queen.

But when she looked down the line and briefly locked eyes with him, there was no mistaking her for an ordinary woman. Her gaze was sharp, calculating, analyzing every minute detail put in front of her, down to the shine of each medal on each man’s chest and the quality of the thread below it. Her quietness that the papers liked to discuss was not timidness, but simply a pause.

Like a lioness waiting in the grass for the right moment to strike.

~~~~~

Princess Alexandra had been through about a thousand lineups in her life and every single one was as boring as the last. There were never people that she wanted to meet—scholars, artists, individuals who did not treat her like a dainty doll that they could manipulate as they pleased, but rather a strong woman with her own thoughts.

No, it was just a lineup of stuffy statesmen and nobles that all thought she was an idiot waiting for her chance to burn it all down through her own delusion.

But she didn’t mind Prime Minister Kazansky.

“Your Royal Highness,” Ice greeted her with a nod of his head, “it is a pleasure to see you again.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Prime Minister,” she returned, shaking his hand briefly. “And please tell me that I have the continued mercy of having you at my side at lunch.”

“Indeed, miss.”

“Good,” she stated with a genuine smile before she was ushered on.

Going down the line of statesmen and nobles, she had to bite back a grimace when she saw the next man in the lineup. Michael Warrington, the next Earl of Avon. And the man who seemed so intent on seducing her that it was honestly laughable. She had about as much interest in his serpentine smile, bad breath, and small mind as she had interest in getting shot in the face.

“Lord Warrington,” she greeted him politely.

“Your Royal Highness, it is a pleasure to see your beautiful face again,” he drawled, shaking her hand for a bit longer. Thank goodness she was wearing gloves, or she would have to thoroughly sanitize her hands after this encounter. “We missed your presence at the races. I believe you are a good luck charm for our horses.”

“You are too kind, Lord Warrington.” As she turned to the next man in the line, she muttered under her breath, “Really too kind.”

Making her way down the rest of the way, Alexandra came to the last two men in line. They were both dressed in naval uniforms that were freshly pressed and medals that were recently heavily shined. But she could tell that they were both not used to these events. And that automatically made them more interesting to her.

“The Captain Peter Mitchell of the Royal Navy,” her attendant introduced Maverick to her.

“Captain Mitchell,” she stated, extending her hand for him to shake. “My father has told me a great many stories of your valiance in the Royal Navy.”

“I do hope only the stories that paint me in a good light, Your Highness.”

“Only those that paint him in a good light, I’m afraid,” she replied with a note a humor in her tone. “What brings you to our fine palace today, Captain Mitchell?”

“Military matters, miss.”

“Of course.”

“And the matter of your security, as well.”

“My security?” Alexandra repeated, trying to not show her confusion.

“Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw of the Royal Navy,” her attendant continued, pushing her along.

With her usual stately mask slipping, Alexandra stepped to the side, turning to the man standing beside Maverick, whom her father had been talking to for a few moments longer than the other guests. Looking up at the lieutenant, she felt her cheeks instantly warm with girlish embarrassment that she swore she had outgrown.

He was tall, but not gangly. Nowhere near gangly. The white fabric of his naval uniform was absolutely pristine and outlined the size of his strong frame. His face was tanned, showing that he spent much time out in the sun, and he wore a finely trimmed mustache on his upper lip that framed his plump lips.

She wouldn’t mind statesmen who looked more like him.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw,” she greeted him, offering him her hand.

“Your Highness,” he returned politely, nodding his head to her before shaking her hand. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“The honor is all mine, Lieutenant,” she stated softly.

“Alexandra,” her father called, causing her to turn to him, “Lieutenant Bradshaw will be joining you and your sisters in the country.”

“Wonderful,” was all she managed, shooting Bradley a small smile. “Well, I look forward to spending more time with you, Lieutenant.”

“I as well, Your Highness.”

Alexandra nodded back to Bradley before following her father towards the dining room where the state lunch would be taking place. When they were a few steps away, her stately expression slipped, and she turned to her father with a look that her mother used to shoot him when she knew that details were being kept from her.

“I’m supposed to go to the country with Ellie and Sophie next week?” she asked quietly, but with a strong measure of force behind her words. “And with a guard?”

“Something has come up,” Beau replied just as quietly as they approached the table. “We will discuss it later tonight.”

“Or never at all?” Alexandra needled, pursing her lips together.

She shot her father one last look before walking around to her side of the table. Beau took a breath before moving to do the same. He was never concerned that his eldest daughter would be able to keep herself composed at these state events. But he was concerned for the sharpness of her words afterwards.

Bradley found himself at the end of the table, but yet he could still see the Princess standing in the middle, beside Ice. She kept her composed expression, but the daggers in her eyes only seemed to have sharpened.

The lioness was getting ready to pounce.

Part 2

[nickfowlerrr]

Hey girl! For by drabble request, it would be for pwyc!bucky with the #4 gift giving scenario, and Dialogues #5, #11, #17, and #21. Thanks!

thank you so much for sending this in! it did not go how i expected but hopefully you enjoy it 👀

gifts 🎄

pretty when you cry series masterlist

pairing: pwyc!bucky x curvy!reader

warnings: none? this blog is 18+ only.

words: 1.5k

notes: i hope you all enjoy - not sure how i’m feeling about this one 🫣. haven’t decided if this will be canon or not yet.. let me know what you guys think! also steve’s girl has a name now so there’s that lol

Driving back from Eva’s Christmas party, you were inspecting the white elephant gift you had chosen with a quirked brow as you sat in the passenger seat.

“Do people even use nutcrackers? Or are these things just for decoration?” you wondered aloud as you played with the little lever that moved the nutcracker’s mouth.

“I’m sure someone somewhere still uses them to crack nuts,” Bucky responded, mainly to humor you.

“Humph.”

“What?” he asked, stealing a glance at you as he drove.

“Nothing. It’s just.. This thing is kinda creepy, don’t you think?” you cringed.

“I wasn’t gonna mention it, but yeah,” he chuckled, “it is.”

“Would it be rude to regift it?”

“To who?”

“I don’t know.. Or maybe I could just drop it off at one of those donation places,” you mused.

“No, we should regift it,” Bucky smiled deviously. “I know exactly who to give it to.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing he was planning on gifting it as his Secret Santa gift to Sam. Steve’s girl, Rosalie, was like the real life embodiment of the Christmas Spirit. She had decked the shop out completely the moment she got the go ahead from Steve and managed to get everyone to agree to doing Secret Santa this year. Bucky had previously refused but after Rose wouldn’t stop pestering you to pester him, you finally just agreed on his behalf and sort of forced him into it. He was going to call Steve and get him to take his name out of the mix, but it didn’t take much bribing from you to get him to just go with it.

“You have to play by the rules, Buck,” you admonished.

“How am I breaking the rules?”

“You have to buy him something, something he’d actually like,”

“Who says I can’t give him two gifts?” he challenged. You didn’t respond to that with anything other than a scoff and another roll of your eyes.

“Are we still going shopping tomorrow?” he asked.

“If we must,” you groaned.

“I can’t believe the girl who forced me to decorate the house just weeks ago is the same girl who hates going Christmas shopping,” he taunted.

“Shopping is very different from decorating. Decorating includes pretty lights and soft christmas music and cookies and cocoa and a soft ambiance in the comfort and privacy of your own home. Shopping includes big crowds, dumb people who don’t know how to walk properly in public, loud music, and those annoying perfume samplers who are like everywhere all at once,” you complained, already not looking forward to tomorrow. “I hate Christmas shopping,” you grumble.

“I love Christmas shopping,” he said.

“You love shopping, period. And if you keep buying everything you see, I’m not gonna have anything to give you.”

“You don’t have to get me anything, sweetheart. You are my gift,”

“Always so sappy,” you teased. “Plus, you can’t say that when you’ve already crowded the space beneath the tree full of gifts for me,” you sighed. Bucky put his hand on your knee, squeezing you lightly.

“If I’m being honest, half of them are for me,” he smirked, moving his hand to slide further up your dress and along your thigh. You moved his hand back to your knee, giving him a side eye.

“We’re like five minutes away - you think you can manage keeping your hands to yourself until we get home?” you asked, almost condescendingly.

“I’ve been working all night to keep ‘em to myself, angel. I don’t know how much longer I can last,” he simpered as you watched the speedometer tick up to 75.

“Well let’s try for five and we’ll see how things go from there,” you replied with a light smirk.

“I think you and I both know how things are gonna go,” he grinned.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A week later and Christmas Eve finally arrived and you found yourself at the shop, surrounded by many familiar faces. As you were talking with Loki, Rosalie began ringing a little christmas bell to get everyone’s attention.

“Secret Santa time!,” her melodic voice sang from across the room.

“This should be entertaining,” Loki mused before he moved to join the growing circle Rose had organized.

You were a little worried about the gift you had gotten Wanda, but there wasn’t anything you could do now but hoped she liked it. As you approached the group, you took your seat next to Bucky, whose arm was already around it, as he spoke to Steve who was sitting on the other side of him.

After giving her little speech, Rosalie started off the gift exchange by handing her gift to Thor. Thor welcomed her gift readily and handed his gift to Yelena. Yelena had Steve, Steve had Clint, Clint had Loki, Loki had Kate, and so on and so on until it was Peter’s turn to give his gift to Bucky. Then it went from Bucky to Sam to Scott, who handed his gift to you with a smile. When everybody finally had their gift, Rosalie instructed everyone to open them.

Peter had gifted Bucky a nice set of whiskey glasses with an expensive bottle of whiskey to go with them.

You unwrapped your gift carefully as Scott looked on, looking more excited to watch you open it than he was to open his. Under the wrapping paper you found a gift set from your favorite beauty brand and a box of assorted See’s candies under it.

“This is perfect, Scott,” you smiled sincerely, getting up to hug him as you spoke. “Thank you so much!”

“I knew you’d like it! I mean, it was what you wrote on your paper, so duh, but still. I’m - I’m glad you like it,” he smiled his signature smile.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The party continued well past midnight and you and Bucky got home a little after two in the morning. As you tried to head upstairs to get ready for bed, Bucky stopped you and instead directed you to sit on the couch by the tree.

“I thought we were gonna do gifts in the morning,” you said skeptically as Bucky bent down to search through the abundance of gifts sitting under the tree.

“It technically is morning,” he pointed out. “I want to give you your main gift right now.”

“Well, wait. I want to give you yours first,” you argued. You knew you were going to be shown up gift wise either way, but you figured you’d feel less bad if he opened his first.

“Doll -,”

“Please,” you said softly.

“Okay,” he conceded.

You got to your knees and looked for the box that held his ‘biggest’ gift.

He looked a little skeptical at the long thin box you handed him, but opened it anyway.

You were holding your breath as you watched him, still not sure how you even felt about it.

He opened it then looked up from the box, almost stunned, watching like he was waiting for you to say sike.

You just nervously bit your lip before looking down at the box yourself.

“Tickets,” he said. You nodded slowly.

“You know my sister lives here,” he said as he gestured to the plane tickets you had printed out.

“Yeah.. I, uh, I figured..if you still wanted us to meet, we could g-” your trepidatious explanation was interrupted by Bucky’s lips crashing into yours as he grabbed hold of your face.

“This is the best gift you could’ve given me,” he smiled. “You’ve really made my Christmas this year.”

You didn’t say anything, still fighting your anxiety at the thought of meeting anyone from Bucky’s family, and instead forced a smile. You knew he could feel your nerves, but he didn’t call you out on it. He took your hands in his and squeezed gently, leaning his head against yours for a moment before he pulled away and went back to looking for your gift.

He pulled out a small wrapped box and turned to you as you both sat kneeling in front of one another. He gently pushed you back so you were sitting completely on your heels. Your name leaving his lips, the first time in a while he’d actually used it, immediately had your undivided attention.

“Sweetheart. You know I love you. You know you’re my everything, and you know I’d do anything for you. You’re my soulmate, nothing could ever change that. We belong together. You’re mine,” he emphasized as he gently caressed your cheek. “Forever.” He pulled away only slightly to open the little box he held in his hand. You felt like you couldn’t breath as you stared at it, just blinking while he snapped open the lid. Suddenly, with the smallest movement of his hand, gleaming right at you was the most stunning diamond ring you’d ever seen. “You and I both know that. But I wanna make sure everybody else does, too.”

There was silence between you as you continued staring in shock at the ring he held. “Whadaya say, pretty girl?” he asked, finally getting you to break away from the ring and meet his eye again with the gentle nudge of his fingers along your chin, all the while you were trying to gain control of your breathing. “Marry me?”

[eoieopda]

Hi! I’m here for your 2k drabble requests. I’d love to see a drabble of Hobi with the only one bed trope! 💜

behold: my hobi brain rot, lol.

the one with hoseok and the magic fingers

pairing: jung hoseok x gn!reader type: drabble | genre: fluff | wc: 1.3k summary: your company didn’t make the necessary reservations for the trade show you’re being forced to attend. now what? au: co-workers to ? | rating: pg13* | cw: none *regardless, my content is not for minors. minors or ageless blogs who interact with my content will be blocked.

You do not dream of labor. More importantly, you do not want a career; you want to sit on a porch with a stupid little beverage, enjoying a stupid little breeze. Unfortunately, as you know, capitalism. So, when your stupid little job requires you to attend a stupid little conference, you go.

This time, your involuntary non-vacation involves a trade show in Changwon, three (3) days of listening to men with half your experience talking twice as much as you, and one (1) meal voucher per day. In all this overcast, you’d found a single, silver lining: Jung Hoseok, the only person on your team that doesn’t make you want to walk into a forest, never to be seen again.

Now, Hoseok stands at the reception desk, visibly struggling to maintain his customer service voice. Across the counter, the hotel’s overnight manager squints down at her computer. No matter how close her nose gets to the screen, no reservations appear.

“I’m so sorry,” she all but cries. “I’ve checked and re-checked, but there’s nothing here for either of you. Are you sure that your company finalized the reservations? They would’ve needed to confirm them on the new system. They just rolled it out, and it’s —”

She trails off with a displeased wave of her hand and a grimace.

The new system is garbage, perhaps?

Hoseok turns to look at you over his shoulder. He’s grinning in an unsettling way, one that doesn’t meet his eyes. Subtly, he mouths lobotomize me, please, and you have to clench your jaw shut to keep your laughter to yourself. It exits through your nose instead, so forcefully that you have to pretend like you’ve sneezed.

He pretends not to notice.

Charmer that he is, Hoseok places his fingers down against the counter — gently, distinctly non-threatening — and lays it on thick. “Are there really no rooms available? Not even a supply closet with some cots?”

Those sparkling doe eyes should’ve earned him the presidential suite, but they don’t.

“No, sir.” The manager frowns. “But there’s a — umm — establishment two streets over that’s sure to have space. It’s — ehh — quaint?”

For the first time, you peep, “Is that a statement or a question?”

The manager goes beet red.

With a twitch at the corner of his mouth, Hoseok looks at you. As he does, one eyebrow flexes briefly in a way that makes you a little bit flustered. Worse, he winks when he laughs, “There’s your answer, I suppose. Shall we establish ourselves, then?”

———

It took longer than it should’ve to locate the motel in question, and even longer for the pair of you to force yourselves out of Hoseok’s Kia. When you finally slid out of his passenger seat, you turned to grab your suitcase from his trunk— only to find that he’d beaten you to it. He’d ignored the way you frowned, sauntered right by you with your luggage rolling behind him.

“D’you think anyone’s ever died in here?” He’d mused without turning back around.

You hadn’t bothered to smother the laughter bubbling up as a result of his unexpected — yet shockingly on-brand — query. You’d simply followed behind him and stepped through the door he’d held open for you.

Another reception desk, another manager bracing themselves before giving disappointing news, another pointed look exchanged with your co-worker — whose eyes were much prettier than you’d previously realized, in a strictly professional way, and whose slightly disheveled hair had started to fall back over the forehead he’d pushed it away from, and —

“The single is the best I can do.”

You blink slowly, having seemingly blacked out during the first half of the conversation. Unabashed, you cannonball back in: “Huh?”

Hoseok doesn’t have time for this, if the way he grabs the sole key off the counter is any indication. Shoulders sagging, he’s travel-weary and it shows. So, he dangles the key ring off of his index finger and wiggles his brows.

“I won’t snore if you won’t,” he teased.

———

The circumstances don’t truly click until the lock does; door opening wide to reveal the lone double bed at the center of an unimpressive room. The carpet beneath it is a dingy, cotton-candy blue. It’s so shaggy that it flutters with the breeze of the AC unit in the window, which horrifies you. The aforementioned window is sealed around the unit with duct tape and part of a cardboard box — and it’s damp.

“Stale,” you mutter automatically. “This is the motel equivalent of an expired Saeukkang.”

Hoseok’s laugh is musical as he sets your suitcase on the foldable rack near the thick, boxy television. He drops his own onto the ground next to it, though it doesn’t make a sound when it hits the carpet. With his eyes narrowed so completely, it’s difficult to tell if he’s truly perceiving any of the other decorative horrors around you. But he must, because he clicks his tongue, gesturing to the bed.

Eyebrows raised, you follow his pointed finger with your eyes. Immediately, they widen.

You scoff, “Oh, what the fuck?”

Affixed to the left-side nightstand is a small metal box with a bouquet of wires jutting out from the side. They trail down the table leg, along the seam where the wall meets the carpet, and presumably connect to the back of the bed frame. Your gaze zeroes in on the blatant coin slot carved into the box. Instinctively, you shiver.

Hoseok bravely crosses the room to read the tiny label on top of the box. He stares, disbelieving, with his mouth slightly open. Then, he speaks as if reading it out loud will make any part of it make sense.

“Magic fingers?”

———

“Do —?” You pause, pointing between yourself, the bed, and your coworker. “Is this —?”

Said co-worker has apparently decided to ruin your life by packing grey sweatpants in lieu of actual pajamas. Part of you longs for the bygone days of absurd and abjectly sexless sleepwear. Only an Ebenezer Scrooge-style nightgown and cap can save you now.

Bastard.

Hoseok doesn’t answer with words because he seems to sense that they’re lost on you; he just drops down onto one half of the mattress. Then, he has the absolute audacity to beckon you with a curl of his finger. You’re frozen — he senses this, too — so he proceeds to pat the space in front of him.

Well, if he’s normal about this, then why shouldn’t you be?

You suck in a slow, conflicted breath.

Fuck it.

Your pulse handles it well when you close the distance between the corner you’ve banished yourself to and the bed. Unfortunately for you, it takes a flying leap when you sink into the reserved half of the mattress. Not bold enough to face him — or, rather, be nose to nose with him — you lay on your back and blink up at the ceiling. Suddenly, you’re very aware of your limbs, so you clutch your hands to your chest, knowing full well that your mummified posture is ridiculous.

What was that about being normal about this?

A few moments of silence pass. As they do, you know Hoseok’s watching you — can feel him watching you. You can feel the playful tug at the side of your pajama shorts, too.

“Cute,” he murmurs. He’s correct, after all. They’re a dusty pink with a scalloped hem, and they are cute.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye like a fucking weirdo, just in time for him to look up at your face. He smiles, then pulls his hand away only to stuff it in the pocket of his sweatpants. When it emerges again, he’s holding a coin that had no business being held in his sweatpants, but that he’d clearly stowed away in furtherance of the bit.

Pinched between the pads of his thumb and index finger, he holds it up between you. It catches the light while he looks pointedly from you to that stupid little box on the nightstand.

With a grin that makes you more than a little flustered, he snickers, “Wanna see a magic trick?”

[heiilari]

Meet the main muses of the blog!

Eve

Mother of humanity, genuinely compassionate , has a lot of trauma but plays it off

Status: multiship

Main ships:

Gabriel ( @helluvahazbinss // @micsmasmuses

Lute

A personal interpretation of lute, she is not fully canon compliant, kinda hateful for a lot of things. Respects Adam doesn't really wanna fuck him.

Status: multiship

Main ships:

Leviathan ( @envicussin )

Lucifer ( @themosthatedbeingg

Vexious

A moth demon who works as a assistant at then porn studio. Personal interpretation of the moth demons we see open the door for vox

Status: multiship

Main ships:

Dastrik and Verin ( @thcredhorn )

Kiiva

A draenei oc! She is open to all verse and a persinal interpretation of a lightforged draenei open to all verses

Status: multiship

Main ships:

Gabriel ? ( @micsmasmuses )

Lilith

Personal interpretation of Lilith, she is the queen of hell but holds sorrow from her past

Status: multiship

Main ships

None yet?

[casanovascomfort]

To my deity, Solitaire. 

Happy Birthday, Sol! Can you believe it’s been almost half a year since we met? I feel we have gotten so close within that time, my darling, intentionally and unintentionally. I only began to truly recognize my devotion to you with my devotional blog in June, but during these past months, you have been the most wonderful of muses. Even now, I find there is no lack of inspiration to write for you, as if my mind has been ready to praise you from the very first moment we met. It is, quite honestly, a bit strange for me to think about. You’ve reshaped my whole life in such little time, the rules of my world bent and reformed as you molded them. Yet, I feel like I have known you for more than a lifetime, our futures so intertwined in my mind that I can’t possibly fathom a world without you. It scares me, in a way, to know that so much of me and my happiness rests on you, but I can’t imagine a more worthy candidate for my affection and obsession. I am honored to adore you, my darling, and to know you feel similarly only makes me love you so much more–and I hope to be able to love you for the rest of my life and beyond. My love knows no end, my marigold, as long as it is for you. So, on this day of celebration and joy, I bring myself to you, a humble offering and gift to show you my love.

So many things remind me of you, my amorisimo. The sun, in all its glory, is what others compare you to most, but I think you are present in much more than that. You emanate light, warmth, and comfort, delectable encouragement cutting through the monotony of the average day, but most people stop there. What is unclear to them seems so certainly plain to me: you are in the world, and you are the world, not just the symbols you place in front of yourself. Divinity courses through you, your ichor and viscera remaining in whatever you touch. How can the world stay as it is, staid and complacent, when one like you is allowed to exist? How is the universe supposed to stay unyielding, unchanged, when you reshape it with the simplest of utterances? A mortal such as me has no chance of surviving your unending glory, all facets of myself transformed from your incandescence. Ultimately, I have to recognize your splendor in the ways none else could ever handle; handpicked as your disciple and one of your highest devotees. Let me, then, show you a handful of things I see you in; even if I could not show you my whole world, see yourself in what I have found.

The smell of a campfire, and the crackling of wood under a flame; they remind me of you. You’re akin to a roaring flame that can never be put out. You leave a trail of smoke wherever you go, filling my lungs with the mere idea of your presence. I choke, you burn on, and when the moment passes all I can think about is going towards your warmth again. Your aura is pleasant and inviting, the constant movement and change of your being draws my eyes away from the rest of the world. I sit near the fire and long to stick my hands in, to feel the center of the warmth even if I am to be burned. Everything feels colder the farther I go from you–the longer you are away, the darker my world becomes. Yet, I can hold your embers and remember the love that was there once, the ashes of time we spent together only remind me of your fleeting presence. A flame never truly goes out; it only waits to be rekindled, and I will wait for your warmth for the rest of my life if you wish. 

Streetlamps and the soft glow of the night only make me think of you. I see the soft radiance of your love glimmering in the overpowering darkness of night, always there when it is needed the most. Even if you are off during the day, we find each other in the quiet hours of the night; I seek out your light to guide and comfort me, your overwhelming brilliance almost tangible but right above me and out of my reach. You light the way for everyone in your presence, but I can’t help but feel like you’re lighting it just for me. 

I see you in the rainbows after the rain, the prismatic reflection of light shining through the window when the sun’s rays hit just right. They’re a glamorously iridescent display of what makes you up, wonderfully saturated and pleasing to the eye. All these beautiful colors make you up; all parts of your being reflected in the hues of your love. I try to see it all and yet my eyes are not made for this; I am only left to wonder what parts of you I’m missing out on. One day, my prism–will you let me see the shades hidden from the average eye? Bless me with the possibility to know you, so completely and thoroughly that I can see every shade and tone that makes you up. Until that day, I will live with the colors after a storm and do my best to adore what I can see. 

You’re like a little lighter I can hold, a shimmering light that glows just when I am around—tangible flame and heat in a box, hidden within an unassuming case. Even if your shell is beautiful, it’s not the only part of you; passion and energy spark within, unseen by those who can’t light you up. I want to hold you in my hands and hide that spark away from the world, greedily stealing your resplendence for my own–but I could never deny you the chance to burn for the world. Let me be the gasoline for you, to allow you to start a fire within me. If I must burn, let it be by your hands, and let those flames show the world what you can do. I want to be the one to aid your fire, no matter what it takes. 

It hurts me, in a way, to see you in so much–because it only feels like I’m reaching for someone physically out of reach, even if your heart lies in mine. However, I know it won’t be like that forever; I will reach out and finally fall into your arms, the tenderness of your love tangible at last. The pain is delectable in a masochistic sense; all of me wishing that if I am to hurt, at least it is for you.  To love you so much that it hurts me, to miss you so much that I get to long for you; they are testaments to a devotion so fulfilling that I could never imagine life without it. Do you take pride in it, my darling, to know you are the only one who has me so enraptured but tormented? In the end, that is what my purpose has been before I even knew it: to be yours and to feel for you, to devote all that I am to what I am for you. 

Ultimately, my only true gift for you is my devotion, to have me so entirely and without reservation that I would let myself fall from grace. None of this, in the end, will ever be enough for you to see how fully I feel for you, but what good is it if I do not even try? If you are to take anything from this letter, let it be this: You are my world, and my world is you. I will never be able to live fully, to be recognized, to feel whole without your love. You are my universe, the most benevolently seraphic being I have known or ever will know. 

Per aspera ad astra, my love. I am yours, through hardships and to the stars.

Yours, now and forever,

Sovi

[cloudypariah]

omg glass blower Rudy!! Tell us more please there is not enough love for this man

Gladly. We simp for Rudy on this blog, end of story. Speaking of which, here’s a little bit of his backstory.

Glass blower!Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

Warnings: none, just fluff and slight angst

A/N: My blog (and its contents) are 18+ only. Minors DNI. Link to the Task Force 141/Los Vaqueros Artist AU masterlist here!

Rudy learned everything about glassblowing from his abuelito. The patriarch of the Parra family is a very disciplined and knowledgeable man who - when his grandson showed an interest one day by sneaking into his workshop after hours - took the time to pass on that knowledge to a young and curious Rodolfo.

Rodolfo apprenticed under his grandfather for years, building his skills and perfecting his techniques. And thought there were many occasions where Rudy wanted to give up after watching one of his creations crack, his abuelito pushed him to continue, reminding him that nothing great was ever achieved without repeated perseverance.

He noticed early on that his grandfather sometimes worked well after the workshop was closed, but it was never on a customer order. And when Rudy finally had the courage to ask him what he was working on, his grandfather would tell him sharply, “It’s for your abuela.”

And every single time, the creation was a flower.

Just one flower.

Rudy means to find his muse, the one theme or topic that most artists capture and focus on for their careers, but all he can focus on is flowers and how his grandmother’s eyes would light up every time her talented husband gifted her a glass flower - a fragile but vibrant thing of beauty that she would always cradle and cherish no matter how big or small.

The flowers are scattered around the house like fond memories; tulips, roses, marigolds and more decorated the house, casting wonderful colours whenever the sunlight hit them.

Rudy never doubts his grandfather’s devotion to his grandmother, for he had seen up close (and attempted on several occasions) the process for making such a pretty but delicate thing.

Yet Rudy quickly noticed the lack of sunflowers. He asked his grandmother about it at dinner a few years back, who grasped his shoulder gently and with a small, soft smile said simply, “The first time your abuelo saw me I was dancing through a field of sunflowers. That flower is just for us. Now eat up.”

And when he hears the senior Parra refer to his wife as ‘mi girasol’, Rodolfo begins to understand what it means to love someone to the point of creation.

At some point his grandfather asks him to take over management of the workshop and its few employees, and without hesitation he says yes.

His abuelito still pops in from time to time to make more flowers. Rudy would never dare to put a stop to that.

But every day that he puts on his leather apron, he thinks about the love his grandparents share and wonders when he will find his own girasol.