#She should probably be more feathery

[hyenabeanz]

It's cute how much they adore each other. :)

Couldn't decide on a palatte. So you get both. Embiggen for quality.

[surplekit]

It’s been 2 months since your beloved boyfriend had left to attend Blue Lock. Of course you miss him greatly, but it makes you happy to know that he’s pursuing his dream.

You two don’t call often, mainly due to the fact that it’s very busy in Blue Lock, but when you do it’s always a great catch up conversation. Exchanging stories and “I love you’s” before he has to leave to go play another match.

One night, he feels particularly needy, wishing he was back at home with you. Once curfew hits, he goes to bed, but he can’t stop thinking about you. Your beautiful eyes and beautiful lips. The way you hold him in such high regard as a boyfriend. He just misses you so damn much and can’t wait to go back home to see you. He thinks about the time you spent together, and the things you do together alone. Leading him to realize that he hasn’t engaged in any sexual activity since he left home. Including masterbation.

The innocent thoughts of you soon become more lewd and horny. He thinks about the way you take him so well, and how good you feel, and well, before he knows it, he’s hard.

“Fuck.. if only Y/N was here with me.. she always takes care of me so well.” Your sweet boyfriend thinks to himself. He can feel the precum leaking from his hard cock, and knows he has to do something, or else he’s really in for it tonight.

“Ah… shit..” he palms himself through his shorts and squeezes his eyes shut, eliciting moans and whimpers from him.

He takes his cock out from his shorts, and starts moving his hand up and down, slowly. It’s so hard it hurts. How he wishes he was with you. You’d make the pain go away.

He starts to pick up the pace, focusing on the area right below his leaky tip. It felt good, but it would never feel as good as your hand.

“Ngh.. f-fuck..” the thoughts of you were getting more vivid, images of you bouncing on his cock were flashing through his mind, and he began to desperately chase his release.

He increased the speed and pressure he was using on his cock, trying so hard to cum, but he just couldn’t. It felt like he was right on the edge, but he just couldn’t get there.

“C-cmon.. n-eed to cum.. please..” he’s so needy, and it seems his hand isn’t doing the job.

He stops yanking on his cock, panting and out of breath. He didn’t even get to cum.

“Fuck..” he brings his hands up to his face, placing his hands on his forehead. He needs another solution, and he thinks he has one but he really doesn’t want to have to resort to such a thing.

He turns the the extra pillow on his bed, and groans in embarrassment.

“Can’t believe I’m doing this.. so pathetic..” he scolds himself as he mounts the pillow. The soft and feathery contact makes him wince. As he adjusts the pillow, he begins moving, dragging his angry cock back and forth against the white objet.

“A-ah..! O-oh shit..” this seems like it’s working. He grips the sheets and speeds up the pace of his thrusts. Once again, he desperately chases his release, but fails to catch it. He’s right there. Right there, and he just needs something to tip him over.

“Damn it!.. why can’t I cum..? She’s probably fast asleep while I’m over here… humping a damn pillow to get off.” He sighs, leaning forward, to rest his head against the mattress.

He reaches over to grab his phone, hoping, wishing that you would call him right that instant. He scrolls through your past messages, wanting to cry. He misses you so bad. But it was late, and you were probably sleeping.

But what if you weren’t?

What if you were awake, thinking about him too? The thought of that sparked excitement in your needy boyfriend. Should he call you? Ask for your help? How would be even ask you?

He stared at the dial button for what seems like an eternity, and something in him tells him to call you.

The phone rings twice, when you pick up.

“Hey baby! What are you up to? It’s pretty late you know.” The sound of your voice alone almost makes cum, and he knows he has to tell you.

“Hey.. Y/N. I’m sorry for calling so late.. I was just thinking about you.. and.. and I-“ he mumbles on the phone when you cut him off.

“You need me to help you with something, hm?” His heart skips a beat. How did you know? Was he that obvious?

“H-how.. how did you know?” He asks, concerned.

“You’re my boyfriend? I think I’d know when somethings up. Anyways what is it?” You question.

He pauses for a moment before spilling everything.“I need you. I can’t.. can’t cum. I’ve tried just about everything I could and I still can’t.. n-need you to talk me through it.” He squeezes his eyes shut, anticipating your response. After a while and no response he feels he made a mistake.

“N-Nevermind sorry! Goodn-“

“What have you tried, darling?” You question, in a tone laced with seduction.

He takes a second and can’t believe you’re actually willing to help him. “I-I tried jerking off.. even focusing on my sensitive areas… and it didn’t work. I also tried.. um.. I tried..” he starts out rambling and slows down, not able to say what he’s trying to.

“Spit it out, love. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

“I’ve tried using a pillow.” He thought it was bad before but saying it out loud is even worse. His face flushes red with embarrassment and he goes quiet.

“What did you do with the pillow, my love?” You question, trying to get him to use his words.

“I.. I humped.. it. I was humping a pillow.. I’m sorry I feel disgusting.. like a damn animal in heat.”

“No my love, you’re not disgusting. You’re just needy, that’s all. I’m really happy you came to me tonight. You know I’ll always do what I can to help you, right?” You assure your shy boyfriend.

“Y-yeah.” He whispers, looking down at his leaking cock.

“Okay. You tried both those things and you couldn’t cum?”

“I tried, Y/N. I just couldn’t. I don’t know why.” He gets quieter each word that he utters.

“My poor baby… over there suffering. Let’s see what we can do okay?” He nuzzles his head into the mattress, closing his eyes and imagining that it’s your chest.

“Do you have headphones, love?”

“Y-yeah..”

“Put them on for me, okay?”

“Yes ma’am.” He rushes to grab his AirPods, fumbling to put them in.

“O-okay. They’re in.” He waits for your next instruction, eager to obey.

“Sit back, love. I want you to take your hand and masterbate.” He complys, breathing raggardly.

“Slowly, don’t rush it, alright?” You can tell he’s extremely eager, doing everything as if he’s being timed.

“M-mhm. Okay.” He continues rubbing up and down his shaft, just like you told him.

“Now take your other hand, run it down your torso, and I want you to focus on your nipples especially.”

“H-hahh.. f-fuck… feels.. f-feels so good.. s’ much better then before..” He moans out, doing both actions simultaneously.

“I.. I like when you tell me what to do.”

“Mm yeah? You’re being such a good boy. Keep doing that okay? So good for me.” He whimpers loudly at the obvious praise, slightly arching his back up off the mattress.

“I-I think.. ‘m getting close. Can feel it coming..” He slowly speeds up his pace, and gets a little rougher with his nipples, pinching them rather than grazing over them.

“F-fuck Y/N.. h-help.. getting c-close.. really close..!” His leaky cock was leaking even more precum now, twitching with every stroke.

“Yeah, you’re close? You got it baby. You’re almost there. Just a little more.” He moans at your sultry voice, visioning you stroking his cock for him.

“A-ah.. a-shit! C-cumming! I-I’m cumming! F-fuck fuck..!” He orgasms, his cock pumping a continuous flow of cum down his hand and wrist. He stops his movements, the orgasm is too strong for him.

“Baby, did you stop? Don’t stop. Keep stroking yourself. You want the orgasm to last a little longer.” He listens to you, and picks up the pace again, his body twitching every few seconds.

“C-can’t do anymore Y/N, sensitive, really.. really sensitive.” He has to stop, and try to regulate his breathing. Now he was sweating and shaking out of pleasure.

“Alright. Good job, my love. You did so well for me. Did that help you with your problem?” He turns to his phone to look at your photo.

“Y-yes. Thank you s’ much.” He’s still coming down from his high, and his first thought is still you.

“Thank you.. thank you Y/N.. you’re so.. good to me.. what did I do to deserve you?” He’s so genuinely grateful to have someone like you to love him.

“It’s really okay, baby. It was nothing, that was all yo- love? Are you.. crying?” You ask after hearing some sniffling in the background.

“I just.. I miss you so much Y/N.”

“Aw.. my poor baby.. you know how much I miss you too? Maybe you can come visit home soon?”

“Yeah.. I hope.” The call is quiet for a minute, until you break the silence.

“My love?”

“Mhm?”

“It’s quite late, I think we’ll have to call again tomorrow.” You did have work early in the morning, and staying up this late couldn’t have a good effect on you.

“Oh. Y-yeah.. sorry. It was a little selfish of me to keep you on the phone like this so late.”

“Don’t even worry about it. Get some rest okay, I know you work hard every day.” You acknowledging his hard work warms his heart. What an amazing girlfriend you are.

“Thank you, again. Goodnight.”

[ghost-proofbaby]

kissing lessons, pt. 2

summary: you and robin face the music that maybe the kissing lessons aren't just lessons after all.

pairing: robin buckley x fem!reader

warnings: even more sapphic yearning than the first one (in my opinion), lots of religious imagery scattered sporadically, and a lots of hints/passing mentions of homophobia (no talk of violence, etc.) that was normal in the 80s. there's even more discussion of reader conforming to the usual and dating a boy. once again, reader is explicitly female.

wc: 3.3k+

a/n: i cannot explain how healing writing this has been. shout out to younger me for surviving the way my own experience ended with a lot more heartbreak - you deserved a robin buckley, baby ghost. and thank you to everyone who read the first one and was so very kind. i am eternally grateful <3

part 1 here

It was your own damn fault, probably. 

Robin may have been the one to ignite the fire, so prettily asking to start having those godforsaken kissing lessons, but you’d be the one clutching a bottle of gasoline. You’d been the one fanning the flames with each arrangement you’d insist upon, Saturday after Saturday always being spent one predictable way: kissing your best friend. 

In your bedroom, in her living room, behind the slide at the park. 

Mid-afternoon, early mornings, in the dead of night. 

Any time that you can find an excuse for it, your lips were attached to Robin Buckley’s, chipping away at your own demise, and it was all your fault. 

There wasn’t a handbook for this, though. There was no pamphlet to explain all the butterflies that would erupt in your stomach every time she’d smile at you slyly just before she’d lean it to initiate the kisses, no how-to for stopping the shake in your hands as you’d cradle thighs and cheeks alike as if they were the most sacred of sacrifices, no survival guide for all the heartache that now haunts your every waking moment when you think about the smell of her perfume. You had no one who could explain away your obsession with the taste of passion fruit lip smackers these days. 

You were in love with your best friend, and it sort of felt like some type of terrible shipwreck done by your own recklessness. 

And if she felt even an ounce of the same way, you couldn’t see it. You simply couldn’t allow yourself to read any further into the brushes of her hand in the hallways that had grown more consistent. If you daydreamed too long about the way she’d been so overly supportive of you wearing skirts to school more often these days, you’d quite possibly self-implode. It was all a dangerous game, a hopeless drowning in the middle of the Atlantic, and you were just letting it happen. 

“Why was that Connor guy talking to you in the hall today?”

And if you read too much into what you so desperately wanted to describe as jealousy in her tone right now, you’d certainly combust in the blink of an eye. 

It wasn’t even a Saturday – it was a Friday. Saturdays were the holy days, the days in which you could guarantee you’d taste her all over your tongue and be allowed to gather all your offerings in the form of worshiping whispers and guiding movements as she straddled your lap. The rest of the week, the two of you were nothing more than the best of friends. On Fridays, you should be nothing but two girls who find innocent and platonic solace in one another. 

It’s just hard to do when all you’re capable of thinking about is how soft the skin of her neck was nearly a week ago, when your lips had trailed down to her pulse point in such feathery light brushes. 

“Oh!” you sit up from where you’d been spread out on her bed, looking up at her with sudden excitement as you watch her spin in her desk chair, “I forgot to tell you! Holy shit, you’re going to love this.” 

The moment it had happened, you’d started mentally counting down the moments until you’d have the chance to tell Robin of the awkward conversation. You can’t believe you’d forgotten about it so easily once you’d gotten the girl alone. 

She pauses her spinning immediately, blinking rapidly as she was clearly dizzy, “What do you mean? Why am I going to love it?” 

“He asked me out to milkshakes.”

You wait. And wait. And wait. Nearly quaking with all the anticipation for your best friend to burst out into laughter with you over the irony of it all. 

You just keep waiting. 

The laughter never escapes Robin, her face stoic as she doesn’t even smile. All the giggles and rolling of eyes you’d expected to share is completely erased with that look on her face currently. A look you almost mistake as hurt, a look that reaches far beyond jealousy.

The look of someone standing amongst the wreckage of an abandoned ship. 

When she finally speaks again, with deflated shoulders and the corners of her mouth down-turned, it’s soft enough you almost miss it. “Did you say yes?” 

It was the one question you hadn’t been expecting – you’d assumed it had been a given that you’d turn the poor boy down. 

“Obviously not,” you snort, uneasy as you rifle through your mind, a sudden desperation to make Robin smile or to lighten the mood immediately rearing its head. 

“Obviously?” 

This conversation is very much not going the way you had seen it play out in your head. Robin’s missing all of her lines, none of her expressions lining with the directorial vision you’d been gifted with when the moment had happened. 

No saccharine laughter, no sweet joy. None of the sugared reactions are rotting your teeth out. 

Instead, there’s just a strange and hollow ache. The vacant expression of Robin’s face that twitches ever so slightly with something more below the surface, and a tension in the air that wraps around your throat tightly. 

“Yeah, I mean,” you choke out, trying to stave off your discomfort, “We both know how I feel about milkshake dates. And besides, he wanted to go tomorrow, and we already have plans-”

“You could’ve said yes,” she blurts out. As soon as the words fall in the space between you two, she’s wide-eyed, staring at you like a scared deer caught up in your headlights, “Our plans- They-” she pauses, and takes a deep breath that almost looks painful, “You could have said yes if you wanted to. I’d live. Plus, it’d give you a chance to put our lessons to use.” 

No sweetness, only a sour on your tongue that makes your face twist. “Why would I use our lessons on Connor from pottery?” 

Why would I ever want to kiss somebody that isn’t you? 

The thought easily makes you sick to your stomach. The lips of someone who isn’t Robin Buckley pressed to yours, the hands of someone who isn’t your best friend tracing the curves of your body. You think you’d rather die. 

“I dunno,” Robin is mumbling now, almost looking ashamed. The last thing you’d wanted to do was shame her. You’d just wanted to share a laugh with your best friend, “That was sort of the point, right? You wanted to get good at kissing-”

“We,” you correct her.

“What?”

“We wanted to get good at kissing. You can’t tell me there’s no boys in the band that have asked you out or you’d have a chance to kiss. You’re…” Even as the words are ash in your mouth, sticking to the roof of your mouth and making it hard to breathe, you force it all out. The only words left are the truth, anyways, “Beautiful, Robs. You’re fucking stunning, and funny, and so kind. Who’s your Connor from poetry, hm?” 

It’s a dagger to the heart. It’s alcohol on a paper cut, salt in a throbbing wound. Every cliche and morbid pain in the books is racing through you at what you’ve just said. Asking her about boys is worse than simply accepting it as a hypothetical. Having to actually hear about boys chasing after the girl that’s occupied you irrevocably is worse than imagining them all. 

At least in your imagination, they could all be fumbling over their feet, falling to the dirt as Robin cackles and arrives straight to her original destination – you. At least in your imagination, you stand a chance. 

“God, no,” she scrunches her nose up, immediately standing from her chair, “Oh my God, no. Ew. I don’t- I’d never-” 

“You’d never?” you raise an eyebrow, watching as she nearly starts to pace. 

“We were talking about you!” she bursts out, arms flailing out beside her, spinning so she was stood right in front of you, “You and Colton-”

“Connor.”

“-and how you should go get milkshakes with him! You should’ve said yes, okay? You could say you have a boyfriend when you get to college if you’d said yes.” 

Boyfriend. A word that will never, ever leave your lips. Not just when it came to Connor – when it came to all the boys in your school. All the boys in your town. All the boys in the goddamn world. 

That word doesn’t fit. It’s too tight, too confining. Strangles you in all the wrong places and makes your chest constrict in the worst way. 

You don’t want a boyfriend. 

You want your best friend to stop pacing, you want your best friend to hold your hand, you want it to be Saturday and for your best friend to kiss your fucking face off.

Pathetic, only because you don’t think you’ll ever find the nerve to say it to her out loud. 

“Who cares if I have a boyfriend when I go to college?” you spit out, struggling to even say the damn word, “I could give two shits if I-”

“I care!” Robin is turning erratic, wild as she tugs at her hair and looks at you with such misplaced desperation. You don’t know what she wants from you – you can’t give her what she’s asking of you, “I care, because you deserve to have that normal experience. You should be out there, kissing boys and going on dates to share a milkshake and- and- and… not spending your Saturdays with me, hiding away and kissing me and sharing chapstick and making me feel all these stupid feelings-” 

She cuts off roughly, a small gasp leaving her lips as she realizes what she’s just said. 

Making me feel all these stupid feelings. 

“What do you mean by that?” you whisper, sharing at her, shocked, “What do you mean by stupid feelings-”

“Forget it.”

“No.” 

“Yes,” she pleads, taking a step back when you stand up in front of her, “Dear God, please forget I ever said that. I’m literally begging you.” 

Stupid feelings. 

What does she even define as stupid feelings? 

Is it that her heart races whenever you suggest another lesson? Is it that warmth that spreads head to toe every time you grab her hand casually? Is it all that pain with nowhere to go at the end of the day, when you bury your face in a pillow and scream out all the what-ifs you assume you’ll never explore in this lifetime? 

You think about your parents. The ones who are never home, or are oblivious in the kitchen as you shut your door and quickly return to your bed, where your best friend is awaiting you eagerly just to get her tongue down your throat. You think of Robin’s parents, who force her to go to church every Sunday, never realizing she can still taste the strawberry chapstick all over her lips come morning. Whispering all their prayers in the same tone she’d whispered your name the night before. You think about all the peers your age who spend their Saturday nights in diners, sharing milkshakes and planning their futures – their normal futures. 

White picket fence, a mid-size dog to run around the yard. Two and a half kids, and a wedding ring gleaming on the finger on their left hand directly connected to their heart. The same one that Robin always fiddles with while the two of you sit and do homework together, the same one Robin once slipped an old coin-machine ring onto as a joke when you were thirteen, cackling about some sort of marriage pact that had every adult in vicinity glaring at the two of you. 

All the things you can’t dream about. Because when you do, it’s never the nice boy your father points out at the grocery store. It’s never that boy your mother finds absolutely darling, who lives two houses down and has offered to mow your lawn numerous times. 

Every time you try to picture it, it’s with Robin. 

Her with a matching ring you’ve bought for a quarter, her lipstick staining the matching mug on your kitchen counter during a quiet morning. Kids with her freckles, kids with all her spunk. A dog she’d name something incredibly niche, and that you’d fight her on endlessly, but end up giving in simply because you love her. 

Whenever you try to look to the future, it’s with the girl before you, who has tears gathering in her lash line now. Embarrassment painting every inch of her exposed skin, and her chest stuttering with every gasping breath. 

Stupid feelings. You’d become entirely acquainted with stupid feelings, you just hadn’t realized that Robin had as well. 

“What do you mean by that, Robs?” your voice cracks, begging all but on your knees at this moment. Everything you could possibly want right in an arm’s reach. 

You don’t even need the picket fence or the dog. Kids could vanish right from the dream. The house could become a quaint apartment in the city. The morning coffee could be traded for peppermint tea. As long as the thing that never changes is her, you don’t really care where the visions lead. 

She says your name so softly, you nearly break down entirely. You want to hear it for the rest of your days. The way the shape of your name curls around her tongue and falls from her lips, “You should just forget I said anything, I mean it. Go home and call Connor-”

“Fuck Connor!” you suddenly raise your voice, so entirely done with all the boy talk. All the expectations and all the definitions of normal. Your finger on your left hand, connected directly to your heart, throbs. “I don’t want to share some half-melted milkshake with that… with that… idiot! I want to share it with the idiot in front of me right now. I don’t want to practice kissing on him, I want to practice with you. I don’t want him, and I don’t want that boy who bags groceries at Melvald’s, and I don’t-” 

Robin Buckley is the brave one. She shuts you up about all the ones you don’t want, by giving you the one thing you do want. 

Soft palms, soft lips. Gentle hesitation to soothe the scars of a future you never really cared for. Fruity lip balm that somehow perfectly matches airy perfume. 

She’s kissing you like her life depends on it. Like she’s feeling an ache in the joints of that finger connected to the heart, and she just can’t take it anymore. Like she loves you. Or at least likes you. 

And you’ll take what you can get when you reach up to grab onto her anywhere you can find. Bunching her shirt at her hip with your first, fingers curling around her forearm that’s connected to the hand cradling your cheek. You can’t possibly lean into it all enough; can’t press your lips any tighter against hers, can’t have any more of your limbs bumping into hers as you stumble backwards and onto her bed. 

She’s crawling over you, little puffs of breaths escaping between kisses, hovering above you with a halo of sunlight leaking in through her bedroom window. 

She looks like a God you don’t believe in, and one she can’t be spoon-fed to worship anymore. All holier notions are focused on you. Fingers trailing their way up under your shirt and hips bumping against yours as you both try to learn what to do with this new position. 

It’s better than your best friend seated in your lap, timidly moving her tongue. It’s nicer. 

“Stupid feelings,” you breathe out when she moves to pepper kisses on your cheek, on your jaw, on your neck, “Stupid fucking feelings.” 

“Sometimes, I wish we’d never started the lessons, you know?” she whispers when she pauses at your collarbone, peering up at you with those glossy blue eyes. Oceans deep, ready for your ship to roll right into. Ready for your ship to crash in. “It made all of this so much harder and complicated.” 

Your fingers slide into her hair, tugging at the sporadic pieces that you’d helped cut a year ago. The saddest excuse for layers ever, “Made what harder?” 

You want to hear her say it. You need to hear her say it. 

“Liking you.”

If hearts could burst, yours would be fluttering shreds behind your ribs. Nothing more than the aftermath of finally, finally, hearing those words fall from her lips. 

“You like me?” your cheeks ache immediately from your grin, so wide it occupies your entire face. You swear you can see its reflection in her eyes. 

Her head lifts and you see some of the fear still lingering behind her own smile, “Yeah, doofus. I like you. A lot, actually. And I just always assumed you liked that Cooper boy-”

“His name is Connor.”

“I know,” she laughs, face contorting as she bites back more giggles. It’s no use though, as her head falls forward and her forehead lands on the center of your chest, “I just- God, I sort of hated him. I heard him ask you out for the milkshake and I just wanted to punch the dude-”

“You heard?” you’re laughing now, head thrown back, “I’m sorry, you knew why I was talking to him, and you still tried to play all coy and ask me?” 

“Can you blame a girl for trying?” 

No. No, you really couldn’t. You can only imagine the ridiculous plans you’d elaborately conjure if you’d ever overheard a boy asking Robin out on a date. All the jealousy ploys and childish schemes, born out of all the sunshine she’s been instilling in you since the first day you’d met her. 

And imagining that is fine. But what you no longer have to imagine is a Robin who chooses you, the scenario in which you can simply grab her and kiss her until you’ve run out of breaths and your lungs have shriveled into nothing more than feathers in your chest. 

So you do. 

You tug her back up to you and kiss her, far more languid than she’d initially kissed you. The slow movements of lips with all the time in the world. The steady movements of hands that belong as you run them over her shoulders and down her back, bring them to those hips you’d been adoring every Saturday. 

You kiss Robin Buckley on a Friday, simply because you can. 

Nice, your mind rings out. Nice, nice, nice. 

This was nice – this was right. None of that discomfort at the thought of letting Connor kiss you, no strangulation at the word boyfriend. You feel like you can breathe for the first time in your life as you kiss your best friend serenely and let all of that love seep out of your skin when it presses to hers. In the background of it all, a new word forms, a soft blanket of comfort rather than something to wrap around your throat. 

Girlfriend.

Now that? That sounds nice. 

“Hey,” Robin says when she pulls back slowly, tip of her nose still bumping yours, the weight of her still between your thighs, “Do you want to…. I don’t know, go get a milkshake with me or something?” 

You don’t think about either of your parents, or any of the self-righteous vipers who might be prowling the town on a Friday night. You know it won’t be the same as going to the diner with a nice boy – you know you won’t be able to kiss her on the street or cuddle up quite as obviously, keep her quite as close as you so desperately ached to, but it was okay. 

It was enough. For now. 

“Only if we can get strawberry,” you quip, unable to help yourself as you lean up for another brief peck. 

The peck isn’t enough. You don’t think any amount of Robin’s treacly kisses would ever be enough. You’d probably spend an entire lifetime just trying to get your fill. 

“Deal,” she rasps, clearly sharing the sentiment as she leans back down, kissing you right back. Eager lips not quite satisfied. 

There would be no screaming or crying into pillows tonight. 

ghost's taglist: @emmaisgonnacry @figmentofquinn @bebe07011 @barbedwirebats @ayooooo0

@neverlearnedcivility @munson-enthusiast @digwhatudug @wow-cam @daddysmodifiedprincess2

@cancankiki @gothmingguk @nix-rose @thesesuggestedblognamesbegreat @chevelle724

@madaboutjoe @take-everything-you-can @josephquinnsfreckles @thebanisheddreamer @water-loos

@dailyobsession @whenshelanded @happy-and-alone @alwayslindie @royale1803

@onegirlmanytales @whyamiheresomeonehelp @mrsjellymunson @live-love-be-unique @hazydespair

@gothvamp1973 @kennedy-brooke @kittydeadbones @hollysleeps @hellojameshowyadoin

@munsonzgf @browneyes8288 @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @siriuslysmoking @mandyjo8719

@d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @acenby-weirdo @hazydespair @royale1803 @batkin028

@ninejlovebot @charliewb1996 @imwaytoolazyforthis @definitionwanderlust @idkitsem

join my taglist!

[midnightcrw]

Peaceful

Pairing: Halsin x Reader

Summary: Halsin spending time with his daughter

a/n: This is my first time writing for Halsin, so it might not be that good, but I tried my best. I have already named his daughter, although you can tell me if you would rather not have her named

"Come here," Halsin said in a tone filled with joy and calmness as he lightly patted the grass in front of him. The birds were chirping and the sun was shining brightly, just the right temperature to be outside.

The little brown bear cub layed on her back on the ground, just looking at Halsin, almost as if she wasn't even listening. "Naevia, come," he called, reaching out to stroke her little belly as she began to wiggle and make small noises of joy.

Watching his little daughter was probably one of his favourite things since she was born. He couldn't be happier with you and Naevia, and he made that clear by showering you with love and sweet words.

Halsin slowly pulled his hand away, and at that moment, Naevia began to slowly turn her little body around until she was on her paws.

It was truly fascinating to watch her grow and change, but for the past two weeks she had stayed in her bear form, more than content as she began to explore the world that way.

He couldn't even remember when he was a cub. All he had ever heard from his mother was that he was quite playful and loved to learn new things.

In his thoughts, Halsin didn't even notice Naevia climbing onto his lap until she nudged his belly with her snout. Looking down, his daughter stared at him with her round eyes as she tried to put her paws up, almost causing her to fall backwards, but Halsin was quick.

He pulled her toward him until her small head rested on his shoulder as his arms wrapped around her form. Somehow Naevia always liked to be carried and held in this way, though Halsin could only imagine it being rather uncomfortable in bear form.

"There you are!" A voice suddenly called from behind him as he started to turn around only to find you standing in front of him. Seeing you, Halsin immediately began to smile as his heart began to beat a little faster and he slowly stood up with Naevia in his arms.

"I was afraid something had happened! You didn't even tell me you were going outside with Naevia!" you scolded him, but softly, as you couldn't resist his peaceful expression.

It wasn't every day that Halsin let himself relax, often being busy with something or trying to overwork himself to become his best version, even though he already was.

"Do forgive me, my heart. I just wanted to take Naevia outside since she seemed so keen on this place last time," Halsin leaned down a bit to give you a small kiss on the forehead, and then leaned his forehead against yours.

"You're lucky I love you," you joked and gave him a feathery kiss on the lips. The moment you pulled away, Halsin's gaze turned almost lustful as he leaned down once more, but before he could kiss you, you placed your index finger against his lips.

"Not in front of Naevia," you whispered as Halsin began to pout slightly, making you chuckle as you pulled your finger away. "Did she fall asleep?"

"Most likely, I think that's why my neck feels so wet right now," Halsin grinned as you started to walk around him to see Naevia's head, and indeed she was asleep and currently drooling all over Halsin.

You shook your head, "You should have told me before, I would have taken her from you so you could clean yourself."

Hearing that only made him hold Naevia closer, "Never, I'm more than content as it is, my heart."

Since Halsin became a father, he never wanted to be away from his daughter and you. Every moment was treasured and thanked for as he finally had the family he so longed for.

[hazbinshusk]

Hi there! I saw your prompt request open so I thought about...Blitzø x Fem! Angel! Reader from the Kiss Roulette with #39 Prompt. A tentative kiss.

The C.H.E.R.U.B.S made heaven looks so bad after what they did in the living world. So, an angel is informed about this so she apologizes to the Imp's company. Knowing there's no need to fight between both worlds. Blitzø feels some kind of warm and kindness coming from the angel. Wanting to get to know more about her and the heavens. Maybe even teasing her about wanting a taste from heaven with a kiss...With fluff and maybe spice (I kinda had the idea a bit but the rest can be up to you)

So, I already sended you this request but then I found out I wrote the wrong number (Hope not to go wrong with this one this time so I dediced to wrote the name in case I wrote the wrong number).

thank you for being so patient! I had a little fun with it so it fit my voice a little better, but I hope you still like it :) also 'bible-thumpin' boytoys' might be one of my favourite bits of dialogue I've ever written for blitzø. anyway, heres...

prompt #39: a tentative kiss

“Okay… you wanna run by me again exactly in the fuck you are?” Blitzø says, an eyebrow raised as he lounges back in his chair, feet kicked up on the desk between you. His expression reads as disbelieving, but he still manages to take the moment to let it turn appraising, even predatory as he runs his gaze down over your figure. “’Cause you don’t look a single fuck like those cotton candy freaks that fucked with us up top.”

You smooth your fingers over the fabric covering your thighs, banishing non-existent wrinkles from your slacks. You were perched straight-backed on the chair opposite him, entirely aware of the three other demons listening in from the other side of the door. “I’m a CHERUB… or, well, an associate of CHERUB. I’m not heaven-born, I just liaise with the department.”

“Ohhh, so you’re one of the goody-two-shoe-fuckers that get to go topside after they bite it?” the imp asks, leaning forward slightly. His tail waves slowly back and forth behind him, and part of you wonders if he’s doing it on purpose – like he’s trying to offend you by making sure you notice every one of his demonic traits. “You must’a been borin’ as shit to end up with the Holy Rollers.”

You shrug a shoulder, amusement twitching at the edge of your lips despite yourself. “Must have.”

“So, what?” Blitzø continues, a kind of cavalier smirk playing over his features. “Your bosses all pissy ‘cause we kicked your buddies’ asses halfway back to heaven and now you’re… what? Here to make it even? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya, you’re cute an’ all, but I’m pretty sure we can serve your ass back to ya on a silver platter.”

“You think I’m cute?” you ask, and Blitzø grins. You shake your head, holding up your hands in surrender. “I’m not here for some kind of avenging angel deal. Dearie told me… told the department how it all went down, and—”

“That bambi bitch’s name is Dearie?”

“—I wanted to apologise for what happened.”

Blitzø’s eyebrow arches again. “You wanted to apologise. Not your bosses.”

You swallow, pressing your lips together.

Shit.

You weren’t exactly here on sanctioned orders; Lord, if anyone found out that you’d hijacked a portal to come down here… well, you’d probably end up in the same predicament as Cletus, Colin and Keenie. And honestly, spending the Father only knows how long trapped in the mortal world with them for company… Maybe you should have thought this through.

“I, uh… it’s important that the relationship between Heaven and Hell stays civil—” you say, and the imp snorts in derision.

“Yeah, you feathery fucks seem to be real concerned with keepin’ the peace.” he replies snidely, and your brow furrows in confusion at the comment. He leans forward in his seat, giving you that appraising look again that makes something inside you flutter. You push it down, swallowing. “Speakin’ of, shouldn’t you have a rack on you?”

“Excuse me?” you say, offended, and you can’t help but glance down at your chest automatically.

Blitzø snickers, letting his own gaze linger there for a moment before he waves a hand towards the space over your shoulder. “Wings, sugar. Shouldn’t you have a pair?”

“Oh,” you feel a blush creep into your cheeks at your presumption. “I do, they’re just… kind of a pain to have out all the time. Besides, this way I can… blend in a little better down here.”

Blitzø huffs a laugh, pushing himself up out of his chair. “Nice try, tits. But there ain’t no sinners down here that look like you.”

That fluttery feeling blooms inside you again, tickling low in your belly and floating into your chest as he rounds the desk towards you. He leans against it, claws curled around the edge of the desktop beside his hips, his legs only a few sparse inches from your knees. You jump slightly as you feel something touch your ankle – the point of his tail brushes against your pant leg as it waves slowly beside him. The imp’s smirk widens at your reaction.

“And none of ‘em dress like that, either.” he points out. “Pride ain’t exactly the place for business casual.”

You glance down at yourself again, at your pressed pants and button down, before looking back up at him from under your brows. You find yourself trying for the same playfully sarcastic tone he’s been using on you. “You saying I should have tried for the leather look?”

Blitzø blinks, caught off-guard by the change in your tone. Then, he smiles again, sharp-toothed and thoroughly entertained. “Definitely. Personally, I’d love to see those legs of yours all wrapped up in tight, black…”

“Mr. Buckzo—”

“Call me Blitz.”

“Blitz,” you correct yourself. “I’m here to try and establish a diplomatic relationship between—”

“You ever thought about it?”

“Huh?”

Blitzø grins. “Takin’ a walk on the dark side. See what you were missin’ out on by playin’ good girl for God all those years on Earth. They might have invented their own brand of fuckin’ up in Cloud Cuckoo Land, but I can guarantee your bible-thumpin’ boytoys ain’t got nothin’ on me.”

You flush, and that seems to amuse him more. “Are you… seriously… hitting on me right now?”

Blitzø’s smile doesn’t waver. “You tellin’ me you’re not interested?”

Casting a glance back to the door, you struggle to find an appropriate response. You jump again as he suddenly leans forward just as you turn around to face him again, bracing himself over you by gripping the arms of your chair. It effectively cages you in, and your breath catches in your throat as it brings his face so, so close to yours.

You swallow, and he smirks.

“I… I came here,” you repeat, trying to keep the waver out of your voice. “To try and mend… fences between our organizations…”

“Mm. You wanna make amends?”

You nod, biting your lip. Blitzø’s eyes flicker down to catch the movement. His tail is switching slowly behind him again.

“You wanna make it up to us for what your dick co-workers did?”

“I—”

“Show me how much.” he challenges, eyes half-lidded and downright… seductive. You shift in your seat, face aflame. “C’mon… you know you want to. One little kiss to show me how much you care… maybe a quick, five star fuck if you feel up to it—”

“Jesus Christ…” the curse comes out as barely more than a breath.

“Look, at you. Takin’ the Lord’s name in vain.” he chuckles. “Careful, baby. You spend too much time down here, and you might find you like it.”

“It’s Hell, not a holiday.” you point out. “I’m not exactly worried about wanting an address change.”

“Yeah?” he retorts teasingly. “Prove it. Give me a little taste of Heaven.”

You waver for a moment before your sense of reason finally gives way to your curiosity. You reach up, curling your fingers in the front of his coat. Blitzø actually looks surprised as you lean up, meeting his lips hesitantly with your own.

They’re surprisingly soft and warm against yours, and the stiffness in his body eases as he relaxes into the embrace. When you pull away, you exhale in the hopes of steadying yourself. Blitzø meets your eye for a moment, and then his lips are on yours again, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

You can feel the sharp points of his claws in your hair, against the soft skin by your ear, but instead of unnerving you, you find it excites you, spurs you on. When your lips part he touches his tongue to your bottom lip, and you sigh into his mouth. Your hand leaves his chest to slide over the side of his neck to curl around the nape of it, and you’re surprised to hear him moan quietly into the kiss. It thrills you more than it should, as does the way his tongue slides against yours.

Your fingers brush against one of the spikes at the back of his head, and you jerk away from him, his teeth grazing your lip as you do. Blitzø blinks as though dazed, shaking himself as you suddenly push your chair back and stand, the chair legs screeching obnoxiously against the carpet.

“I should… I should go.” you stumble over the words, grateful that the imp doesn’t move to follow you as you back away from him a few steps. “My… my friend can only keep the portal open for so long before they notice I’m gone. So, I should…”

Blitzø nods, recovering himself. “Right. Yeah. Yeah, you should… yeah…”

You give him an awkward, tight-lipped smile, holding out a hand for him to shake. “It was… thank you for meeting with me, Blitz.”

He laughs at your sudden propriety, shaking his head in amusement as he closes the distance between you and takes hold of your hand. Instead of shaking it, he turns it over, bending down and brushing his lips against the back of it. Blitzø holds your gaze as he does, and you can’t help the bashful smile that flickers over your face.

“Anytime.”

send me a prompt and either husk or blitzø

[heylittleriotact]

𝐸𝓂𝒷𝒶𝓁𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐹𝓁𝓊𝒾𝒹:

Used to preserve deceased individuals, sometimes only until the funeral, other times indefinitely.

(for @emmg who was thirsty for Emmrich porn avec whiskey dick and I am nothing if not accommodating)

Under the cut and on ao3

Hours had passed since they first set foot in the high-class cocktail lounge tucked behind a secret entrance down an unsuspecting alleyway in Minrathous.

That should have been his first clue that this night was going to end up wildly out of hand. This was no humble tavern with a starving bard strumming their lute in the corner, singing about some woman named Sera while a harried barmaid slung pints of warm ale and unidentified meat to patrons, warding off the occasional pinch to her rear with quick fingers that told just how long she’d been tending bar in the city.

No, instead of a bard, there was a somber, balding man at a harpsichord in the corner, dispensing sophisticated chamber music, and there was no barmaid in sight: only a portly middle-aged Orlesian man who introduced himself to Emmrich and Amina as ‘Guillaume’ and walked with a labored gait that Emmrich suspected immediately to be caused by an active and rather nasty flare-up of gout.

There were no windows in this cocktail lounge, given its exclusive and ‘well-hidden’ existence, and the only light sources were small oil lanterns placed on each of the small round white-linened tables. 

A password. They had needed a password to be admitted into this place. 

While admittedly some part of him felt thrilled at the cloak-and-dagger charm and implication that attending this venue was somehow rebellious in nature, he did think it a bit ostentatious, even for his tastes, but Neve had suggested the lounge, going so far as admitting that it claimed the spot at the top of the list of venues to take dates she was really interested in.

Emmrich didn’t ask where she ended up taking the ones she wasn’t as optimistic about.

Guillaume hobbled over to their table and folded his white-gloved hands before inquiring if the monsieur and mademoiselle would like another beverage. They probably should have stopped two or three rounds earlier, truth be told, but conversation flowed so naturally - so easily - between them, and they simply never ran out of things to talk about.

Emmrich watched Amina lift the little leather-bound menu and squint in the dim light as she attempted to discern the feathery cursive on its pages. A thick strand of her bone-straight black hair slipped over her shoulder as she leaned forward, humming thoughtfully and tugging up the neckline of her plunging burgundy top as if the motion would do anything to protect her modesty. They were both more than a few drinks in, and she wasn’t a heavy drinker to begin with, so about an hour earlier when she’d beckoned him close over the table and whispered in his ear that she wanted him to cum in her mouth later, he knew she was properly in her cups.

He decided he was too as he tilted the empty crystal glass in his hand, watching the large cube of ice within drift over the bottom until it met the side. He’d had what… five or six whiskey cocktails and that one with the gin, vermouth, and olives? Spaced over the three or so hours they’d been here, there was no denying the light around the lanterns had developed a misty glow and he felt very relaxed… and increasingly distracted by the curve of her breasts peeking over the top that was doing its very best to conceal them. 

“I’ll try the Sazerac, please,” she primly closed the menu and held it out to Emmrich, who accepted it from her, arching a brow discreetly in her direction when he felt the pointed toe of her nugskin heel travelling sensually up the inside of his leg under the table, staring at him with kohl rimmed eyes and drawing her lower lip through her teeth like she was a housecat ready to pounce on a fat songbird - him. 

She knew what those naughty little shoes did to him, the minx. 

“One more of these, if you’d be so kind,” he lifted the empty glass and tried his best to sound cordial and unassuming as Amina’s foot meandered up his thigh and the sole of her shoe came to rest on his crotch, which enthusiastically responded to her attention. “And we’ll settle up with you as well, please: we’ve another engagement this evening we must be off to.” He grabbed Amina’s ankle to halt her taunting movements against him, and she shot him a coquettish smile over the rim of her tinted coupé glass before tipping it back and draining the remnants of the cocktail - some concoction of gin, wildflower wine, elderflower, and bitters, among other things… he’d had a sip: it tasted floral and lively like a late spring breeze dancing down a winding country road on a clear day.

Guillaume tipped his head and limped away, returning a few minutes later with the cocktails and a handwritten bill tucked into a little leather folder which he placed in front of Emmrich without hesitation after setting down the drinks. 

As soon as Guillaume was far enough away, Amina reached over the table for the folder, but Emmrich snatched it away, holding it out of her reach.

“This doesn’t concern you, darling.” 

Her outstretched hand did not move. “Don’t be ridiculous, Emmrich. This is hardly my first time at a place like this - I know this isn’t a cheap night.” How lovely she looked with that delicate rush of colour over her cheeks and nose.

Emmrich thumbed the folder open and skimmed over the bill, his expression stoic. “No darling, but I knew before we started seeing each other formally that you’re a woman of expensive tastes.” 

Expensive tastes to the tune of precisely two-hundred-forty-seven gulder… and an appropriate gratuity on top of that. He withdrew his purse from the inside of his waistcoat to start counting out coin. 

Amina knocked back half her Sazerac in one go and said confidentially, hiding the side of her face with her glass so no one but him could see her mouth, “You’re right about that, but there is something I know that you don’t, Professor Volkarin.” 

“What might that be, Ms. Ingellvar?”

She leaned close - almost close enough to taste the booze on her breath. 

“I’m not wearing any underthings.” 

His cock twitched and he felt the colour in his cheeks deepen further at the thought of her warm, wet cunt separated from him by only the expanse of table linen and expectations of public decency. It wasn’t that he needed to drink to feel attracted to her - no, that came as effortlessly to him as breathing - but in the haze of perhaps one or two too many fancy cocktails, his mind was consumed by thoughts of ravishing her for the remainder of the night and well into the early morning if they could get away with it. 

“What a charming surprise.” He counted out payment, set it on the table, swallowed a good deal of his drink, the burn of it doing little to quell the urgent desire to bend her over the table and bury himself in her then and there. “Finish your drink, darling, and let’s get you home, shall we?”

She was already tugging at buttons and closures by the time they tumbled through the eluvian into the Lighthouse, giggling feverishly and twining around him like an affectionate cat. Her shoes were abandoned in the eluvian room, and her shirt was doffed in a careless heap on the floor at the top of the stairs to the library.

“Remember when I sucked you off by the bookshelf and you were soooo worried that someone was going to catch us?” She grabbed his hand and put it over her bare breast as she meandered unsteadily backwards towards the stairs to their respective rooms.

Filling his hand with the warm weight of her flesh and tugging at her nipple gently, he hushed her inebriated titter with his mouth over hers, knowing full well that he was far too drunk to be wandering around attached to someone at the mouth with his eyes closed, but not able to find it within himself to behave responsibly for a change. 

“Davrin very nearly did: you’re a bad influence, Ms. Ingellvar,” he purred, sucking her lower lip into his mouth and catching it with his teeth. She moaned into the slight hurt and threw her arms around his shoulders, then her legs, trusting him to catch her - which of course he did. He could drink the city of Minrathous dry and he’d never drop her. Not her. Not precious, beautiful, lovely, entrancing Amina…

He carried her all the way down to his bedroom, admittedly a little unsteady on his feet and taking extra care as he descended the stairs from the laboratory into the well-appointed cavern where he slept and kept his personal effects. 

Placing her gently on the bed, he did away with his boots and joined her, crawling atop her and devouring her with another hungry kiss as he slipped his hand up her thigh, past the bunched up hem of her skirt until his fingers met with the dripping heat between her legs. 

“I’m beginning to think you deeply begrudge smallclothes, darling. It seems you’re completely averse to wearing them unless absolutely necessary…” He circled her clit with his thumb almost tauntingly before slipping two fingers inside her, working them slowly, stretching her, slickness slowly travelling down his palm and the back of his hand.

Arching against his touch, Amina groaned. “I never did have much patience for pointless things.” 

She palmed him through his pants, humming approvingly when she found him hard and straining against the material. “I wanna kiss it,” she declared, her voice semi-slurred, looking up at him with glassy eyes. 

“You want to kiss it,” he corrected smarmily.

She poked him in the side, hitting a spot she knew was ticklish and making him flinch, but his fingers remained within her. “This is not… that’s not how one successfully goes about getting their dick sucked.” Despite the admonishment, her fingers worked at the closures of his trousers, and despite the turgid gracelessness of her motions, she managed to free him.

Leaving the comforting warmth between her legs, he fell to the bed, still completely clothed, and Amina slinked downwards, bending her legs at the knee behind her and crossing her feet at the ankles as she rested on her belly so he could enjoy the sight of her petite little soles and well cared for toes while she sucked him off because she knew he enjoyed that. 

How lucky he was. How unexpectedly fortunate to find himself on this harrowing but exhilarating adventure of a lifetime to begin with, and then to find companionship as well? True, genuine connection with another person that he hadn’t felt in years - he certainly hadn’t responded to that letter from Bellara requesting a meeting operating under the assumption he would find himself entangled with someone as wonderful as Amina... 

There was little refinement to her approach of pleasuring him - no slow, sensuous teasing with that tongue of hers, not tonight, oh no: her nose was already already buried in his pubic hair, and the tip of his cock was residing somewhere in the neighbourhood of her tonsils. Uninhibited by the numerous cocktails she’d downed, she was going down on him like he was her last meal and it sent his mind reeling to witness her so liberated and shameless in her movements and actions.

Her eyes met his and she let his cock slide from her lips, a fat rope of saliva still tethering him to her, and the naughty thing actually winked at him before a heavy bead of drool dangled from her open mouth and spread over him, the heat and depravity of it forcing the air from his lungs. 

Working the slick all over him with her callused hand, he watched her and something in his brain stopped working altogether when she lowered her head and enveloped him again, her sage green eyes locked on his the entire time.

Messy, sloppy, unseemly. Every memory of a polite greeting and an understanding smile held in sharp relief against the undisciplined young woman currently slobbering on his dick.

It was exceptionally attractive.

But then something was off. The steady thrum of his pulse beating hard through his nethers vanished with worrying haste.

Oh no… 

No-no-no-no… 

No?

He dared a glance at her and could tell in the instant before his eyes snapped shut from sheer embarrassment that she had indeed realized that something had changed as well. Specifically his cock, and the firmness of it - it was rapidly softening in her mouth… practically deflating in her hand, the blood fleeing from it deciding to circulate elsewhere at the worst possible moment. 

You loser, Volkarin!

He could practically hear Johanna’s snide tone in his mind. Why he was hearing her voice in his internal monologue at this exact moment in time was a mystery to him, but that didn’t change the fact that he heard it like she was kneeling on the bed next to him, berating him directly. 

Amina’s lips twitched upwards in a helplessly sympathetic expression that for the first time in his life had him considering that embracing death might not be so terrible as she continued to do her best to resuscitate his wilting manhood. 

A few drinks and your boudoir performance turns into a mummer’s farce! She’ll come to regret crawling into bed with your feeble bony carcass if this is the best you can do! Poor thing… her, to be clear - not you. I knew you were a lightweight, but this is pathetic!

Too much time had passed with neither of them saying anything - it was becoming increasingly awkward as moments ticked by and his traitorous loins continued to play shy. 

One of them had to say something. 

It had to be him. 

“D-darling–” he stammered uselessly.

Amina sat back, tucking her legs beneath her, his limp cock flopping against his trousers with all the sprightliness of a dead herring. She rubbed her palms on her thighs and blinked rapidly. “It’s… it’s fine!” The put-on shrillness of her voice told him that it very much was not fine. “If it wasn’t doing it for you, you could have just said so.” Her lip trembled and she looked at the pillow above his head instead of him. 

Fade take him: she thought he wasn’t enjoying himself - that she was the reason for his… impotence. 

“No, no, no, dearest - that’s not true at all!” He scrambled for words and her wrists so he could pull her close and try to at least undo some of the damage that had been done, knowing from the redness of her eyes and the knit of her brow that it was far too late: she resisted his gentle tug and stayed sitting on her knees between his legs. 

Of course they were both drunk, and where he found himself unable to perform, she found herself weepy. 

Oh dear.

What a mess he had made of an otherwise lovely evening…

“You must believe me that this isn’t your fault, darling. I… I’ve had too much to drink, I’m afraid, and, and this is tremendously embarrassing - I… this doesn’t happen often, really, I swear, and I want nothing more than to make love to you, it’s just… I just…” his face felt redder than it had all night and the amount of liquor he consumed had nothing to do with it. 

Amina hiccuped wretchedly and finally let him pull her down against him so he could wrap his arms around her and stroke her beautiful night-dark hair. 

“Let me make it up to you?” He murmured drunkenly, softly tracing the shape of her ear with a finger. “Just because I’m not up for it - much to my own chagrin, I must emphasize - doesn’t mean you need to go to bed unsatisfied, hmmm?”

“Please Emmrich, it’s not any fun if you’re doing it out of pity,” she groused into his shoulder, her dissatisfaction with his proposed arrangement apparent. 

What was he to do? He hadn’t run into this particular difficulty with a partner in so long that his memory strained to recall how he’d handled it back then. It seemed cold and uncouth to shrug his shoulders and call it a night, leaving her unfulfilled, but there was little chance of him finding arousal again in this state… not for a few hours at least.

“We… we could try again in a while, perhaps?” He offered weakly, hating himself, hating his uncooperative anatomy, and hating the very existence of the spirit known as whiskey. It would be a miracle if she wanted anything to do with him after this…

Amina heaved a tormented sigh, still not lifting her head from the space between his neck and his shoulder. “I don’t… I don’t want you to feel like you have to do things for me if you don’t want to. It just makes everything… weird.”

He shifted his shoulder, lifting her face from him and then cupping her cheek, forcing her gaze to his. “I do want to though, darling, don’t you understand?” Her fingers found his wrist, warming skin and gold under her searing touch. “I am consumed by thoughts of you from the moment sleep leaves me in the morning to the very moment dreams find me at night, and those dreams have been conquered by you too.”

His other hand skimmed up her thigh, back underneath her skirt, finding her heat again. She shuddered against his touch, still wet and engorged, and he bitterly wished his cock could replace his fingers. 

Would it be like this after he achieved lichdom? Certainly there would be… changes to their intimate dynamic, but would it be fraught with this same awkward tension that currently lingered unpleasantly somewhere between resentment and pity? 

He considered this previously unconsidered eventuality as he laid her down on the sheets and spread her open, filling his nose with the scent of her - feminine and lively: a natural blend of salt and sweetness and sweat that made his mouth water reflexively.

That scent would no longer exist for him after lichdom. Not without olfactory receptors lining the tissue of his nasal cavity. It was indeed difficult to the sense being replaced with something better, but being able to smell was vital to being able to taste, and as he lapped at her deeply, tonguing her hot flesh as one would indulge in a ripe, messy summer peach, something twisted in his chest, compounding the pre-existing misery caused by his inability to perform.

One hand gripped the top of her muscular thigh, the other stretched over her lower belly, covering it almost entirely, hovering over her womb that was hidden under a network of muscle and sinew.

He would no longer be able to taste her, nor would he be able to please her in this way either. 

Never again would he feel her warm juices dripping into his mouth and rolling down his cheeks, saturating the hair above his lip and dwelling there so that he would catch scintillating traces of her in the hours afterwards, making it difficult to concentrate on anything but the memory of her underneath him, chanting his name as he brought her over the edge.

He undid her with ease despite his inebriated state, knowing exactly where and when to lick, how hard, and when to introduce his fingers again, working them inside of her in tandem with his tongue against her clit. 

Touch would still be an option, he supposed, crooking his fingers towards himself and finding the rough, textured spot within her that immediately made her hips buck and her thighs clench against his head. She moaned his name and he placed a gentle sucking kiss on her clit, then told her she was a good girl before returning to his ministrations - and his ruminations.

Would she even desire that, though? Not being able to jointly enjoy each other intimately tonight clearly hadn’t sat well with her, so what were the chances that she would be satisfied - let alone eager - to find release by way of skeletal - albeit loving - hands, and whatever metaphysically similar connection he might unlock?

Would she even want him to touch her anymore once his flesh was shucked away eternally, replaced by linen wrappings and the illusion of a glamour that catered only to the sense of sight?

Her knees pressed against the sides of his skull so hard he thought she might crush it, but he did nothing to remove them or attempt to ease her grip.

How would he even kiss her without lips? Embrace her? Comfort her with his body that was rigid and hard and hollow and cold? 

How could he be anything for her in that form?

… What if she decided she wanted a child?

He liked to think that she would see past it - that her true feelings and affection for him would outweigh her apprehension and need for physical connection - that lichdom and all that came with it outweighed the confines of mortal flesh. But as Amina’s fingers curled in his hair and she gripped him hard as she spent herself, her sweet release gushing down his throat, he knew deep down that the chances of her seeing it that way was about as likely as his cock coming back to life tonight. 

Even still, he couldn’t find it within himself to think her shallow or unfair for it: while he was pleased at the sight of her panting and gasping for breath from his place between her legs, he missed at least having the option to incorporate his own anatomy into their activities, and it was just natural fact that having had a cock for the entirety of his life up until this point, the prospect of having to part with it wasn’t at the top of the list of things he looked forward to experiencing when he finally attempted lichdom.

He should be above such things. He should be beyond such attachments if he was truly ready for the gift of immortality.

He finished licking up every drop of her from her perfect sex, then tucked her in, then tucked himself in alongside her. He smoothed her hair as she nuzzled into him, exhausted and blissed-out as he knew she would be. 

“I’m sorry, darling,” he told her.

“Don’t be,” she mumbled sleepily, already dozing off, uncaring that they were both at least partially clothed. 

He wanted to do as she said, but as he watched her fall asleep in his arms he couldn’t.

Couldn’t let go of the sickly, creeping feeling that he was going to lose her when all was said and done, and this was only a glimpse of a not-too-distant future. 

The next morning, despite the vicious hangover that was ravaging the insides of his eye sockets and his stomach, he dragged an equally hungover Amina to the market in Treviso and wouldn’t let her leave until he bought her three new pairs of shoes, an expensive new perfume to replace the passable but cheap label she normally wore, and a tasteful but very authentic gold anklet with half a dozen flawless sapphires along the chain. 

It was obvious to both of them what he was doing: making up for his dysfunction the night before. 

But it was more than that for Emmrich. This wasn’t just an apology - it was a promise: I might not be able to please you in the ways that you deserve and desire, but you will never feel unloved. You will never want for anything. 

That’s enough, isn’t it?

I’m enough?

He remained unconvinced.

[impyssadobsessions]

DPxDC idea/prompt Pen Pals

(Probably more idea but you can run with the concept... im so srry XD) Basically Danny and Damian are pen pals- until Damian receives a letter with Lazarus Water and Blood smeared on the page.

WHAT IF Danny and Damian were pen pals before Danny's accident. A school project for 8th grade. Damian was reluctant to participate but due to it being a grade and being pestered by his siblings that he would just scare the kid off anyways, he deciding to partake in this pen pal. Danny whose not suffering at school, just living a normal life at the moment, is being teased by Dash saying his pen pal could smell loser before even opening the letter. Asking Danny if his parents even let him open the letter or blast it thinking its a ghost. Which makes Danny who wasn't into this idea of writing a stranger more determined to do it. Besides they might only get one letter and teachers drop the subject. They might not even get it. So what the heck. Turns out they become the only ones that constantly wrote each other- even mailing it in person once the school ended the program. (Damian having a post box set up for letters)

At first it was awkward. Danny commented/asking if Damian really was their age or some teacher pretending to write back instead of sending out the letters. If so. He sucks at it because what kid writes perfectly grammar letters and big words to convey something is cool. Guess its better than pretending he knows slang. Damian furious writes back, offended! Also asks if he isn't younger, because everyone with basic english should know to capitalize their letters! This goes back and fourth. Danny writing back every chance he got, and Damian doing the same, even being told not to at the dinner table. It goes from offended at each other to being curious. Danny asking Damian more advice on english because it isn't his favorite subject. Damian asking more about how to sound like his age. Then it devolves to animals. Danny wishing he had one, but his parents didn't want one getting into the lab. Damian happily sending picture of his animals. Danny talking more about the stars.. etc. Until Accident happens- Danny starts having trouble writing the letters. His pen with phase through his hand and replies between them got longer. Danny justifying this by saying he's having trouble with schooling this year. Damian also been unable to send as many replies because he's been busy with teen titans and other heroics. Though he's encouraging Danny saying Danny is far smarter than that school even is aware of. Until one day, after months of not being able to reply. He finds Damian's letter again. It makes him feel better. Even if Damian didn't know him... this person still believes in Danny... Though Danny feels guilty about it- it compels him to write him again. He was about to finish the letter when he gets blasted by a ghost. He returns from the fight, beaten and bloody. He picks up the letter and sighs at the green stain left on it. Folding it up he stuffs it into his bag. Next day after hurrying off to school, his mother finds the letter after it had fallen on the floor. She read a little bit of it and immediately recognize it was to Danny's penpal. She takes the opportunity to try her knew anti-ecto spray and mails it for Danny. "Boy just like his father. So messy. I'll have to give him a lecture about ecto-contamination again." Damian just returned from a mission from Teen Titans, been gone for three months. Alfred informs Damian he had received a letter from his anonymous pen pal in his absence. Damian had almost forgotten about the pen pal- thinking his pal just didn't want to answer anymore. So eagerly he goes to his room to open the letter, but immediately blood drain from his face as his eyes zoomed back the feathery ink to the green blotch of lazurus water.. having almost evaporated.. leaving a water stain that glowed... and more importantly.. the human specks of blood that was revealed with the driest parts of the stain. Damian immediately rushes to the cave.. only to find out his paranoia was right.... and was it his fault his friend was harmed? Also the idea of Damian talking to Phantom in his robin suit. Asking how Daniel Fenton was.. and Phantom surprised and slips out a "Alive as much as he's dead." Damian glaring and Phantom corrects, "He's fine. He has parents that are ghost hunters is all." Stressing his situation complicated. Phantom just so shocked his pen pal is a hero- annnnd also cursing his mom for sending a letter like that. HE KNEW IT WOULD SEND IMPLICATIONS!

but idk if I figured out a good way for Damian to see the smeared letter. I just think it be fun. Also Damian thinking he's to blame for league going after the fentons when he wasn't. At least not as early as he thought. He's very focused on saving/protecting Danny Fenton.. which makes Phantom's job harder.

[elodieunderglass]

Hi Elodie! I was wondering if I might ask about your process for choosing names for the daemons in His Delicious Materials? I have some daemon characters knocking about in the back of my brain, but I’ve never been able to settle on names for them. I know that in His Dark Materials, some daemons have more common names, and some have more fantastical, but beyond that I don’t know much about daemon naming conventions, and yours sound so delightful to hear and say.

Oh jeez sure! I unfortunately love making sweeping decisions and then forcing myself to live up to them.

(In reference to His Delicious Materials fanfic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56658973/chapters/144024799 )

The only set HDM daemon naming constraints I can recall are that they’re set by the daemon’s parents and thus relate to the parental names and desires; this Stelmaria, Greek, “Star of the sea,” has a son Pantalaimon “multitude of blessings.” But other daemons, such as the nurse who was severed, have names like “Nicholas.” Thus they can be what feels right, I think, with reference to internal family-feeling. people from Lyra’s Oxford are clearly going for Greek names - even the character who’s a “kitchen boy” has the lofty Salcilia, which seems to connect to “salt” - but the witches in HDM give their daemons Finnish names.

I think where possible it can’t be the language you’re reading the story in - I.e. if you’re reading in English you shouldn’t have a daemon named Trustworthy - and be three syllables. It would be ideal if it secretly revealed a piece of character, but could also be an aspiration. Will’s “kirjava” (multicoloured) is a description.

I had a few constraints. I set them early on. I think constraints make things easier but that’s possibly a personality flaw.

One thing that doesn’t happen much in daemon AUs is that I had different species of human to consider. This made me decide that they had to have relatively distinctive naming cultures.

- Bee was the one who sprang into my head without invitation and instantly suggested “wouldn’t it be great if it lengthened into Bibelot, which is French for trinket?” And I was like, such a great idea bestie! Let’s write a novel about you! Maybe two! So if that happens to you, let that happen.

- this led to all half-foots having a daemon naming convention where they had to have three-syllable French names with the first syllable shortening to their everyday name and their long name being reserved for intimates; the short name should shorten to a word preferably in English. At first this was fine and made things easier because the only other half-foot daemons instantly presented themselves as Chatelaine and Chiendegarde. If you have a good convention/restriction it can make things easier at first and makes you sound confident.

- I felt that Greek-inspired names for daemons in OG HDM felt very cool in that setting. Laios is a Greek name IRL (Falin is Irish I think but ignore that) so I mentally fixed the convention of the siblings having Greek names.

- then I used Google Translate to find a word that meant gentle or feathery and found Elafros, which alludes to both, and also having the highly desirable -os ending which matches Laios and obviously creates a cohesive, family feel

- everyone reading this is probably like, no the hell it doesn’t

- I liked the three syllables and sense of parental expectation so I researched it a bit more and settled on it.

- I wanted Laios’s daemon to start with a P, three syllables, Greek and match Falin in some way. I scrolled through the P entries on a 1990’s website with a list of “dead words”. Palinode was chosen for being obviously a cohesive and familial resonance with Falin (rhyming first syllable.) it also shortens to PAL and has connotations of sounding like paladin. She’s Falin’s paladin.

- everyone reading this is probably like, no the hell it doesn’t

- Palinode’s a terrible name actually. Oh well moving on

- I wanted Marcille’s daemon to have a Greek name too, this choice feeling synonymous with a certain expectation of class/education as well as species to me. I wanted it to start with a P because at that point I had read more of the manga and she had a pet bird named Pipi.

- the pyx- beginning is super cute to me because I originally pictured Marcille as being a pixie.

- while scrolling through the list of dead words looking for Greek inspired names starting with py- I saw Pyxis and was instantly in love. It was listed as meaning “small pot for medicine and cosmetics” but upon more research I realised it was a constellation and apparently also means “compass,” all of which felt absolutely perfect.

- Pyxis is an absolutely crap moral compass though

- I wanted Anne to be named Anne but that needed to be longer, so I tried putting the word “shield” into Google Translate and cycling through languages until Welsh gave me Tarian. It means shield and shortens to Anne! It’s also a very pretty word.

- This then set the convention of dwarves getting Welsh names, and at that point I was happier for them to have proper names, so Aneurin (a Welsh men’s name meaning honorable, and shortening to Nye) and Gethin could just be chosen from a list.

- in conclusion it’s a lot of meaning+vibes!

- thank you for this question!

[an-idyllic-novelist]

stolas goetia with gender neutral!sinner!reader scenario

warnings: spoilers for s2, angst, slight Stoliz, one-sided love, and possibly OOC for some of the characters.

The Goetian prince met you through Bltizy’s little assassination agency. You were an employee, specializing in reconnaissance within the human world and possessing knowledge of the mortal plane, amongst other jobs that required a more….delicate touch. Is that why you were good with knives and acrobatics? Probably. Either way, you were pleasant enough for a sinner and an easy conversationalist, much more so than his dear little imp. 

In all honesty, he did not pay much attention to you until after…the incident with Striker. It had been a close call, and he had almost died if Blitzø nor you hadn’t come to his rescue. He did check his phone for messages, and only got one text from the imp. After that…nothing. He never heard from him for the rest of the day. At least he thought he thought it was for the rest of the day. The drugs that were pumped into his body made Solas drowsy. When he woke up, there was someone in the chair.

But it wasn’t Blitzø. It was you. And still dressed in those dirty, bloodstained clothes you had worn the last time he saw you before he blacked out. As soon he moved in the bed, trying to readjust himself, you immediately bolted up from your seat, bleary-eyed yet you still had the energy to help him get comfortable before setting back down.

“Welcome back.” You said in a monotone voice, releasing a low groan. He winced slightly at hearing the bones in your neck being popped back into place as you moved your head from left to right.

“How do you feel? You need me to get the nurse? Bitch hasn’t been around since the shift change…’bout three hours ago? Christ on a stick it’s hard to keep track of time. Oh yeah, before I forget,” You stood from the chair again, rummaging in your pockets before pulling out a slip of paper, holding it out to him. “Your daughter called my cell. Dunno how she got it, maybe Loona gave it to her,  but she sounded pretty damned scared. Can’t blame the poor girl.” You narrowed your eyes, mouth curling into a contemplative frown. “It’s weird that she didn’t call you first. Maybe….she was worried your…spouse would change her mind and have Striker finish the job.”

He stared at you, wide-eyed and very confused at your attentiveness. “Why?” He whispered.

“Hm?”

“Why….are you here?” He asked. “Blitzy couldn’t make time to see me, so he sent you instead.” He felt tears building up in the back of the eyes, much to his embarrassment and frustration. “Why is it that he can send an employee yet he can never face me without making up an excuse that he’s working or it’s too soon to fulfill our arrangement!?” He snapped, feathery chest heaving up and down before he quickly wiped away his face with the back of his hand. 

You said nothing. Instead…you took a few steps toward him and sat on the edge of his bed. “No one sent me to check on you, Your Highness. I am here….because I was worried about you. No strings attached, no last minute requests from the boss. And I am honestly glad you are all right. You’re a Goetia, you’re stronger than tens of thousands of sinners like myself combined. But today was a close call. You could have died….and I should’ve been there sooner. No…Blitzø should have been on top of everything. I know he’s a father too, but Christ I don’t know what goes through that guy’s head sometimes.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “He’s a hot mess. He’s toxic.  He’s got issues….and he’s trying. That means a lot more than you think. But…if you feel like this…arrangement is going nowhere…cut yourself loose before you get too deep that you can’t pull out.” 

Stolas narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” He asked. You didn’t answer him immediately; instead, you stood up from the bed and fluffed up his pillows, placed the piece of paper in his open palm  and strode over to the chair to collected the jacket you used as a blanket, heading towards the door but stopping with your hand hovering over the knob. You looked back at him. 

“I’ve said my piece, Your Highness. Visiting hours will be over soon, but I’ll make sure the nurse stops by here before the lights go out. I wish I could help you more, believe me…it’s just….you’ve got to sort out how you feel about my boss on your own. And seriously, give your daughter a call before she starts blowing up my phone in a panic-induced frenzy.”

You then left, closing the door softly behind you, leaving Stolas to ponder on your words and…his current situation. Sighing, he leaned forward, grabbing his Hellphone off the side table and dialing the number. 

What he did not realize at the time is that you did care about him, more than an assassin should care about their employer. All you wanted is Stolas to be happy, even if he might never find happiness with you.

Why else would you be leaning against the door outside of his room for almost ten minutes trying to calm your racing heart before going to find someone to check in on him?

Taglist:

@isuckatwritingsobenice

@thatstonedwriter

@myafterlifeisbetterthenyours

@angelltheninth

@vikkirosko

@nixie-writes

@nunezs-stuff

@mitra555

@lbcreations-blog

@chroniccorvus

@food-theorys-blog

@atttwoood

@crystalrose36

@aurora-rose-miller

[geminialchemist]

Another addition to my “Evil” Webby AU, which I should probably name. Eh, problems for later.

——

The boardroom was still and full of tension, the only noise being the ticking of a clock on the wall. The two opposing parties, one Scrooge McDuck, the other, his Board of Directors, each stared each other down in complete and total silence.

Seeing as neither side seemed to want to address the elephant in the room, Bradley coughed into his clenched feathery fist, and decided to bite the bullet, boredly asking, “Would you care to explain what exactly is going on here, Mr. McDuck?”

Scrooge played dumb, blinking in faux surprise at the question, “Oh, yes. It’s take your daughter to work day, isn’t it?”

Beside him was Webby, her eyes barely peeking up past the edge of the table for how short she was. She simply waved at the Board members who decidedly did not wave back.

Bradley grimaced at the girl, one he recognized on sight. He wondered what she was up to, what she could have told the old adventurer. But for now, he decided to play as dumb as Scrooge was. “I wasn’t aware that we had a… ‘take your daughter to work day.’ Or that you had a daughter to begin with.”

Scrooge shrugged easily, “You don’t know a lot about me, Bradford. I mean, my family isn’t really your business-“

“Your family is our business. Your name is on the front of the building.” Bradford corrected humorlessly.

“-as for ‘Take your daughter to work day,’ I implemented it meself. About an hour ago.” He added that last part under his breath, casting a glance at Webby, who had snuck into his limo’s trunk when he hadn’t been looking. “I figured Webby here could use the chance to see what her ol’ man did, get an appreciation for the family business!”

“Right…” Bradford droned, narrowing his eyes at the two of them.

The two groups lapsed back into silence for a moment, the ticking of the clock deafeningly loud. Glancing at the clock, Scrooge, looking for any way to get away from these vultures, declared, “Well, would you look at the time! How about we break for lunch? A productive meeting, as always, yes.”

The McDuck slide his chair back and began to quickly trod out of the room, cane in one hand, the other guiding Webby by the shoulder. Webby’s brow scrunched up, “But Dad, it’s only a quarter til eleven…”

“It’s close enough to lunch to get away from those blimy freebooters,” Scrooge muttered under his breath, readjusting his hat. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved his wallet and, with some emotional and mental difficulty, parted with a single dollar bill, “Here you go, lass. Go get something from the vending machine down the hall. I’ve got some actual business to attend to up in my office upstairs, you can meet me there when you’re done.”

———

Webby impatiently tried to flatten the bill Scrooge had given her, one that had likely been sitting inside his wallet since before she was born from how worn out it was. She stuck it in the machine, only for it to reject the dollar for the upteenth time, prompting her to try to get rid of the creases once more. Those chips would be hers!

The shadow of a vulture crossed over her, and she turned, craning her neck upward to meet the eyes of Bradford. The buzzard glared down at her for a moment, then took out a bill from his own wallet, putting it in the machine himself and selected an item. A simple bag of plain, unsalted nuts.

As Bradford bent down to reach for the bag, he paused while his head was craned down to Webby’s height, “What does he know?” Bradford demanded to know, volume low to keep from prying ears, but voice laced with threats.

Webb- April, bounced on heels of her webbed feet, pondering the question. “He doesn’t know anything. I just fed him a story about me being his long lost daughter to get into the house.”

“Then what do you think you’re doing?” Bradford sneered, tearing open the bag of peanuts with barely restrained force. To think decades of work could possibly be undone by one teenaged duck!

“Proving myself!” April declared, straightening out the bill in her hands to try the machine again. “I know you were going to have me decommissioned, and I want to show you I can get the job done! That I’m worth keeping around!”

The machine finally accepted the dollar bill, April giving a cry of victory, “Aha! Finally, salty deliciousness has never tasted so sweet!”

Grabbing her bag of chips, April turned back to Bradford. “I’m going to show you what I can do as an agent for F.O.W.L.! I’ll help you take down Scrooge from the inside! And, well… there isn’t exactly anything you can do to stop me.” She said in an innocent tone, tossing a chip into her mouth.

Bradford nodded in agreement at her statement, beak clenched. “Yes, I suppose you are right. I’ve seen firsthand the lengths Scrooge is willing to go to hold onto his family when they go missing. Having you removed now would be nearly as big a mistake as you being there in the first place.”

Straightening his back, Bradford continued, “Very well, I will… reluctantly give my blessing for this mission. It isn’t what I intended for you, but if you can get rid of Scrooge, I’ll take that as an acceptable result. Finish the job, and I’ll consider rescinding your termination from F.O.W.L.”

April gave a salute with greasy, corn-chip stained hands, “I won’t let you down, boss!”

Bradford grimaced at the display, then turned his back to the girl and trudged off. But even a broken tool has its uses, Bradford supposed. She had been meant to find the papyrus of binding, to undo Scrooge and all his adventures, but she had failed at that. Perhaps she could still prove useful enough to get rid of Scrooge, or at least keep him distracted enough with this father-daughter act to keep him out of F.O.W.Ls plans.

His stomach acted up, deepening his grimace and causing him toss his remaining peanuts into the trash. This is why he didn’t like to deal with children, they gave him ulcers. She’d have to go once Scrooge was gone. Those two were too much alike for their own good.

[zzoomacroom]

Hey guys, soooo I have never written fanfiction in my life, but this just fell out of my brain for some reason. I don't know what came over me, but here's a little crackfic drabble for ya. Just a thousand words of Matthew being a complete idiot. Enjoy! (Yes, I know this premise has been done to death, but I'm having fun so shhhh)

Edit: now on ao3!

.......

So there Matthew was, just minding his own business, catching up with Merv in the gardens outside the palace, when a goddamned nuclear bomb went off.

"JEEZUS FUCK!" Mervyn bellowed, his cigarette dropping from his open mouth and into the pile of leaves he'd been raking. Matthew squawked and catapulted himself ungracefully to the top of the nearest tree.

Oh, so not a bomb then, thought Matthew as he watched the stunning display of fireworks that had erupted above the palace, gold and crimson embers now drifting lazily towards the ground. Still, what the hell was that all about? He would have to ask the boss--if there was some kind of celebration happening in the Dreaming, he wanted to join the party! Hopefully he'd be off his feathery tits on dream champagne before the day was over.

Matthew launched himself from the tree branch, ears still ringing as he made his way up to the palace. He soared through an open window to the throne room. Hmm, empty. So where was the party? He made his way to the library--Lucienne would know what was up.

"Heya, Loosh," he called as he circled down to the table where Lucienne was occupied with cleaning up a puddle of ink that was spilled all over the yellowed scroll she had been writing on. "What was up with the fireworks?"

"Hmm?" she glanced over to him, preoccupied. "Ah. That sometimes happens when...actually, it's probably better if you don't know. For your own sake," she adds pointedly, peering over her glasses at him.

Uh, wow. Ouch. "What? Aw, come on, don't leave me out of the loop. Ravens aren't invited to the party? Wait, why aren't you at the party?"

Lucienne stared at the raven, confusion and irritation mingling on her face. "What party? Lord Morpheus is in his private chambers, there is no--"

But Matthew was already hopping off the table and flying towards the nearest window. So it was a private, VIP kinda thing, then. He was a little hurt that he wasn't invited, but no matter. He would slip in and infiltrate the event, just in case the boss needed protecting from a disgruntled fae or something. And if he managed to dip his beak into some unattended booze, he felt he was sneaky enough that no one would be the wiser.

"You really don't want to know!" Lucienne called out exasperatedly as he flitted away, not looking up from her work. "Don’t say I didn't warn you!"

Yeah, yeah, he'd been to parties full of snooty elites before. Whatever weird shit they were into couldn't be any worse than what he'd seen during his recent trip to Hell. He circled upwards towards the highest tower and perched on the balcony outside the boss's private chamber. There was definitely something happening in there, judging by the noises coming from inside. It sounded like things were getting crazy--a shout, glass breaking, a thud like a body hitting the ground, a screech that may or may not have been human. Shit, the boss man might be in trouble! Good thing Matthew was here to...well, he wasn't really sure how he could help, but he'd figure something out. And he just really, really wanted to know what was going on! Curiosity may kill the cat, but the raven should be fine, right?

He darted into the darkened room and blinked as his eyes adjusted. Oh. No party, then. The boss was standing in the middle of the room, looking even more like he'd just sucked on a lemon than usual. His robe flicked around him and drooped off one shoulder, like he'd just hastily pulled it on (was that...a tentacle peeking out from under the hem?). And was he sweating? He didn't normally sweat, did he? And hold on--did he have cat ears?? Matthew stared, and just as he noticed the ears they receded down into his disheveled mop of hair and disappeared.

"What is it, Matthew?" the Dreamlord demanded icily.

"Uh...sorry to interrupt whatever...this...is, but I thought maybe you were in trouble. And I was just wondering what was up with the fireworks. Scared the bejeesus outta me and Merv," Matthew explained.

The boss looked confused for a moment before answering. "Ah. My apologies for the disruption," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm even as Matthew failed to get the hint. "The matter has been handled. You need not come to my defense."

At that, a poorly-stifled chuckle sounded from behind a marble pillar. "Sorry," the pillar mumbled sheepishly. The boss shot a withering glare at it and the pillar instantly dissolved into a pile of sand, revealing...

Ohhhh. "Um...hi, Hob," Matthew said with an awkward wave of his wing, wishing very much that he could dissolve into sand right about now. Hell, that may very well be his fate soon enough, based on the way the boss was glaring at him.

"Hey Matt," Hob replied with a bashful smirk. He was mostly naked except for an Elizabethan ruff, white knee-high stockings and a pair of 18th century shoes with little bows on them. And he was wearing the boss's helm. But not on his head (cool, cool, not like Matthew had followed the boss to Hell to get it back or anything). Oh, and he also had cat ears. Wonderful.

"Ya know, I better get going, I think Merv may need some help with--oh, yep, he set the garden on fire." Matthew peered out the window down to where Mervyn was currently shouting at no one and flailing around a steadily growing conflagration. "So I should go deal with that. Just wanted to check in, glad everything's good here. Uhhh nice to see you Hob, Boss. Not that I, uh, saw anything. Okay bye!" Matthew zoomed out the window before either of them could say anything else. God, he really needed a drink now.

.......

Morpheus continued to glare at the spot where Matthew had been perched as Hob came up and wrapped an arm around his waist.

"Right. So where were we?" asked Hob, apparently unphased by the whole incident.

"I think we should take this to the Waking if we wish to avoid any further interruptions," Dream replied through gritted teeth.

Hob chuckled and started to massage the knots out of his lover's shoulders. "Yeah, probably. Kids, right?" he sighed.

Morpheus raised an eyebrow at him. "Matthew is not my child."

"Isn't he, though?" Hob replied with a grin, peering over Dream's shoulder to watch Matthew and Mervyn frantically darting around the flaming pile of leaves, making no progress whatsoever in putting out the blaze. Morpheus merely sighed in exasperation.

[persephoneflouwers]

🌺 my favourite girl direction fics under the cut! 🌺

There is nothing else in this world that I love more than women. I grew up in a family built around the strongest women I’ll ever met in my life. So powerful, so determined, yet so gentle and affectionate. Huge personalities and all.

It took me awhile to understand who I am and I’m not completely sure I do and this little world where women love women feels so safe for me.

Can I also use this post to open my research for my next wife? No, I can’t? No, I shouldn’t? Whaaaat I just did! Please, babe HMU 🫶

Anywayssss…

🌺 The changer and the changed by homosociallyyours || 60K ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

It’s the spring of 1977 and Harry Styles has just moved to New York City after graduating college. She knows she’s a lesbian. She just needs to figure out how to meet other lesbians. Louis Tomlinson works at a popular women’s bookstore in the Lower East Side, Womon’s Direction, where she spends her days reading feminist literature, writing poetry, exchanging friendly barbs with her boss Niall, and dreaming of finding someone to love. When Harry and Louis meet, their connection is instantaneous. Slowly but surely, Louis welcomes Harry into her community of women. Stonewall veteran and old school butch Niall; Liam, a land dyke who’s moved to the city for love; and Zayn, a lesbian musician who’s been ostracized by a vocal part of women’s community for being trans, welcome Harry with open arms, ready to help her find her place in New York City’s bustling lesbian scene. It’s a time of growth for everyone involved.

🌺 It’s all gonna roll your way by 1Diamondinthesun ( @1diamondinthesun ) || 53K

Harry, Liam, Niall, and Zayn are editors at Nova, a historically progressive women’s print magazine with plans to launch digital content at the end of the summer. Louis is a single mom and temporary worker with a knack for graphic design. When investors request sweeping reform in their content, Harry and her team have to decide which principles, if any, they’re willing to compromise in order to survive as an online publication.

🌺 Bluer than velvet were her eyes (softer than satin were her thighs) by thebreadvan ( @thebreadvansstuff ) || 12K

Harry hums a melody absentmindedly as she works, bent over the sewing table, when the bell above the door chimes suddenly, announcing the arrival of a customer. Mid-stitch, Harry glances up.

“Good morning,” comes the woman’s feathery voice. Harry should probably welcome her, say something, anything, but she’s captivated by her slow and powerful walk, the click of her leather knee-high boots. With the needle hovering above the fabric, Harry slides her eyes up thick thighs, the maroon blazer that ends just above them, and the black knit dress that engulfs the woman’s figure, stretching obscenely around her bust. Jesus Christ.

Or, Harry should probably stop obsessing over her customer’s boobs, but fate can’t keep her away from Louis.

🌺 who run the world (girls!) by dolce_piccante || 11K

A femslash take on the beginning of Relief Next To Me, complete with girl!Direction, lots of tongue action, and lots of hints to the original work.

🌺 I feel it when my heart beats by Quickedween ( @becomeawendybird ) || 10K

Harry offers to be her best friend Liam's fake date to his work Valentine's Day party, and the night takes an unexpected turn.

🌺 Ride the W.A.V.E by Quickedween ( @becomeawendybird ) || 7K ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Petty officer Louis Tomlinson can't resist a good thing when it's right in front of her.

🌺 Under the R.A.D.A.R by Quickedween ( @becomeawendybird ) || 6K ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Petty officer Louis Tomlinson has been assigned to the rear admiral's fiancée for the month the couple is aboard the USS John F. Kennedy. She can only hope that he won't catch on to what they're doing... after hours.

🌺 Gotta get (me) out of my head by parmahamlarrie ( @parmahamlarrie ) || 6K

Sometimes, Harry Styles cannot get out of her head. Her ADHD, coupled with working from home, sometimes makes it impossible for her to ever find peace. Luckily, she has Louis, her loving girlfriend and Daddy, to take care of her.

Or the one where Harry gets her first collar.

🌺 Pacify her by yeah_alright ( @uhoh-but-yeah-alright ) || 5K ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Harry's anxiety is acting up. Louis has the only thing that will soothe her.

OR Louis' pussy is the ultimate pacifier.

🌺 To sleep, perchance to ream by yeah_alright ( @uhoh-but-yeah-alright ) || 4K

Louis has never minded that Harry tends to go to sleep earlier than her. But the nights when Harry signals she'd like Louis to...wake her when she comes to bed are Louis' favorite.

🌺 The Christmas (to the one I’ve been missing) by Kikiberoski16 ( @larrysballetslippers ) || 3K

“Thank you, Louis,” Miss cutie said with a light whine. Louis nodded and walked with her to the paper sheets' aisle. To hear the girl's soft footsteps behind her was more than satisfying. So polite and cute, the fact she remembered Louis name said- “Wait, how do you know my name?”

or, Louis almost made it to the end of her shift before someone familiar stepped into the store. A long awaited Christmas tale.

🌺 Tear it off by ialwaysknewyouwerepunk ( @ialwaysknewyouwerepunk ) || 3K

Harry and Louis are married and have a toddler. Their home life is a cuteness overload, and then grandma Anne comes by to pick up the kid for a day out. Harry and Louis are then alone, perfect timing for a little bedroom adventure. Including, you guessed it, harry's pink cowboy get-up from coachella.

🌺 little pink skirt by ialwaysknewyouwerepunk ( @ialwaysknewyouwerepunk ) || 3K ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Harry, Louis, Zayn and Liam are at a festival. It's the afternoon of the last day, and they're lounging on the grass before the action starts, still recovering from the night before. There's a bunch of sexual tension between H and L from where things left off in their drunken haze. When Louis tries to light a spliff, the wind makes it impossible to do so, for which Harry has an ingenious idea. And then one thing leads to another.

[dopscratch]

i kid you not when i say i looked up these two at 4 am hoping for some crumbs but jere you are writing a whole fanfic ( thank you so much🤩).

I personally haven't read the httyd books only the series and movies. If you don't mind could u give a mini summary as u plan to write after book 8? If not i hope you have a wonderful day/ night!

(If uave tons of other questions but don't want to spam so ill just leave this here)

AUDHJSHDHD thank you so much for sending an ask i literally have none ever HAHA

im glad you enjoy the concept :)

the books are very different fron the movies in a large number of ways! in the books, vikings stat out with dragons, and hiccup's main problem is training his own, which he can't do by the normal strategy of yelling- a) because he's not the best yeller and b) because his little green hunting dragon, toothless, is as disobedient as it gets (and smaller than everyone else's to boot!)

in the books, vikings typically have hunting dragon(s) which are smaller and usually dog-sized, as well as a riding dragon, which is larger and obviously ridable. hiccup's riding dragon is a scraggly feathery dragon called the Windwalker who was rescued from slavery :)

one of the biggest differences as well, is that dragons can speak. most are just as intelligent as humans, some even more so, and they're generally cruel by nature. their culture encourages them to act selfishly and it's worked out pretty well for them, hence why most vikings train theirs by fear or exerting power. hiccup, who is nerdy enough to have sat out where the wild dragons are and literally learned their language has been attempting to train HIS by speaking to them, which has some mixed results. windwalker is actually quite mellow and loyal, since hiccup's probably the first person to show him kindness. toothless is just a little brat with a stammer, but he does have softness in his heart deep deep down.

characterization-wise, everyone's a lot different as well.

hiccup, as stated before is a nerd who'll rattle off dragon facts in dangerous situations while fishlegs is more of the sarcastic romantic, basically think of it like the movies swapped their personalities. he also has bright red Heroic Hair that stands straight up and they robbed that from him in the movies and i will never forgive them. hes also an excellent swordfighter and its just about the only traditionally viking thing he's good at :). also, his mother is never kidnapped by dragons- but she IS gone often, out questing. her name is valhallarama and she is an absolute beast of a woman they definitley nerfed her when they turned her to valka

fishlegs is a skinny little loser (affectionate) who's allergic to dragons, has a plethora of other medical conditions too, and is acrually an orphan and was raised by a long-eared caretaker dragon. he's also hiccup's best and only friend at the start of the series. he's arguably worse at being a viking as hiccup is and they both bond over how they wish society would allow them to not be brainless fighters. his dragon is a lazy common-or-garden-or-basic-brown named horrorcow, she's both a pacifist and a vegetarian. when he was catching his dragon, he actually wanted to grab a nadder, which is long and serpentine because nadder is a pun on adder and i have no idea why the movies didn't see that

snotlout is hiccup's cousin and hates him more than anything in the world, and not in a ha-ha funny way either. he legitamately wishes hiccup were dead or never born because he hates to see this "runt" next in line for chief instead of him. he is constantly literally trying to make hiccup's life miserable or literally murder him and once again this is not played for laughs. his dragon's a mean monstrous nightmare- a hunting dragon only the chief and descendanrs of should have- named fireworm, and she is very full of herself. hookfang is actually one of stoick's monstrous nightmares!

another main character is camicazi, who appears in book 3 onward and she was so powerful they had to split her into three characters in the movies (she's sorta like if you took the thorston twins and astrid and mashed them all together, then added another sprinkle of chaos). she's a short little kid from another tribe of all-female warriors called the bog-burgalars and an excellent escape artist. she has a mood dragon- a serpentine, color-changing dragon named stormfly who can actually speak the human language too. she's not very helpful though since shes a pathological liar.

the main villain is named alvin the treacherous and he's a ridicuoulsly resiliant guy who reaaaally wants hiccup dead for a multitide of reasons we don't need to get into now since hw won't really appear in my work haha

i think ive gotten a lot of basics down, but obviously there's a ton more! in regards to knowledge for my crossover though thats essentially some of the main points you need to know. by the 8th book, hiccup has been on a multitide of adventures (and has nearly died or gotten eaten on all of them) but the world hasn't changed irreparably yet :). i plan on writing it in a way that can accomodate people with no knowledge of httyd, since most of it will be from the touden party's pov exploring the world! you'll be getting plenty of detailed descriptions of some of the dragon species as laios's nerdiness will help show

i would absolutely reccomend checking out the books, though! you can usually find them at your local library, and there's also the entire series of audiobooks on youtube! there's a very dedicated group of people on here who love the httyd books including me who would love to help you get into them as well, if that's what you'd like!

i'll round this off with a few of my renditions of some of the characters i've drawn :)

i hope this was helpful, and if you have any more questions, feel free to ask me! i love getting asks but never do lol

[karan-koron]

About the Ryuga women clothings' design

⚠️I will write about specific story aspects and themes of the movie, so while I won't spoil important developments, please don't read if you want to go into the movie completely blind. ⚠️⚠️My english is not great, sorry.

It's something I ranted about on Discord but I guess I should brainrot here instead 😅 It's a collection of thoughts about the patterns and motifs used in the kimono wearing women of the Ryuga family. Of course, these are just my observations and I'm not pretending these was all the intent of the character designer, but these things are fun for me to think about. I'll add in italics some comments by character designer toco, from her self published book "Birth Memorandum" (with key spoilers omitted!)

Sayo "Sayo's design is based on the pretty girl characters that sometimes appear in Mizuki sensei's comics. Her kimono is based on the kimono worn during reference photoshoots held with the help of Toei Studios' costume department. The designs of other female characters were chosen after deciding on Sayo's kimono. Her hairstyle as it appears in the main story was ultimately chosen for both its "girlish" and "daughter of a good family" feel."

Sayo has in appearance a very traditional, impeccable look that fits her image of the oldest daughter of the prestigious Ryuga family. Her obi (sash) has a chrysanthemum print. There are a numbers of flowers associated with Japan, and many people would rightfully associate it with cherry blossoms (which has its own symbolical relevance in Gegege no Nazo), but chrysanthemums have had a long historical and cultural relevance as well. It's present on the kamon (emblem) of the imperial family and you can find it on japanese passports or 50 yen coins for example. So on top of being a beautiful, ornate flower, it's also an imperial symbol in line with the values of the Ryuga.

Her kimono has a yagasuri/yabane pattern, representing the feathery part of an arrow. It's an auspicious pattern once worn by young brides based on the idea that once an arrow is shot, it never goes back. As such, it expresses determination and wish for success, notably in marriage. That pattern, on the other hand, I associate with youth and Taisho roman, Japan's own romantic era at the beginning of the 20th century. At the time, the yagasuri pattern was worn by female students along with hakama. In popular imagination, the quintessential Taisho girl wears a yagasuri pattern kimono, a marroon hakama and a big bow in her hair, most probably due to the influence of the manga "Haikara-san ga tooru", whose main character is perceived as a tomboyish moga (modern girl). And there is a bit of that in Sayo, showing that despite her role as the oldest daughter of the family, she holds in her heart romantic ideas of what it's like to be a young girl in love, longing for her freedom as a woman and being hopeful for the future. After all, while stuck in Naguramura, she dreams of Ginza dates and cream soda, very romantic depictions of the city that are actually very, very far from the Tokyo Mizuki is acquainted with. I wrote that the yagasuri pattern expresses determination, which is something Sayo certainly does not lack despite her well-behaved appearance. Her first appearance, her meeting with Mizuki, has a tone straight out of a shoujo manga like I mentioned before ; Mizuki appears chivalrous, the mood is romantic. In Sayo's eyes, this is a fateful encounter, the beginning of her own romance story. She gives Mizuki a smile as they say good bye, but as soon as he turns his back to her, her expression shifts to look more serious and determined : at this point, she has already made a specific, fictitious image of Mizuki in her mind, and it's certainly when Sayo started to plan her way out of Naguramura.

She wears others outfits during the course of the movie, I'd love to take a good look at them once it drops on Prime!

Otome

"I wanted Otome's kimono to look elegant rather than flashy. Butterfly designs are added to her obi and comb."

Indeed Otome's clothes are much more subtle than Sayo's youthful flashy kimono haha. Toco points out the butterflies which are the main point of her design but there are some others motifs on her obi:

It's low contrast but you can see a Kikkou hanabishi pattern ; kikkou refers to the hexagonal grid, reminiscent of a tortoise shells. It's an auspicious symbol expressing longevity. Hanabishi is the four petals, diamond shaped flowers inside the hexagon, and it's commonly found on samurai kamon, evoking refinement, nobility and prosperity.

Next are 5 petals flowers that are surely cherry blossoms. As I wrote earlier cherry blossoms carry heavy significance in the movie but it's difficult to discuss it without spoiling the story. I'll just say for now that in general, cherry blossoms being so short lived, they express the transience of beauty, and life itself, but also renewal ; spring will always come after winter. Here it works in tandem with the butterfly, also an elegant symbol of beauty and rebirth. In Japan, butterflies are also associated with death ; they are either a link between the dead and the living, or carry the souls of those who passed away. It's also a common motif in kamon, maybe the most famous one being the emblem of the Taira clan. Again it's difficult to discuss her without spoiling key points of the story but I find it interesting how the Ryuga in general are covered in auspicious symbols but Otome specifically has these twos motifs stacked on top of the kikkou hanabishi, it looks subtle at first glance due to the low contrast but she wears the most ornate pattern out of every family members, and in the context of the story those specific motifs end up looking quite ominous...

Toshiko

"In early sketches, her hair was either in an updo or in a bun, but it was changed for its current design so that her silhouette would not overlap with other female characters. She looked progressively more unhealthy as I put more emphasis on her dark vibe. Her barrette and obi are decorated with a design of boars and bush clovers."

Well...this says it all. Before I move in to my main point I just want to mention that what strikes me most with Toshiko is how her ring is displayed on her main visual. Her pose shows her introversion but also showcases her wedding ring ; in Birth Memorandum the other sketches all feature said ring too. Interestingly, Genji doesn't seem to wear his..... ?

Anyways! The most important point! The boar is difficult to see because the visual on the official website is very small but it is here. The design is reminiscent of the "Boar" Hanafuda card.

Bush clovers are also known as "fusui no koto", or the place where boars sleep ; as such the twos are commonly associated in art. But I'll be honest I don't know of any symbolism related to the boar and researching it I didn't find much except it being apparently an auspicious symbol of fertility... (which is certainly fitting)

However! The connection with Hanafuda goes further in my opinion. With Hanafuda cardz you can play a game called Koi Koi, in which you have to form certainz combinations of cards, called yaku, to earn points. Each cards are associated with a month of the year and corresponding seasonal plants. One of those yaku is called "Inoshikachou", or "Boar, Deer, Butterflies" :

So we have established that the boar are linked with Toshiko, and butterflies are linked with Otome. We're only missing the deer...?

Hinoe!!

Isn't it a nice way to link all of their design together?

(By the way, I do think more of the Ryuga have their design more or less inspired by Hanafuda : there are chrysanthemum cards I associate with Sayo, and I believe the "Ono no Michikaze" card is reminiscent of Tokimaro.... but this was supposed to be a post about the women's kimono haha.)

Anyways, I could write a lot more, but it's difficult without going into spoilers territory. The designs in Gegege no Nazo look pretty simple in appearance, but manage to say so much about the characters, I find them all very very impressive. Thank you if you've read this far, I hope it made sense a little.

[iboatedhere]

(more thanks to @pragmatic-optimist @welcometololaland & @rmd-writes)

---

Henry fiddles with the tap, turning the water temperature down from scalding hot to just piping hot while the biodegradable sponge Alex insists they buy crumbles into nothing in his hand. 

He sighs and rinses the mug before setting it on the rack to dry, turning off the water, and leaning against the sink, looking out into the expanse of their backyard.

“Penny for your thoughts, sweetheart?” Alex asks from the table and Henry turns. 

“Do you think we should be growing our own food?” 

Wide eyed, Alex looks from the strip of bacon in hand to Henry and back again.

“I was talking about vegetables, darling.”

“Oh! Ha! Thank fuck,” he says as he shoves the last bite into his mouth. “Because you know I would get attached to that thing as soon as its little swine-eyes found mine and I could never…” He trails off and drags his finger across his throat. “You know.”

“I do,” Henry tells him. “Would it be enough to turn you into a vegetarian?”

“Hell no, but I would probably switch to turkey bacon. I’ve had enough of those feathery fucks to last the rest of my life.” He stands with his plate and coffee mug then nudges Henry out of the way so he can clean up after himself. “You want to start a garden?”

“We have all this land we're not using and who knows how long it’ll take the renovation permits on the shelter to come through. I have a bit of spare time.”

Alex eyes him warily and Henry pretends he doesn’t notice. 

“I was thinking I’d start with the basics…tomatoes, cucumber, courgettes…”

“That’s zucchini, right?”

Henry rolls his eyes fondly. “If you want to be American about it.”

“Well, since we’re in America. I think a garden would be nice. You gotta be careful though, my abuela had one and she was overrun with vegetables. She canned and pickled everything and still couldn’t keep up. She’d pay me and June ten dollars to go around to her neighbors trying to offload peppers because it was impossible to say no to two cute kids.”

“I’m sure I could find a food bank that would take them.”

“I’m sure you could,” Alex agrees before swaying into him. “Are you okay?”

Henry gives him a smile that must look as weak as it feels and Alex presses his lips together and tips his head to the side, giving Henry his best puppy-dog eyes.

“It’s just…you know,” Henry says because Alex does know and Henry doesn’t want to be the one to say it. 

The anniversary of his father’s death looms, the same way it does every year, but every year there seems to be more for Henry to mourn. 

His father never got to meet Alex. He never got to see how full of love Henry’s life is now. How happy he is. He’ll never set foot in this home or see the garden Henry wants to plant or hold the future children they might have.

Henry’s love for Alex grows with every passing day but there’s still a corner of his heart that is gray with grief that no amount of early morning kisses or late night conversations out on the porch will color.

“Baby,” Alex says, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Henry’s shoulder. He can’t mourn the way Henry does, but Henry knows he tries to shoulder the weight of it even if he can’t quite fit his arms around it. “You know it’s okay to slow down and relax.”

“Plenty of people find gardening relaxing.”

Alex sighs, the same way he always does when he knows he’s been beaten at his own game and pulls back. 

“Okay,” he says, “I can duck out of work early and we can hit up the nursery–.”

“Oh no,” Henry interrupts. “I’m not letting you anywhere near my garden.”

Alex blinks at him. “Excuse me?”

“You, my love, have what I believe they call a black thumb.”

“That’s a fucking lie, I do not.”

“You somehow managed to kill a cactus.”

“That thorny piece of shit had it out for me.”

“Of course, love,” Henry says, gathering Alex’s face between his hands, “whatever you say.”

[kalolasfantasyworld]

The little Silver Eagles 🦅

Another birdies one shot for 4000 hits 🫶

Summary: Nozel takes his sons Heinry and Noureen to the Silver Eagle's base.

Lot's of fluff and Papa Nozel. Also Heinry being an overly energetic klutz and Noureen an adorable mess.

Yes, there is an illustration 🩵

Type: One shot

Word count: 3481 (Because I can't write short stuff anymore, but this is so much fluff ^^)

Author's note:

I mention @vilandel's OC Rossete

Ao3 (because I want to keep the birdies one shots in one place)

Helena was fixing Heinry’s mantle. He needed to tilt his head back, so that she could straighten out the frills of the high neck. A silver Silva pendant was attached right below. It was quite a challange because Heinry was excitedly bouncing up and down. Nozel watched them fondly, before shifting his gaze to Noureen. His other son was sitting on his bed and dangling his legs. The expression on his face was focused and his little nose wrinkled. His red mantle had already been fixed by Helena, so he was just waiting. 

“Now you’re ready,” she announced and stood up, on her way ruffling Heinry’s silver hair. “Are you sure, that you’ll be fine?” Helena turned towards Nozel. “Their nannies could watch over them and I’m sure Rosetta would love to play a little bit with her sobrinos (nephews).”

“Yes, I am sure,” he stated flatly quirking his brow. “Weren’t you supposed to leave ten minutes ago?” 

“I’m certain that Doctor Owen can start the meeting without me,” Helena put her hands on her hips. 

“Without the vice head of the Healer’s tower?” 

“Stop being witty,” she huffed and leaned down towards her two little birdies. “Are you one hundred percent sure, that they won’t interrupt you with your work?”

“They’re future Silver Eagles, they should see how everything is being handled at the base,” Nozel stated. 

“They’re four mi amor,” Helena sighed.

“Four and a half mama,” Heinry corrected her.

“Yes four and a half hijo,” she said and grabbed him by the hand. They both approached Noureen. “Heinry, Noureen will you be good? You can’t distract papa from work, promise? Listen to everything he says.”

“I’m alway good,” Heinry grinned wildly. 

“Sure you are,” Helena did not sound convinced. “Noureen?” 

The brown haired boy nodded. 

“Are you excited as well?” She asked.

Noureen smiled shyly and then once again nodded, this time more energetically. “Okay,” Helena smiled and stood up. “Have fun my Silver Eagles,” she waved at them, grabbed her bag and very quickly left the room, because indeed she was late and Helena preferred to be on time. She would always say this was a matter of respect. 

Her white tailcoat only fluttered behind her before the door closed. 

Nozel crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. 

One, two, three.

The door opened once again and Helena ran inside. She knelt down in front of Heinry and pulled him in pressing a kiss on his cheek. The silver haired boy giggled excitedly. She then turned to Noureen and tried to peck hims as well, but he pulled away. 

“Bleh!” He screeched. 

“Everyone gets a kiss,” Helena announced. 

“Everyone?” Noureen pouted. “Okay,” he sighed and leaned forward. A small blush spread on his cheek, before Helena pecked him. 

She stood up and approached Nozel. 

“Everyone gets a kiss,” she brightened up and put her hands on his chest, digging her fingers into his feathery mantle. He closed his eyes and felt her grip on harder as she leaned in closer. Her sweet perfume becoming more apparent.

“Blehhh!” Heinry and Noureen both shouted and startled them before Helena managed to kiss him. 

Giving both of his four year olds’ a side eye was probably not one of Nozel’s greatest moments. He straightened up and his expression became flat. Helena just chuckled glancing at them fondly. 

“A short peck then,” she stated and quickly pressed her lips on to his. He did not even get to savour the moment, because she pulled away and was already running towards the door. “Bye muchachos, don’t be a nuisance to papa.” With that she was gone, off to the Healer’s tower.

Nozel turned to both of his boys, now sitting on the bed. Noureen continued on dangling his feet and Heinry tried to lift his even higher. He would let it go this one time, because they were not in official setting, but the princes needed to learn their manners. He could not remember himself at such young age, but probably he was acting proper. 

“Let’s go,” he stated flatly and boys jumped off the bed. Their light blue and red mantles fluttered. Heinry ran ahead reaching the door in few seconds, while Noureen was just behind him. Nozel silently followed. 

As they walked both princes would race each other down the hallways, because Noureen may had been quieter, but he was not the one to loose. They were running around and would stop only at staircases, because they knew they could easily trip. They waited for Nozel to join them and carefully walked down. 

Finally they reached the main hallway and soon the servants opened the grand doors for them. Nozel lifted his palm, causing a mercury made eagle to shape. The creature lowered its head and leaned down. Boys ran up to it and Heinry tried to climb onto its back, but was failing miserably and continued to slide down from the smooth surface. Nozel lifted him placing his son right behind the Eagle’s neck. Heinry knelt down and grabbed onto the silvery feathers. Then Nozel picked up Noureen, who very elegantly sat beside his brother. Nozel got on too. Some mercury formed around the twins’ legs and held them in place. He could not risk them falling off. 

The eagle flapped its wings and they shot up in the air. 

“Wooohoo!” Heinry shouted and raised his little arms in the air. It was a good idea to strap him on. On Noureens face appeared a wide smile, it was a much rarer view, but it was happening each time that he was flying. The twins truly enjoyed being high in the air. 

The flight did not take them too long and soon they were descending on the yard in the Silver Eagle’s base. Somebody was waiting down there to greet them. 

“Tio Solid!” Heinry ran up to him after jumping off the silver eagle and nearly falling on his face, just nearly because a mercury made tentacle caught him in the air. Dad reflexes were a thing as Nozel realised over the last four years. 

“Hola tio,” Noureen greeted Solid once he got off as well.

“What are you urchins doing here?” Solid grinned and leaned down to greet them. “Good morning Nozel-nii sama,” he looked up at his older brother, while ruffing both of the twins’ hair. 

“We’re Magic Knights,” Noureen stated flatly. 

“Magic Knights?” Solid quirked his brow. “Are you not too short to be a Magic Knight?”

“I’m tall!” Heinry screeched. 

“Hijos,” Nozel narrowed his eyes and they came back to stand by his sides. “They’re spending the day with me,” he announced emotionless placing his hands on their shoulders. 

“Fun,” Solid did not hide the irony in his voice. “Anyway,” he stood up and clasped his hands together. “Do you know anything about when Nebra’s coming back?”

“She’s on a mission with that Black Bull of hers,” Nozel answered. “It’s hard to tell, when they’ll be finished.”

“Cool,” Solid said. “I brought you some mission reports to look through Nozel nii-sama. They’re at your desk.”

“Thank you,” Nozel nodded. “You’re dismissed.”

“Bye urchins,” Solid waved and went off to his duties. 

Nozel needed to get to his office first. He knew that Curtis Warren and Nils Ragus came back from their mission and they would come see him, besides there was a lot of paper work to be filled. On their way they passed some new recruits, who were in the middle of a sparring. A young boy shot a fire projectile at his opponent, while the other lifted an earth made wall from the ground to protect himself. The twins watched them in awe. 

“Will we train like that?” Noureen pulled on Nozel’s cape. 

“Once you’re older and develop your magic better yes,” Nozel stated. 

“I’m already good at my magic,” Heinry grinned and a small mercury made droplet appeared in the air, it melted into a shield resembling shape, which nearly had a Silva emblem on its surface. It was indeed an achievement for a four year old to be this talented and Nozel could not be prouder, that not only his son inherited his attribute, but was already learning some skills. 

“I will be better than you,” Noureen said shyly. 

Despite him having massive storage of mana, his magic was not showing itself greatly. He could form some steel shapes, but they were awkward and did not seem a good fit for him. Nozel wondered how in the future he could guide Noureen, so that he would get better. He was not going to make the same mistake as he did with Noelle. He would not push his son away, instead he would offer him his full support and patience. 

Inside his office Nozel instead of walking right away to his desk, he first approached a bookcase. He pulled out two coloring books and a box filled with colored pencils. He was a disciplined man and was prepared for his sons’ visit. 

As much as Noureen was excited about a chance to draw, Heinry did not seem as appealed, but he took the coloring book with a grateful expression on his face. They climbed onto the couch, which was by the wall and set up their things. 

Nozel just needed to quickly finish this meeting and go through the documents, then he would have more time to spare for his sons. He got to work right away, being very efficient with it. Soon a knock on the door was audible and both boys perked up. 

“Enter,” Nozel spoke up coldly. 

Magic Knights Curtis Warren and Nils Ragus went inside. 

“Captain Nozel,” they bowed. 

“Hola señor Magic Knight!” Heinry waved from the couch and Noureen repeated his move.

“Hi,” Nils was surprised at first, but then smiled softly. 

“Captain we did not know that you were bringing your sons,” Curtis said. “We can come back later.”

“It’s alright,” Nozel nodded. “Tell me about your mission.”

The knights went into details explaining the course of their latest days. The results were acceptable and Nozel found no fault in their actions. He listened to them intently focusing his whole attention on his subordinates. 

“Papa,” Heinry pulled on his cape and then placed the side of his head on Nozel’s lap. “I’m bored.”

Nozel looked away from the knights. 

“You don’t like the colorings I got for you?” He asked.

“I finished,” he stated. “I can show you!”

Curtis cleared his throat. 

“We’ll get going captain.”

“Yes, you’re dismissed,” Nozel turned to them. They were mostly finished and he would  find out the rest from their mission raport. 

Magic knights bowed and as they were about to leave the room Heinry ran up to them. 

“You can see too!” He showed them the coloring book and Nozel could notice Nils struggling not to frown. 

“Good job Heinry-sama,” he said plastering on a smile. “You managed to cross through most of the lines.”

Happy Heinry jumped up to Nozel and opened the book in front of him. Heinry did not inherit Helena’s talent for art, this was pretty obvious. The line art depicted the first Wizard King Lumiere and indeed Heinry somehow got out of all the lines. Lumiere had a very green face and purple hair. He seemed more like some magical creature than a human. 

“Hmm,” Nozel did not want to comment. “Noureen what about your drawing?”

He shyly picked up his book and approached the desk. Making sure that Heinry could not see, he opened the coloring book. Noureen on the other hand could color really well. He stayed in the lines and even tried adding some shading to the anti magic bird’s feathers. It still looked like a drawing made by a child, but he had potential. Nozel had to make sure they would find him a good art tutor, possibly even ask Rill Boismortier for some lessons. 

“Good job hijos,” he stated flatly.

“Can we be magic knights now?” Heinry jumped up, because he was earlier pushed away by Noureen.

“You need to be fifteen to be a magic knights,” Nozel said. 

“But I want to be one now,” he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Papa please,” Noureen pouted. “Can we be Silver Eagles?”

And what was Nozel going to do about that? He furrowed his brows and looked at both of his sons’ eyes. They were lilac just like his and shone brightly with pure, childish hope. He did not want to dim that light. 

Nozel sighed and stood up from his chair. He approached one of the chests and pulled out his spare Silver Eagle’s mantle. It had the long feathery wings attached to them. He gave it to Heinry, who nearly fell over, because he did not expect the fabric to be this heavy. Then Nozel pulled his own mantle over his head and passed it to Noureen. 

“Put these on and you will be Silver Eagles,” he said.

“Help papa,” Heinry asked and pushed the mantle back to his hands. 

Nozel knelt down and helped him put it on. In the same moment Noureen struggled with his own and got stuck halfway. Nozel smiled fondly and after he quickly finished with Heinry, he pulled down Noureen’s mantle. 

Boys looked at themselves amazed. Heinry was beaming with joy as he spun around and then placed his hands on his hips. Noureen just stood frozen and slightly embarrassed, but Nozel could tell that he was happy. He gazed at them proudly. Future Silver Eagles, his sons. 

“What now papa?” Noureen asked. 

Nozel glanced at the pile of paper work still stacked on his desk. It was smaller than when he had arrived, but still apparent. However none of the matters were greatly pressing and his sons were clearly not satisfied with just colorings. He wished to be a good dad. Even though Helena kept saying that he was, a part of him did not believe her and this day was supposed to be a way to prove himself, but he had no idea what could he offer them. He sighed resigned looking around the room. Suddenly a memory flashed in front of his eyes. A warm feeling appeared in his chest and Nozel knew what he could show them. He took off his blue cape, because without a mantle it looked ridiculous and straightened up gazing at the twins. 

“If you’re Magic Knights then I’m your captain,” he stated. 

“Captain papa!” Heinry jumped up. 

“Come on Silver Eagles,” he said before turning towards the door. 

They passed quite a few hallways and both boys at some point grabbed onto Nozel’s tunic to not get lost. Then Heinry nearly fell down the stairs, because he tried to jump two at the time, while Noureen got too distracted with few Magic Knights that passed them and tripped. Nozel’s subordinates were throwing them curious glances and smiling softly. It was a greatly unusual to see their always cold and serious captain tenderly leading two four year olds in way too big feathery mantles. 

Finally they reached the ground floor entrance to the tower on the eastern side of the base. The grand doors which were ahead of them opened and an older looking knight, wearing the Silver Eagle’s mantle came out. Rob Vitesse had a stern expression on his face, but it shifted upon seeing Nozel’s twins.

“Captain,” he bowed. “Little lords.”

“How are they?” Nozel asked. 

“In great form as always Captain.”

Nozel nodded and led his sons inside. 

The room was massive. It filled up most of the tower and was at least few stories high. There were grand windows on the sides letting in the sunlight. The ceiling which was meters above them was dome shaped. It even allowed for a massive tree to grow inside. Higher there were arches crossed with metallic mesh. Wind blew right through them and a fresh breeze reached the three Silvas. It blew lifting all of their long bangs.

“Woah,” Noureen was the first one to speak up, because Heinry seemed to stop breathing for a while. Loud screeches were sounding in the whole room. Big birds were flying from one branch to another. Nozel approached a shelf which stood by the stone wall. He pulled out a leather made glove and put it on. It reached high up above his elbow and was very sturdy. 

He glanced at his twins and with a nod instructed them to follow him. They walked over to a wooden fence like construction and halted. Nozel looked up, reaching out his arm to the side and with his gaze followed one of the birds. He whistled and a loud screech responded. An eagle dove down, only to spread its wings wide and flap them right over Nozel’s head. It slowed down and heavily landed, digging its claws into the thick glove. The bird tilted its head and focused its black eye on Nozel. It recognised its master, softly screeching. Even though Nozel was not great with animals and they tended to stray away from him, these royal birds were an exception. 

“That’s one of our eagles. They mostly act as messenger birds, but sometimes we take them on missions,” he explained. 

“A birdie!” Heinry could not contain his excitement and reached out his hands towards it. The eagle did not seem to like being called a birdie by another birdie, so it pulled away. 

“You have to be calm,” Nozel narrowed his eyes and stated flatly. 

He leaned down with his arm still outreached. The bird focused on Noureen, who watched it with eyes wide open. Lilac orbs were mesmerised. He slowly lifted his palm and showed it to the eagle. Little fingers were spread wide. The eagle shook its head. 

“You can pet it. Just slowly,” Nozel instructed him. 

Noureen swallowed and touched the bird. Eagle did not protest, it kept calmly looking at the little boy. 

“What’s his name?” Noureen asked shyly. 

“It doesn’t have a name,” Nozel stated. “We call them by numbers.”

“Can I give him one?” The lilac eyes were hopeful and Nozel smiled tenderly. 

“Sure hijo.”

“Your name will be…” Noureen furrowed his brows and scratched his chin. “Eagle.”

“Eagle?” Nozel quirked his brow. The bird was obviously an eagle. 

“That’s his name,” the boy was determined. 

Nozel nodded. 

“Eagle it is,” he said and let the bird jump from his glove to the wooden rack. 

Noureen approached it and looked up. 

“Can Eagle be my bird?”

“Once you get older, now it would be hard for you to take care of him. If Eagle spreads his wings he’s bigger than you are.”

Noureen nodded excitedly and how Nozel loved seeing emotions on his son’s face. He remembered how when he was little Acier took him to see the eagles herself. He was as amazed as his boys were and also asked for his own eagle. However as he got older he focused on other things and then his mother… passed away so he gave up on raising a bird by himself. Maybe Noureen could do it instead. 

Nozel did not know whether those were reflexes or his heightened sense, but he turned around and in a second his mercury made its way towards Heinry shielding him from an angry bird. 

“Don’t try pulling on their tails!” Nozel’s voice cut like a whip as he approached his son. “They might peck you then. Are you alright hijo?” He leaned down and lifted Heinry’s chin. Few tears were streaming down his cheek, but he seemed unharmed. Nozel breathed out. 

“Yes,” Heinry sobbed and without any warning flung his arms over Nozel’s neck. Surprised Nozel needed a second to embrace him back. 

He glanced to the side and noticed Noureen watching. 

“Do you want to come too?” He asked. 

Noureen nodded shyly and walked over. Heinry slightly moved to the side and let Nozel take his other arm off to place it over Noureen. 

“You’re the best papa,” Noureen whispered. 

“Best of the best,” Heinry added, because he had already stopped crying. 

Nozel noticed his breath hitch and no he did not tear up, but felt like he was close to it. Hearing his boys say something so simple, yet so complex moved him. To them somehow he was indeed the best. This praise meant to him more than all the achievements he had collected as a captain and prince combined. Being a father was a harder task, more compelling and Nozel felt like he was pushing through it blindfolded. He did not have a good role model growing up, so he needed to figure it out as it went. Making mistakes and then fixing them. It was a process which required a lot of work and he was going to put it in. All for his sons, the little birdies.