#TAKEN YOUR BLOT GIRL

[webslingingslasher]

hii!! can you do one where situationship!peter like yells at trouble or something along those lines or is like embarrassed to be seen w her (i jsut wanna read something angsty 😭😭)

no rush ofc!! hope u had a good new years 🎀

added these two asks together <3

what do u think that frat!peter would do if he made trouble cry, like it was his fault

-----

when peter got a congratulatory clap on his shoulder with a 'heard you got cuffed up. good for you, man.' he brushed it off. peter had a good guess on why someone made that connection, he's been a little handsy with you at parties, and on campus. it's a natural thought.

when peter got nudged by a member of another frat, and a 'congrats, bro. she's a hottie.' he felt confused.

the third time it happened, while at his own house, peter finally asked what was up. 'where did you hear that?' a punch to his arm, 'your chick. she's telling everyone you're her boyfriend.'

and that? it made his blood boil.

'she's lying, i'm not dating anyone.' the brother's eyebrows raised, 'oh. i mean, i guess she told ja-' peter spoke up louder, 'she's a fucking liar.' the brother leaves it alone.

peter was almost pacing his floor while waiting for you. you've brought it up a thousand times, he's made his opinion very clear, and yet you're going behind his back and telling everyone he's the one thing he's not.

you don't notice his distaste, reaching out for a kiss you're dodged. peter wants to scoff at your pout, no wonder you feel sad, your boyfriend refused your touch.

'anything you wanna tell me, trouble?'

you're immediately taken back by his tone. 'anything that might get back to me?' you have a sinking feeling you know what it's about, you didn't know it would be whispered about, but you should've.

but, you won't put your foot in your mouth yet. 'i don't think so.' peter lets out a dry laugh, 'no? there's nothing that you did that makes you look fucking crazy?'

you swallow hard, is that what he thought of you? if so, he's wrong. 'i'm not crazy.' peter throws his hands up, 'really? okay, let's see if we can figure this one out together. i'm not your boyfriend, but apparently you're telling people i am. is that supposed to make you look sane?'

it's downright mean. 'you're being very condescending right now, peter. i don't like it.' peter's loud with his next sentence. 'just how i don't like being called your fucking boyfriend?'

your world comes crashing down. how could he be so brutal with such ease. it's so harsh you can't swallow back your emotions.

tears blot at your eyes while your lower lip trembles. 'is the idea of being with me that bad?' peter feels as crushed as you look. once it starts you can't stop, and to break down in front of peter, after he just called you fucking crazy, makes you dehumanize yourself.

you huff small breaths and try to wipe away the tears as they fall. you struggle to say your words without pausing to gasp. 'you didn't even... ask why.' it brings a new wave, he's being silent and you think it's over and final and you didn't get a chance to plead your case.

'i need... to leave.' you can't breathe, you can't even feel your feet when you move. you don't make it far because peter's in front of you and using his chest to back you up.

'alright, alright. just stop crying, okay?' peter doesn't know what to do because he's never actually made a girl cry that hard, or at least in his face, making him aware of his actions and how he could've tried to approach this in a calm way.

'you hate me,' you gasp, 'and you think i'm crazy,' another gasp, but this time you're scooped into his hold. 'stop. please, stop. please stop crying.' peter thinks if he squeezes you hard enough he could piece the parts he ruined back together.

'i'm sorry. i'm so sorry.' peter doesn't know what he wanted, but it wasn't a pleading apology coughed out between sobs. fuck, he was mean, wasn't he? 'stop it, trouble. just breathe, alright? it's done, okay?'

oh, peter's shit at this. you cry even harder, 'i know we are. i'm so sorry, i'll tell everyone i made it up and... and you-'

'we're not done. the conversation is done. just please stop fucking crying.' peter can't stress it enough because he feels so guilty he's about to start crying in solidarity.

'no! not until, not until you hear-'

'i'm not going to listen to anything until you can say three words without holding your breath.' it's useless, 'i think i'm dying.' you don't know how, but you're held even tighter to his chest, 'you're not dying. you're upset because i said mean things.'

you're able to take a deep breath, it feels good. 'you did.' peter can finally relax, you're not on the verge of passing out anymore. 'i know. i was really mean, wasn't i?'

'yeah.' fuck, he really, really hates how miserable he made you. peter cares about you, it's the one thing he makes sure to tell you, but he doesn't think you talk to the people you care about that way.

'i promise i'm not crazy, i just-'

'you're not crazy and i should've never said that.' you try to keep your face tilted down when peter pulled back, but he was adamant on having you look at him.

'i'm so sorry, okay? i was caught off guard by all these comments today and i took it out on you. you're right, i should've asked why. but i didn't, and i'm sorry.'

'jackson ruth got all weird and touchy at his party last week and i just blurted out that you were my boyfriend so he'd leave me alone and i swear i didn't mean for him to have it spread.'

you hate that you made him ashamed, maybe you said that part out loud too because you think you saw something break inside his eyes.

peter softly cups your face, any stray droplets cleared with a brush of his thumbs under your eyes. 'i'm not ashamed of you, i'd never be ashamed of you. you're my baby.'

hook, line, and sinker.

'you are always allowed to use my name if you need to, i promise. i was a dick and i made you cry and now i feel like shit that i made you feel like shit, and now i feel even shitter because i'm somehow making this about me.'

you wrap your hands around his, you'd rather him keep his hold. you feel special. 'do you mean it?' peter nods softly, he leans down for a kiss. it's warming, your chest blossoms wide.

if you were fucking crazy, hypothetically, you'd claim the accusation boldly when he says 'on everything i love.'

[ms--lobotomy]

platonic malcador x reader??? he's such a girldad and we could be some imperial agent or smthn I don't really mind as long as I get that SWEET SWEET cute grandpa moments bc I know you will always cook

Howdy! Sorry this one's so late, I was finishing my degree so requests kind of fell off the face of the earth for a bit. I'll try to get a good portion of them done, though! Enjoy!

Summary: Talking shit with your honorary girldad Malcador

Word Count: 744

Content Warnings: No clear base coat for doing nails, sue me. Implied malcemps, if you squint, and also the implication that reader has sister(s).

Image Credit: @squishyowl

It wasn't often that you got to take some time for yourselves. But your particular order of inquisitors had a meeting today, and you were going to look good for it. So you'd excused yourself to your temporary quarters, sent a quick vox message to your friend, and waited on a response as you threw on whatever caught your eye and arranged a few colors of nail polish for the two of you to choose from.

Hey Malc, I have a bit of time before the meeting today. Wanna do our nails? Cool. Thanks. You signed off with your name, sinking back into your chair and sitting there for a second.

The walls felt like they were closing in on you. Sure, these were temporary quarters, but this room felt more like a closet than a temporary accommodation. You were hunched over the dresser, fixing your hair when you heard a knock at the door. Your head snapped around. A yawn was audible through the door, and you grinned.

"I haven't got all day," he said. You could hear the smile in his voice as you headed over to the door, opening it with a slight creak. His breathing was loud, but nothing out of the ordinary for him, and he carried a stunningly large staff. It almost didn't fit through the door, but as he made his way in, he made it work.

"Malc!" you exclaimed. "Come in, if you can fit-"

"This used to be a closet," he mumbled. He made his way to the chair that you'd set out for him, something that much mismatched the one you had taken for yourself. "Looks like they're putting people just anywhere these days."

"Oh," you said. If you were friends with the Sigilite, you didn't want to know how the others of your order were rooming. You blotted the thought out of your head, and turned to the set of nail polish you'd set out.

"So we have green, and teal, and..."

"Green."

You blinked. You ran a finger over the crimson red nail polish, but his eyes were set on the cool green polish at the very front of the row.

"Green it is," you said, as you slid the green over to him and took the red for yourself.

"No, no, I want to do each other's," he said. There was a softness to his voice, one that was always reserved for private interactions between the two of you.

"Sure!" you exclaimed, switching the red and the green before laying down some paper towels to catch any overflow. He watched with bemusement as you hurriedly took out the green polish and rolled up his sleeves, placing his bony hands against the paper towels.

"What's the rush?" he asked as you started to paint the first stripe onto them.

"Rush?" you asked. "Weren't you the one who said you didn't have all day or something?"

Malcador sat back in his chair. Despite it being the sturdier option, it made a slight creaking noise. "I did," he said, his eyes closing as you worked with the first layer. "I've just never had any daughters, is all."

You paused for a second before continuing to swipe color across his fingernails. "No daughters?" you asked, looking up at him incredulously. "You're Perpetual, right? You've had all the time in the world to... uh..." you trailed off before clearing your throat. "My bad."

He smiled a wry smile. "You could say the Primarchs were partially my doing, yes," he said. "I wanted girls, you see. Much less arguing, and activities like this are more likely to be in the picture."

"Less arguing?" you smirked before bursting into full on laughter. "Clearly you never grew up with any sisters." You tilted the paper towel a little bit as you moved onto his right hand, painting it just as carefully as you'd painted his left. Silence filled the room for a moment before he spoke again.

"None of the Primarchs ever did my nails," he said with a hint of playful spite to his voice. "Even the ones we found early. Horus was always too important for things like this."

"Horus, huh?" you asked before the next words flew out of your mouth without much thought. "Guess I'm just better than him."

"Be careful saying that," he replied as you finished his pinky. "But do say that in front of him. I want to know how it goes."

Taglist: @bispecsual @justeverythingnothingelse @bleedingichorhearts @nekotaetae @historitor-bookshelf

[almondmilktargaryen]

The Girl Who's Got Agoraphobia (Part Four)

*pictures not mine. layout made via canva

Summary: You're the girl with agoraphobia Michael told Oliver about. You're known for not leaving your room much (obviously). But that doesn't stop Michael from checking on you.

Couple: Fem!Reader/Michael Gavey

Category: Flangst, friends to lovers

Content warnings: Fic begins with a panic attack

Word count: 2.3k

Also on my Ao3

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four

Fucking Losers

You were having a fit. A moment. An episode. Whatever it’s called. It didn’t matter as your body shook in the dark.

Of course, you were thinking about Michael. How could you not? He was one of the few people who saw you in this state before, apart from your mother. He quickly learned how to help, often asking you from the foot of your bed if certain parts were accurate as he read from the academic journals he pulled from the library. You would be at the head, hunched over homework or your book as you give him a simple yes or no.

But Michael’s not here. You haven’t seen him since the end of finals. Then you both went home for winter break and didn’t check in on one another for two weeks; the longest either of you have gone without speaking since you met. It was unheard of, terrifying. Despite how things were left, you did not want things to stay that way. You weren’t the one who needed to mend this with an apology, but leaving the wound open isn’t helping anymore. Perhaps calling time of death is the only answer.

Rising slowly from the floor, you took your time and your breaths. To avoid exacerbating the situation, you made an effort not to gasp for air. You press your back against a blank wall while steadying your knees as they shake. You mentally map out the pathway from Fleming to Haygood. It’s nighttime, but there’s plenty of lights on the paths, surely. The ones you can see from your window are.

You made up your mind. You picked up your coat and scarf from your chair. While following the same light from your peephole, you observe the dust looping around itself in the stream before vanishing back into the dark. You don’t even think to look out of it before opening the door.

And Michael was there. He stood in the yellow-lit hallway in his trench coat, barely hiding the d20 graphic tee he bought at the last Comic-Con. His glasses were fogged, and he was out of breath. “Hey,” he says like his lungs aren’t burning.

“Michael.” You held your door. You dare not sniffle.

“Figured you’d be here.”

Your face turned to stone. “Did you?”

“No-no, not like that,” he coughs on his own words. “I only meant—that I—I was hoping you were here.”

That hits you, but you don’t want to show it. “You’ve been running,” you say.

“I have.”

“You never run.”

“Painfully true.”

You look him up and down. His runners (irony) are soaked as well as his khakis from the calves down. Not only did he run, but he ran through the snow. Your eyes dart to his, which are slowly being revealed as his glasses adjust to the indoor temperature. It gets harder to look at him; slanted brows and Cheshire Cat lips turned downward. They’re parted slightly to let in more air. Unlike you, he doesn’t look away. Because he doesn’t know what you were about to do, but you know why he’s here. Michael never runs. So why else would he be here? In the most delightful way possible, he surprised you. Not a high bar to meet after last time, but you might as well get to the point. You clear your throat. “Michael, I—”

“I’m sorry.”

You meet his eyes, still fogged, but you don’t speak a word. Not because you want him to grovel (entirely), but because you don’t know what to say.

“What I said was wrong. But you knew that already. I shouldn’t have said it. And I shouldn’t have taken this long to say it.”

You lean on your door, blotting your snot on your sleeve. “Why did you?”

Michael shrugged, then his eyes turned away from you, trailing to the wooden floor beneath your feet. “Stubbornness. Geniuses don’t like being told they’re wrong. Even when they are absolutely wrong. And… uh���”

Your brows quirk.

“I’m afraid of saying it aloud. Because it sounds so bad, but I don’t mean it to be because it’s not—oh my God, you’ve been crying!” His glasses finally defogged. He comes closer and you don’t stop him when his hands take a gentle hold of your arms, the only thing adjacent to a hug at this moment. It’s all the rift between you will allow, even in the midst of mending. “What happened?”

It was your turn for your eyes, dry and irritated, to fall toward the floor as you finally cave and sniffle to spare your sleeves. “Panic attack.” There it is. That’s what it was. The description came to you when you needed it. “I’m fine now.”

“You should sit down.” His breath is a mix of beer and mint gum. “They always take the energy out of you.”

“Yeah.” You step back, still holding the door. It has a habit of leaning forward and closing on its own. You wait for Michael to step in. He eventually inches forward until he’s under the doorway, keeping eye contact with you and his hands in his pockets. Then he’s in.

You take off your coat and scarf, then Michael’s, setting them all on the arm of your big chair. With your silent permission, you both take refuge in your designated spots on your bed after slipping off your shoes. You take a pillow each to hold, then you turn on your bedside lamp. Instead of an old yellow light, the room glows with a soft orange instead. Michael nestles up to the wall next to your astronomy posters, his skinny legs stretched out straight in front of him and away from you. The lines of his eyes are redder than usual. You noticed them in the hallway, but you still didn’t say a word about it.

“What’d you want to say?” You eventually asked.

“Promise you won’t get upset?”

“Yes.”

“Even if it comes out bad?”

“As long as you explain yourself. I promise.”

Michael sighed. His head bumped against the wall as yours did with the headboard. Your post-attack exhaustion is already taking over. “Oliver ditched me. At the pub.”

“He did?” It explained the beer.

Michael nodded. “For Felix Catton and his vultures.”

“Oh, Michael.” It sounds bad. A typical primary school reaction of retreating to the closest person to avoid being alone, and possibly even a target. It sounds absolutely selfish. But you kept yourself composed because you couldn’t help but feel for him still. He knows that pain too. You’ve joked in the past about how hopeless you both are at making friends, but it doesn’t hurt less when you’re proven right. “I’m sorry he did that.”

“I went to grab us some pints. When I came back, he was at their table. Barely spared me a glance.”

“Guess he wasn’t meant to be your friend.” You say it like you turned into your mother. She always said it when you found yourself in the same grief time and time again.

Michael shrugged. “He was boring. He barely spoke at all. And that’s why I came straight here. Because I knew you would never do that to me.”

You sniffled again. It thickened in your nose. “You’re a prick sometimes, Charles. Even when you’re an absolute arse to me, I like you too much to do that to you.”

“Even when you call me Charles?”

“Of course.” You pull your lips into a half smile because you don’t have the energy for much more. “So why’d it take you so long to realize that?”

“We’re hopeless at making friends. You left so quickly. I thought I fucked it all up from the start.”

You pursed your lips as his words settle in. The exhaustion only creeps in as you sink into your bed. “We’re both terrible at making friends, aren’t we?” You try to lighten the mood with a chuckle, even though it’s terribly depressing.

“But it’s easy with you.” He holds the pillow close to his chest, looking you in the eyes as he says, “I don’t want to lose that.”

You push your leg out to nudge him on the nose. He thins out his lips as he takes it, even though you took off your socks. Once you’re successful, your leg drops to his side. “Well, you won’t lose it.”

And the silence in the room stretches as you watch the wound heal between you in the lamp’s soft glow. The vulnerability in Michael’s eyes mirrors yours.

“You know,” your voice breaks the silence as you sit back up and put your pillow back in place. “What Oliver did to you was awful, but we can still take advantage of the night. Let’s go to the pub.”

Michael raises an eyebrow. “It’s Saturday night. It was so crowded down there.”

You shrug. “You said you wouldn’t let anything happen to me, right?”

The corners of his mouth quirked up. “I did say that.”

“So, let’s go.” You stand up, turn on your bare heels, and extend your hand to him. “Maybe it’ll be good for us. Better than being around those fucking losers.” It’s uncharacteristic as the last words fall out of your mouth, but it certainly felt appropriate.

“You sure you’re not tired?”

“I’ll let you know when I’m tired.”

“I’ll take it then.” And Michael takes your hand When he lands on his feet, though, it’s closer than expected. He’s so close to falling into you, which would make you both collapse on the hard floor. But he balances himself by taking a hold of your hip with his other hand.

It would be normal to step back and let go of his hand to give him space. It certainly would make sense. But you can’t explain the sudden surge of boldness that hits you. And without thinking something through for the first time in your life, you push yourself up on your toes and kiss him. It was quick, and spontaneous, much like the whole decision.

You open your eyes to see Michael’s face illuminated by the lamp, part of its shade reflected in his glasses. The weight of what you just did started stacking on your shoulders, brick by brick. But before you can pull away and apologize, Michael’s lips meet yours again. His kiss is different—frantic and eager, filled with the desperate need to connect again (or proof he’s never kissed someone. You’ve never talked about it). It’s sloppy as both his hands move to your waist and grip at the fabric of your sweater. Your hands meet his chest as you try pushing him away. Your lips are drenched by the time you finally separate.

“Michael, slow down.” You wipe your mouth.

“Sorry,” he whispers. Beer still lingers in his breath.

“It’s okay. Just… do it like this.” You urge him to loosen his hold on your sweater as your hands find their way to his face. You show him how to kiss with tenderness.

And he responds accordingly, his kisses becoming softer and more deliberate. His hands rest on your waist now. No force in them. The urgency fades, and his skin is warm as your hands lace around his neck. He pulls back this time, though, and the look in his eyes shows you how dazed he is. “Maybe we should stay in,” he suggests softly.

“Well, I—”

“Not anything like that. I’m not ready for… that. I just know you’ll be exhausted soon.”

You couldn’t lie. You were already there. “But you said you—”

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. But that’s a simple thing to prove in a pub at any time. We’ll go soon.” He pecks you on the lips. “But for now, you should rest.”

You don’t argue further. Instead, you pull away from Michael completely and make way for your wardrobe. Luckily, this isn’t the first time Michael’s spent the night in your dorm, so you pull out some of the spare pajamas he’s left behind during late movie nights. You both turn away as you change, but meet again in an attempt to make room in your single bed. Michael wraps an arm around your waist as you both get comfortable and squeezes in close, keeping you from the edge. He props himself up on his elbow.

“Are you going to fall asleep?” You ask him.

Michael leans over to put his glasses on the end table. “Shouldn’t be too hard. And it’s already more comfortable than your couch. If I can’t, your bookcase is easy to reach. I can always grab a memoir.”

Your knuckles brush against his sweatshirt, a weak attempt at a smack as you giggle. Michael takes that hand and turns it in his hold like he is examining it. He kisses your fingers and cradles them against his chest. He knows you feel his still rapid heartbeat.

“This is all… a lot for me.”

“Me too.”

“What made you do it?”

“Did you wish I didn’t?”

“God no. I’d been wanting to for a while.”

“So did I.” You trace the Oxford logo on his chest. “So I did it. Just in a brief moment where I stopped overthinking.”

The air blown out of Michael’s nose is cool against your face. “You actually stopped thinking?” His lips find your forehead as he still keeps hold of your hand—an assurance that he is joking. “Had to say it.”

“It’s difficult. But it’s easier with you.”

The smartass grin leaves his face at that. Instead, he lets his head meet your pillow as his eyes refuse to stray from yours. He brushes your hair back, his short nails just scratching your scalp. It’s soothing, and it encourages you to close your eyes in bliss as your mind is blank.

Taglist: @anukulee

[therealslimshakespeare]

Dear John | Part 2

Masters of the Air Fanfiction

Series Summary: Major John Egan wasn’t the pen-pal sort but a couple of hours into a dark night full of writing condolence letters he finds himself wondering why he never tried his hand at the nicer forms of correspondence. Who better to reanimate his numb inspiration than the glamorous Miss Lana Tierney? -the army’s girl next door, the pinup so prolific she was practically a wall paper print and Bucky’s long-standing cinematic crush. It’s not like she’ll read it anyways. Right? Right.

Warnings: suggestive language, crass vocabulary, the vintage form of sexting -honestly this is mostly fluffy in reply to his more overt letter

Author’s note: after episode four I’ve got feelings and fics for this universe that are far ahead of these establishing pieces. So I’ve gone ahead and tossed this preliminary one out but I may very well skip around and ahead to October next. At least now y’all know: she wrote him back. Hehe. If it’s of interest, I’ll probably end up writing John’s reaction to receiving this response as well as Gale’s response to realizing his friend actually went and sent that awful thing.

Date: Early August, 1943

Dear John, (I’m sorry Major Egan, I just had to)

Thank you for your kind letter of the 18th. It’s been many years since I received so delightful a correspondence or so candid an expression of admiration. And you should know I keep most of the letters the sweet people of this country send me. They’re stacked in quite an orderly fashion in my various garages, kept for the rainy days to peruse and keep the blues away and also so I might try very hard to reply. I don’t take such affection for granted. It’s humbling really, always has been, to be so loved by folks but it’s another level entirely to be singled out by someone as brave and impressive as yourself.

I found your letter to be heartfelt and wonderfully brave and in an effort to be equally transparent, you should know that when I finished it I clutched it to my breast and whispered half a dozen prayers for you. Or as you might say, I held it to my knockers.

That’s an awful word, you must know that Major.

As is “rack”, for that matter, but I’ve a sneaking suspicion that you would make it sound charming as even your blotted paper was electric. How could you dare to praise my film set flapjacks and mention making babies? I’m fizzing just glancing at it. You really must be quite the fella and I’m terribly sad now that our rendezvous, such as you say it was, got cut short. You must reprimand your friend -Buck, is it?- and tell him he did an bad deed that night. There’s nothing I like better than duets and hamburgers, we might’ve been one of the great loves by now if he hadn’t meddled. But don’t be too hard on him, if he’s the sort to take it well, kiss him for me, after you chide him.

But since we are being honest, I must admit, reading your letter, being privy to your thoughts, seeing myself through your eyes as it were - dear man, I feel rather riled. Quite riled, in fact. Why, I haven’t felt riled in a while, not like this. Not like an ordinary girl with an extraordinary boy. Do you know what I mean?

Maybe you don’t.

I mean regular, old fashioned flustered. That’s what you’ve made me. And thank you for that, John. Can I call you Johnny? I wonder if you’re the nickname sort, or if you’re real stern and serious, a real John-John. Not a Johnny at all. But either way, I think you deserve a treat, for being so nice, Major Egan. For reminding me I can feel my pulse somewhere besides my wrists before a show -and for all you’re doing in the war, besides. There seems to be no safer hands to trust this to, you do seem so very fond of them, I am led to believe you’d be protective of them, too.

Enclosed is something for the personal morale, I hope you’ll think of me nightly with it at hand, in fact, I’m so excited about it I’ve taken this ill advised measure to insure you do. I’d very much like a report, do they live up to your expectations? They’re homegrown, after all, I hadn’t much say in them but now I’ve got them, I don’t see why they shouldn’t do their bit to keep you alive. A small sacrifice.

One of those reasons you mentioned, John, you’ve so many of them, more than you know. A million souls over here rooting you on, insisting you make it out the other side.

I’m forefront among them, I’ll be scanning the crowd when I come to Europe -because I will, at your invitation. Perhaps if you send me a picture of your own mug I won’t be looking a fool asking every man in uniform if I remind them of an acorn. Are you going to tell me what on earth that means? I’ve tried to work it out but I always end up with some mathematical conundrum and I just know in my heart of hearts you wouldn’t let me down like that, would you Major? It’s something awfully salacious, isn’t it? Please let it be!

I’m a vain little thing and I can’t deny the way this poor heart of mine is all pitter pattering at the thought of you being so awful while also so nice. It’s a strange blend, and rather like my coke, I do prefer my men mixed.

Best wishes, may you have cloudless skies and fresh coffee to your heart's content. My sources -and I’ve excellent ones, an upside of working the war bond circuit- tell me you’re airforce. I think that’s remarkable and I hope you give that picture some thought. Mine, and yours.

Your vain little friend,

Julia Jean Turner

P.S.-I’m only ever ‘The Lana Tierney ‘ to strangers, and we aren’t strangers now, are we? not if you’re to take my picture to your bunk. i suspect you may have already taken that liberty. who’s to say I did not take similar liberties upon reading certain stirring passages of your letter? Xx 💋

__insert vintage titty pic__

Whew this week was a doozy wasn’t it? Here’s some fluff for those of y’all who needed it, and I can promise angst soon for those who want to stay in the soul shattering mood. Hope you enjoy. Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, let me hear your screams.

Drop a comment to let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any of my MOTA fics. Xo

Taglist:

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

[vampiretendencies]

IDCNTLIKEDARKNESS MILESTONE EVENT ★

request; hi love ! so i saw someone request “jj x reader where they are making out and her lip stick smudges on her face and all over his lips, and they’re just so in love” on another page and i was wondering what your version would look like.. <3

pairing; jj maybank x fem!reader

warnings; shotgunning (smoking), fluff, making out

authors notes; after i did that headcanon yesterday of what jj was like as a boyfriend i decided to do an entire blurb of just shotgunning, i hope this little twist i added is okay !!

masterlist — jj maybank masterlist — milestone masterlist

Neither of you knew how you’d gotten here.

How you are seated at the far end of JJ’s dirt bike, and his back is to the steering handles— facing you. Knees grazing the others, helplessly waiting for the release between JJ’s fingertips. Or maybe it could be described as an escape, a painless one at that. The tight space in John B’s front yard was ideal, and JJ is taken aback that he hadn’t thought of sooner.

His girl, his weed, his bike, and his beer.

His only necessities in life.

Though you are first on that list, his priorities lie with you. Even if there wasn’t another ounce of weed to spare on this planet, you were his remedy.

And he was content with that.

Chasing the love you give him was enough of a rush in itself.

Willing to run forever until he’d gotten enough— and he’d never have enough.

The initial escape, is a blunt and it’s sitting pretty between his knuckles. Aligning together to uphold it at an angle, all the power of nothingness in such a small load. Thankfully he’d be stuck in that nothingness with you. JJ’s neck is somewhat sunburnt, as he’d given you the more shadier side of the bike, guarded by the overpowering tree at the Chateau. He’d never mind though, his girl deserves nothing less. He’s admiring you like he met you an hour ago, like it was the first time. What stuck out most though, was the seductive lip stain adorning your mouth a dark brown accentuating the curvature of your cupids bow and a cinnamon red blotted in the middle. Tinted and emphazing his most favored part on your features.

The shotgunning that’s too commence was a shared hobby between you and JJ. Bonding over it after he’d stepped foot in the local shop you worked at, coming in to buy rolling papers. Though JJ knew full well that they weren’t sold there, he just couldn’t get your image out of his mind upon buying a six pack earlier that week. An exceptional beauty behind the cash register.

Hell, he still has the first blunt the two of you shared locked away beneath his pillow in a small baggie— an emblem of the relationship.

And the rest was history.

“Gonna’ have to open real wide for me baby.”

He reminded, though is wasn’t necessary. What he was really after was seeing your mouth all slack for him, agape and awaiting his sensuous smoke to enter your lungs.

Quite the sight for ravenous eyes.

“I know,” you deadpan. Giving him a pat on the shoulder, as if to say ‘you achieved nothing with that sentence’. Even still he’s offering a shit-eating grin, weight shifting on the bike to reach the zippo lighter in his cargo-shorts pocket— with one swift movement the blunt burned with fire.

JJ encloses his pair of lips on the bud, expertly letting a cloud of smoke flow to the back of his throat, reserving the remainder in his mouth for you. Hallowing his cheeks, his hands form a ‘come closer’ motion and you inch forward on the bike— it was unknown how much more room was still left between the couple after being this insanely closed in and harmoniously integrated.

He curves his index finger beneath your chin— putting it out, unable to waste one drop as he was planning on basking in this moment; talent like because this was second nature. His mouth parted open along with yours, delicately blowing the milky white smoke to the back of your throat. His eyes darkened, watching such a tasteful scene unfold before him.

Allowing you a second to inhale it and feel it deep in your lungs— the sharpness of the weed daggering at your throat causing a cough or two. He desperately rested his hands around your waist, luring you into his eager lap. Smoke-ridden lips feathering loving pecks to your jaw, giving way for you to sulk in the nourishment that the joint gave you.

“Doing so good, pretty girl.”

Large hands centered about your neck, tightening around and grasping onto it with no sanity. Your breath hitches at the suddenness, he hungered for a raw make out session—he was going to get exactly that. Anticipating, with wandering bodies ravaging one another. His tongue searched your bottom lip, licking it with rigorous notions as well as countering the lipstick painting your lips. It was like the cherry on top before his mouth molded with yours, slowly and all at once. His grasp on your neck, cutting off air flow but still you wanted more— you wanted to keep going.

“Fuckin’ love you baby.”

He groaned forward, meaning it but more of confessing it into the kiss so that you could feel it in your bones, continuing to turn his head to meet with yours. And still he lingers, adams apple bobbing, lips attacking yours fully. Teeth biting down on your bottom lip, showing it attention once again. So full of affection he can’t contain it. Pairs of lips intact, moving with the rhythm of the wind until you let go to press your forehead against JJ’s coming up for any granule of air. Chests heaving, his bright eyes take in the sloppy, and smeared lipstick that’s littering your lips.

So fucking messy, but still the prettiest thing he’s seen.

The evidence that you were on his lips was there, the rest of the printed red indented into his plump ones. Pouted outward at the no contact.

“You got a little something there.”

You confirmed, tracing the lipstick shade to his mouth, adjusting your hips in his lap. Sharing sentimental kisses and sharing endless weed with his girl on his bike, again, he’d wished he’d thought of it sooner.

“Lick it off?”

“M’not licking lipstick off of your face JJ.”

Aware that he’d find some notorious way to coerce you into doing so.

[thelamentknight]

Carmen Larimar

19/Female

German

Pansexual Demisexual

Aquarius (her birthday is February 14)

She says she’s from this place called Meissen, Germany.

Twisted from Cinderella

Ramshackle

She isn’t a student

She’s in the Fashion Club

Her Favorite Food is Sirloin Steak

Her Least Favorite Food is Apples

Dislikes Social Interaction

Hobbies include: Sketching, Sewing, Designing, reading King Arthur, and reading

Talents: Cooking, cleaning, and being able to speak to animals

UM: “Shatter Glass.” Unless it is 12:00am or 12:00pm, Carmen is completely immune to spells and UMs. For example, if Riddle were to use “Off with your head” and collar Carmen, the collar would immediately shatter into little blue glass pieces and disintegrate. Interestingly, this UM never accumulates any blot, and is always on (unless it is 12:00, to which it then turns off). This might be because Carmen is only half Wonderlandian.

Carmen is my version of the MC in Twisted Wonderland. She recalls getting carried into a mysterious carriage by a hooded figure before she ended up in Wonderland. She is the hot topic of lots of gossip in NRC, from her origins to her involvement in Overblots. By the end of the school year, she transfers to Académie Princesse Radieuse (APR), an All-Girls Fashion College.

She’s seen as a bit of a mystery to the other students due to her quiet, timid and reserved nature. She rarely talks, and when she does, she tends to replies in stutters and short answers. Carmen usually keeps to herself, and rarely opens up. She tends to have her head down, and gets flustered quite easily. She’s very kind, always putting others before her, something that many NRC students try to exploit.

Backstory (R*pe, V*olence, G*rey D*ath, and Ab*se warning):

Carmen’s Father is Emery Larimar, the heir of the Larimars. The Larimars are an extremely powerful family, as the Larimar jewelry they make work as translation jewels. When Emery overblotted and k!lled his whole family, he went missing so he could hide from STYX. He had taken a portal and transported to earth, specifically Germany.

However, while he was there, Emery was dr*gged and r*ped by Ingrid Weiss, a ruthless Mafia boss. After r*ping him, Ingrid dragged him to the garbage cans and asked his last name. Emery (still dr*gged) answered that it was Larimar, and Ingrid kicked him before leaving him in the garbage cans. Afterwards, Emery transported back to Wonderland, and was shortly captured by STYX. 8-9 months later, Ingrid gave birth to twins, Carmen and Roman. Emery would remain unaware that he’s a Father.

A couple years later, Ingrid gave birth to Carmen and Roman’s half sisters: Diana and Annabelle. Diana and Annabelle were spoiled rotten and given the finest things. Meanwhile, Carmen and Roman were treated dirt poor and became servants for their own Mother and half sisters. Due to Ingrid’s hate of men, she k!lled Roman by feeding him to dogs she purposely starved when he was 5. Carmen was forced to watch, and Ingrid’s guard had to hold her down as she was kicking and screaming, trying to save her brother.

As the years went on, Carmen was treated like a servant to her Mother and Half Sisters. They also physically ab*sed her as they found Carmen screaming and crying hilarious. One day (when Carmen was 15-16), there was a mouse under Annabelle’s tea cup, so Annabelle, Diana, and Ingrid assumed it was a prank by Carmen. It was not, but they still responded by grabbing glass and cutting her face with it, leaving open gashes on her face (the reason Carmen wears a mask). They disowned her, and dumped her onto the streets. For the next few years, Carmen wandered the streets all alone and slept in the alleys. And she would live like this until a mysterious hooded figured picked her up and carried her to a carriage.

Fun Facts:

+ If you touch her, she’ll squeak like a mouse

+ She has a beautiful singing voice, but she only sings when she’s alone

+ She thinks frogs, mice, and rats are really cute animals

+ She takes shifts working at Sam’s workshop. After Chapter 3, she also sometimes help Azul with cooking for Mostro

+ She dreams to become a Fashion Designer

+ She hates apples because that’s all she was allowed to eat. If her Mother or sisters caught her eating anything else, they’d force her to puke

+ She wears Larimar studded earrings to understand others. She only knows German

+ Dates Vil Schoenheit

+ Carmen and Grim originally counted as one student. Grim would attend classes, while Carmen would either do chores Crowley couldn’t bother to do or work a shift for Sam’s shop. At the end of Chapter 6, when the Headmistress of APR and Crowley have a talk, they agree to make Grim count as a student so Carmen can transfer to APR

+ As she’s not technically a student, she never got a uniform. Carmen made her “uniform” herself

+ After staying in Wonderland for a while, Carmen decided that she wouldn’t return to Earth. Wonderland is more of a home to her than earth was

+ After each boy Overblots, Carmen comes to visit them as they heal in the medical wing. She’ll also bring them their favorite food, which she cooked herself

+ Due to what she’s been through, Carmen has PTSD, depression, and horrible sleeping problems. After gaining enough money (by around Chapter 5-6), she’s taking therapy and medication

+ (Warning for Sl*t/Body shaming) Her sisters called her “Cinder Sl*t” due to her curves

+ She has prescribed glasses, but usually wears contacts

+ She’s very tall (she reaches Malleus’ horns without the heels)

+ When she told the mirror her name was Carmen Larimar, and the mirror didn’t correct her, everyone in NRC lost it. Throughout the entire year, there was this whole debate on whether or not Carmen was actually a Larimar

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Bullshite Doctors (Broadchurch Drabble)

Alec Hardy x Fem!Reader / requests are open

Summary: Alec is shocked by the type of care females get at the doctors.

CW: the healthcare systems systematic oppression and negligence of women/girls, also crying

Broadchurch Tag List: @clarina04 @kaylinelizabeth4004 @yeethaw13 (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

It’s growing clearer and clearer with every appointment that Alec has not been to many appointments with a woman before. At the first appointment, Alec was just so genuinely baffled by the fact that the doctor didn’t really do anything to help you or look at you that he couldn’t do anything but witness it. 

On the second appointment with a different doctor, he’d done his best to be polite but firm with the doctor, and when that didn’t work, he’d sat quietly chewing on his thumb and bouncing his knee with frustration. This, of course, made the doctor concerned, and the doctor turned his attention to making sure Alec was alright and not tending to his actual patient. 

The third time it happened, Alec was abrasive and irritable with the doctor. Every time the doctor tried to dismiss your concerns, Alec spoke up and did his best to get you the help you so desperately needed. But no, everything was just “normal for a woman your age” or “nothing to worry about.” 

Alec, in a last-ditch attempt, had swallowed his desire to keep his work and home life separate and asked Ellie for advice on who her GP was. It was a female doctor, and Alec had thought surely- surely this time they’d listen. 

Nope. Same shit, different doctor. This was where you were now, one hand pressed to your inflamed gut and the other giving Alec’s arm a warning squeeze. In your experience getting angry at the doctors only slowed the whole process down even further. 

“No, I’m sorry- but- what the fuck d’ya ken? All ‘a you God-f’ersaken doctors. Y’ all say the same thing, and it’s fuckin’ bullshite! I swear t’fuckin God, we’ve been to every doctor in this shithole of a town, and none of you! None! Have taken us seriously.” 

You blink, taken aback by this outburst. You can’t help the coy little smile that starts spreading across your lips, though you’re surprised when you go to brush some hair out of your face and pull your hand back to find that it’s wet. Oh. 

“Darlin’, what’s wrong?” Alec says, noticing and crouching before you. The doctor seems unsure what to do and passes Alec a tissue. 

Your boyfriend blots the tears away and shushes you gently, squeezing your knee comfortingly. 

“Sorry- I,” you take a deep breath. “I’ve just never had someone bat for me like that. The doctors, they- they just don’t listen.” 

“I ken what y’mean, love,” Alec replied, wiping away the last tears and turning away to face your doctor. “I don’t care what you think, but you are gonna listen to this woman ‘n take her seriously. Because otherwise, I’m gonna have t’ investigate you for negligence to y’er patients.” 

Alec stands and adjusts his coat to show the doctor a flash of his badge. The woman nods curtly, and you give her a stiff smile. While you’re extremely irritated that flashing his badge is what finally gets a doctor to listen, you hold onto the fact that there actually is a doctor listening to you right now.

You’re able to actually explain what’s going on after that, and get some help. 

It’s thanks to Alec that you’re able to get a diagnosis and medication. Things start to get better after that, and you always make sure to bring Alec along to your more serious appointments. 

He never refuses, and you always get your answers.

[jokeringcutio]

Little Bunny (A Black Phone Drabble) - Grabber x (F) Reader

Drabble fill for the Anon who so kindly donated to me. Anon Wrote: My prompt will be a girl gets nabbed by the grabber, & when he goes through her backpack, he finds she carries around a yellow comfort plush bunny (mocks and coos at her for it?) srry if thats weird lmao AN: Thank you for your donation. With your money I am already on my halfway goal of buying a new pair of glasses :D Which I really need, so thank you loads. You have no idea how much this means to me <3 Rating: NC-17 Due to themes, smut-related words and references. Little Bunny – Grabber x Reader

When you opened your eyes it was to the hunched form of a man. His lean, slender frame was bent over something, his back to you. You could faintly see the traces of his shoulder-length hair. Like Gollum hunched over his most coveted treasure.

Your vision was blurry, so you sat up and rubbed your eyes. Something sturdy was beneath you, not as soft as it should have been but no stones either. The room around you was dark and murky. There was a dull pounding in your skull and your lungs ached as if you’d inhaled too much smoke. Vague flashes of memories suddenly hit you. Of a man. A van. Black balloons. And you, polite and kind as ever, offering to help him.

Had your own kindness gotten you into this predicament? It did not seem fair.

Once your gaze slid back to the man, you noticed that he had turned around to look at you. But instead of meeting a human expression, you met the artificial smile of a pale devil with horns. No human face was visible. The man was wearing a mask to obscure his features from you, a sign that whatever he had in mind for you wasn’t going to be something good.

Devilish intentions, you thought, while a shudder of fear ran down your spine. A monster. Not a man. 

“Ah, so you are awake,” his low voice groused. But there was a certain playfulness to it. As if he was somehow twisting his voice into a caricature version of his own. He was toying with you. You brought your hand up to your chest at the realization, breathing rapidly while you tried to remain calm.

“Where am I?” You asked the first question that came to mind. Your sight was still returning to you, but you’d quickly noticed your surroundings. The same plain walls stared at you, all around. The only piece of furniture, if it could be described as such, was the mattress you woke up on.

“What are you doing with my bag?” you asked, sitting up and scooting to the edge of the blotted mattress. You noticed something sticky beneath your hands and glanced down shortly to see the many spots that must have been created by fluids. But what kind, you didn’t wish to give a thought.

You quickly looked up at your captor again. He was squatted next to your bag. The horrendous mask was directed at you, his eyes glinted behind it.

“Where am I?” you asked once more, as he still had not replied yet.

But it was as if your words were absorbed. You frowned slightly, aware that something wasn’t quite right – other than being abducted. Still, the man did not reply. Instead, he seemed to let out a heavy sigh - judging by the way his shoulders rose and then slumped again. And then he finally turned his head away from you to bring his focus back onto the contents of your bag.

You watched how the man removed a pen from the bag and seemed to study it. The mask tilted to the side while his finger stroked sensually past the plastic pen. Then, his hand up until his wrist disappeared into your bag again. A low breath could be heard, muffled behind the mask’s lips. Was he excited? A shudder, then his hand slowly emerged from your bag again. You half expected to see the pen again, but he had taken out your phone instead.

He studied it with a quiet curiosity. And you watched him with the same silent morbid curiosity. His thumb stroked past the edge until it pressed the power button. Your screen flashed to life shortly before it was silenced and darkness consumed the screen. The man was studying your things, you realized, as he tossed the phone back in and pulled out the next of your belongings.

His hands stroked with reverence past each item that he took out. He rattled your keys gently, then revealed a few items you always carried with you, then your wallet. There was an erotic kind of curiosity to the way he studied each little thing. You thought he had touched everything inside.

Everything, except one thing.

“Now, what do we have here?” The man’s voice made your breath hitch in your throat. It was low, ungodly so. You felt how a spark of longing shot deep into your core. Slick gathered between your folds and you quickly pressed your knees together, forcing your legs to rub against each other in an attempt to ignore what his voice was doing to you.

How could you get this aroused from sound alone? Once again, it wasn’t fair.

You shyly glimpsed away, afraid that he would notice your reaction or see the blush that must be on your cheeks. Apparently, it did not work, for the man had turned towards you fully now and took a deep breath. You heard it. Heard the inhale, heard the slight rasp to it. Then a low chuckle.

“Isn’t that cute?” the man continued, and you would have tried to avoid looking his way if it hadn’t been for the plush bunny he held in his hands. Reverently, as with all of your belongings, he held it, carried it almost on his palms. A yellow plush bunny that gave you comfort when times were harsh – and they had been lately.

If your cheeks hadn’t been red before, they certainly flushed now. Ashamed, you stared at him and bit your lip, biting down any comments you might have wanted to make.

“Why would a big girl like you have a need for a thing like this?” And it was a good question he asked, one that you often had asked yourself during your weaker moments. But then you always reminded yourself of the comfort it brought you. Was owning a plush animal such a bad thing for an adult? Did it make you weak or foolish?

If anything, you thought daring to carry your bunny around with you had always made you stronger.

Then his voice broke you out of your thoughts. Any leering comments you had expected were swapped aside for something far more sinister.

“Is it that you want to have something to cuddle with?” he hummed, the tone’s implication clear.  “Or someone?”

A shiver ran down your spine as you realized what he must be hinting at, and you carefully scooted farther away from the stranger and as far back onto the dingy mattress as you could, until your back hit the hard wall. Eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief, you held up an arm in front of you as if to stop him from getting any closer.

“Ah, suddenly getting shy?” the man cooed before you could even utter a word in your defense. You watched as he moved his arms to his sides. Your plush bunny was pressed against his hip, flattened with its soft face against the hardness of his hipbone, its ears tapped against the cold metal of the man’s belt.

And you winced. Your poor bunny.

“Please, sir,” finally you found your voice and the opportunity to get a word in between the man’s rambling. “It’s mine, my comfort bunny. Could you give it back?”

The mask tilted but there was no mistaking. His eyes were directed at your outstretched hand, your arm still in front of you, muscles slightly trembling. And something started to smolder in them. Some kind of perverted dark pleasure was visible in his eyes.

“That’s all right,” the man’s voice was low and leering. For a moment you expected him to hand back your plush toy. But then you saw him raise the bunny to his mask and heard the rough rasp of his voice. “You won’t be needing this any longer. If it is comfort you seek, then it is comfort I shall give you.”

And against all of your expectations, down the bunny went, onto the dirt-covered stone floor. Without thinking you dove forward to catch it, ending up in front of the man’s feet on the floor.

Your hand came to rest upon the plush fur of your most beloved toy, when suddenly a shoe was upon it, crushing the back of your hand under the rubber soles of a sturdy shoe. You lay vulnerably in front of the man, completely at his mercy. A pained groan escaped you through gritted teeth, and you looked up to meet the devilish silhouette that towered above you.

Your kidnapper seemed nothing more but a shadow, the mask’s features hidden in the darkness of the room. But his eyes, oh! They glinted like embers in the night. A pure evil shone within them; the promise of a devil.

“I think,” the low murmured words fell silent on the basement’s tiles and he added a little more weight onto your hand, just enough that the pain became unbearable, but not enough to crack bones. “You and I are going to get real comfortable around each other, sweetheart.”

Then, his foot lifted from your hand, making you gasp in relief. Your other hand cradled your hurt one, bringing it close to your chest, your bunny as well – no way you were going to let go of it now.

Your kidnapper looked down at you, hands on his hips, and huffed. “Oh yes,” his voice lowered another notch until the low vibrations sent tingles of pleasure down your sopping cunt. Despite being scared, you felt the thrill of being in this man's hands. Especially when his low murmur brought another promise:

“Real comfortable.”

[the-writing-mobster]

Where I can read your fics? They seem pretty interesting!

Thank you for the ask, love! Fic links, anyone?

You can find all of my fics on Ao3! I need to make an actual like... Official link post, don't I? I used to have one pinned but other things take priority.

So I guess I'll sprinkle the links to my fics here for your immediate viewing pleasure instead of sending you on a wild goose chase ;)

IMPORTANT NOTE — A lot of my fics are locked so only people with confirmed AO3 accounts can read them. This is because of AI scraping, obvs. TMDG is the only one that I think is unlocked since it's fairly new. But it'll eventually get locked as well.

~

| The What Do You Want Duology | 🥀 💀 |

(YWIW, the sequel, still lies unfinished, unfortunately, but WDYW is completed and currently under revisions!)

Summary (for those still not in the know):

Frisk spent most of her life fighting to survive in a cruel world where her only upper hand was her soul's Determination and her feminine charms. After angering the most dangerous man in her life, she is thrown down into Hell to be ripped apart and destroyed by the demons said to inhabit it. With her soul refusing to give up, of course she survives.

However, when she is taken hostage by the infamous Gaster brothers, she finds herself trapped in the strange, abyssal gaze of Sans the Skeleton. With political and sexual tensions on the rise, can these two work through their differences? Or will they forever be asking each other, "What Do You Want?"

—

| Baby Face - UF Highschool AU | ��� 🤘🏻 |

Technically an au based off of my characterizations of the UF characters in wdyw. This one is tooth rottingly sweet and set in a surface Ebbott City in the 90s. Inspo was movies like Clueless & the documentary Kid 90. I actually loved this story so much I completely reworked it and turned it into an original novel.

Important to note that this fic isn't really a romance. It's more about platonic love and friendships than it is about Frans romance.

Summary:

Seniors should not date freshmen. No matter what. Not even if the freshman is hot. Not even if the freshman says it's ok. Not even if the freshman makes moves. That’s the mantra Sans lives by, and even though Frisk, one of the cutest girls according to all of his friends, catches a crush of epic proportions on him, he makes it a point to keep his distance. She’ll thank him later.

Or

Sans is in a rock band and Frisk has a big ole unrequited crush on him.

—

| The Most Dangerous Game | 💙 🔪 💔 |

The dreaded serial killer dead dove fic we've all been raving about recently!!!

It's important to note that this one isn't a romance. They are (albeit obsessive) enemies through and through.

Summary:

Frisk Starling should've been used to cases like these. After all, it was her duty to investigate. Give the victims their voice back, catch the sick freak who did it and give the broken families the justice she couldn’t have for herself.

That is until a string of murders throughout the tristate area begin to appear. Women used like toys, mutilated and disposed of for the cops and journalists to find with only the tiniest slivers of useless evidence and the glaring fact that all the women...

Every…

Single…

One…

Look almost exactly like her… Frisk begins to wonder if maybe… the monster she's hunting down has turned her into the hunted.

And God, does she make the most exhilarating, delicious prey yet…

—

Honorable mention One Shots:

| The Witch, The Judge & the 3 Card Gamble | ♠️♥️♣️ |

Probably my best prose ever. Genuinely.

Summary:

After suffering a gruesome bullet to the ribs, the vengeful Witch hovers over a dying fire, praying her campsite isn’t spotted by vagabonds who’d surely make her pay for existing…

But as a shadow blots out the stars if not for the two red pricks of light glaring her down, she fears her true nightmares have come to claim her after all; The Grim Reaper, the judge of her fate.

And she doesn’t like her odds.

—

| We'll See - Christmas Rom Com | 🎄 💕 |

I wrote this as a secret Santa present to @themsource. It is very cute and fucking funny if I do say so myself. It puts the comedy in Romantic Comedy.

Summary:

Sans has some inhibitions about Christmas, clouded with cynicism and bitterness. But if there's anyone to make him have a change of heart, it's Frisk; Ebbot City's own Little Miss Mother Teresa.

—

☣️ HONORABLE MENTION SMUT ONE SHOTS ☣️

| French Kisses | Smut | 🫧💓 |

Summary: Sans has landed a well-paying position as a senior accountant and Frisk has a few ideas on how to reward him — one of those ideas involves a French Maid dress.

| The Librarian's Assistant | Smut | 📚💓 |

This one was pretty steamy...

Summary: Frisk's days working as a librarian can get pretty quiet and repetitive... Until a new patron with an obvious infatuation with her starts becoming a regular visitor.

Eventually she can't help herself...

.

.

.

I hope you are satisfied with my thorough answer! If you do end up reading, I'd love to hear from you again on your thoughts! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

‼️ Also — join my discord for readily available updates and fun discussion! DM me for the invite since those invite links expire ‼️

[candiedspit]

You thought you found the thing, I said out loud to the garbage cans, the vaguely threatening spikes of the fence guarding the park, the elderly man at the end of his millionth cigarette.

You thought you had found the thing that was going to keep you alive, I continued, waving my cigarette around as I spoke.

The girl you had been waiting to meet your entire life. The crystal to your ball. The one who knew the way you grooved, who understood the world as you knew it, saw the fissions in the skyline, watched the sun dribble down like a belly dancer with her foreign diamonds, tasted the same heat, heard orchestras in building demolitions, the melodies in a cup of black coffee as you weep in the living room, hungover and sweating you are done with the beast. But going back and back like a wounded dog. And she wanted the same things. To be taken by a UFO at the end of a long summer day; the wheat standing still in the cool night. She wanted an easy exit. She wanted to be anybody else. She wanted to dream as you wanted to dream. She shared the same language, the tones of people trapped in a burning room.

And you had her; for a year, you were in the same room, I said, speaking to the trees.

Licking the same piece of licorice, falling into the same wondrous and terrible sleep. Sometimes too altered to speak. Not needing to speak. You shot her up on Christmas Eve, her face glistening with hushed pinks from the lights you convinced her to get. You wore her panties around the house. Filled a plastic kiddie pool with water from the hose and waved, handed out lollipops to the kids next door and to whoever you saw. Opioid receptors. Movies you would forget you watched. Fights over a gram. Slow dancing in the kitchen to Sinatra records, kissing her exactly where she wanted to be kissed. Staying together on the couch, watching the world pass through you.

We never wanted that world, she said one evening as the newscast told us about terrorism, wars. We never wanted that stupid world.

There’s no room for us, I said and held her close.

You wanted to be an eyelash on her face. She was petroleum. She was cake. She taught you how to use a needle. You had figured out a way to live. And could see yourself living in the trailer park for years to come.

And eventually you and her would kick the habit.

This was a secret desire. A week of atomic bombs and shallow waters. But you would get clean and meet her parents. There would be large thanksgiving dinners, happiness.

And when she ended things, you bought a gun. But you were rushed to the clinic before you could smear yourself out of existence. You mourn her at night. You smell her milk. You hope she is in a field, watching the light lounge over the grass. You hope she is alive. You hope she wants to be. As for yourself, the bomb could go off and you would light another cigarette, watching the fallout blot the sunlight with a famed nonchalance. And as the fire reached you, you would picture her in your mind. The only miracle you’ve known.

[laurenscharhagwrites]

RIP Louise Gluck. Your voice will be sorely missed. This is my favorite poem by her.

Persephone the Wanderer

In the first version, Persephone

is taken from her mother

and the goddess of the earth

punishes the earth—this is

consistent with what we know of human behavior,

that human beings take profound satisfaction

in doing harm, particularly

unconscious harm:

we may call this

negative creation.

Persephone's initial

sojourn in hell continues to be

pawed over by scholars who dispute

the sensations of the virgin:

did she cooperate in her rape,

or was she drugged, violated against her will,

as happens so often now to modern girls.

As is well known, the return of the beloved

does not correct

the loss of the beloved: Persephone

returns home

stained with red juice like

a character in Hawthorne—

I am not certain I will

keep this word: is earth

"home" to Persephone? Is she at home, conceivably,

in the bed of the god? Is she

at home nowhere? Is she

a born wanderer, in other words

an existential

replica of her own mother, less

hamstrung by ideas of causality?

You are allowed to like

no one, you know. The characters

are not people.

They are aspects of a dilemma or conflict.

Three parts: just as the soul is divided,

ego, superego, id. Likewise

the three levels of the known world,

a kind of diagram that separates

heaven from earth from hell.

You must ask yourself:

where is it snowing?

White of forgetfulness,

of desecration—

It is snowing on earth; the cold wind says

Persephone is having sex in hell.

Unlike the rest of us, she doesn't know

what winter is, only that

she is what causes it.

She is lying in the bed of Hades.

What is in her mind?

Is she afraid? Has something

blotted out the idea

of mind?

She does know the earth

is run by mothers, this much

is certain. She also knows

she is not what is called

a girl any longer. Regarding

incarceration, she believes

she has been a prisoner since she has been a daughter.

The terrible reunions in store for her

will take up the rest of her life.

When the passion for expiation

is chronic, fierce, you do not choose

the way you live. You do not live;

you are not allowed to die.

You drift between earth and death

which seem, finally,

strangely alike. Scholars tell us

that there is no point in knowing what you want

when the forces contending over you

could kill you.

White of forgetfulness,

white of safety—

They say

there is a rift in the human soul

which was not constructed to belong

entirely to life. Earth

asks us to deny this rift, a threat

disguised as suggestion—

as we have seen

in the tale of Persephone

which should be read

as an argument between the mother and the lover—

the daughter is just meat.

When death confronts her, she has never seen

the meadow without the daisies.

Suddenly she is no longer

singing her maidenly songs

about her mother's

beauty and fecundity. Where

the rift is, the break is.

Song of the earth,

song of the mythic vision of eternal life—

My soul

shattered with the strain

of trying to belong to earth—

What will you do,

when it is your turn in the field with the god?

[burningvelvet]

One of my favorite excerpts of Jane Eyre (1847) taken from chapter 14:

“Yes, yes, you are right,” said he; “I have plenty of faults of my own: I know it, and I don’t wish to palliate them, I assure you. God wot I need not be too severe about others; I have a past existence, a series of deeds, a colour of life to contemplate within my own breast, which might well call my sneers and censures from my neighbours to myself. I started, or rather (for like other defaulters, I like to lay half the blame on ill fortune and adverse circumstances) was thrust on to a wrong tack at the age of one-and-twenty, and have never recovered the right course since: but I might have been very different; I might have been as good as you—wiser—almost as stainless. I envy you your peace of mind, your clean conscience, your unpolluted memory. Little girl, a memory without blot or contamination must be an exquisite treasure—an inexhaustible source of pure refreshment: is it not?”

“How was your memory when you were eighteen, sir?”

“All right then; limpid, salubrious: no gush of bilge water had turned it to fetid puddle. I was your equal at eighteen—quite your equal. Nature meant me to be, on the whole, a good man, Miss Eyre; one of the better kind, and you see I am not so. You would say you don’t see it; at least I flatter myself I read as much in your eye (beware, by-the-bye, what you express with that organ; I am quick at interpreting its language). Then take my word for it,—I am not a villain: you are not to suppose that—not to attribute to me any such bad eminence; but, owing, I verily believe, rather to circumstances than to my natural bent, I am a trite commonplace sinner, hackneyed in all the poor petty dissipations with which the rich and worthless try to put on life. Do you wonder that I avow this to you? Know, that in the course of your future life you will often find yourself elected the involuntary confidant of your acquaintances’ secrets: people will instinctively find out, as I have done, that it is not your forte to tell of yourself, but to listen while others talk of themselves; they will feel, too, that you listen with no malevolent scorn of their indiscretion, but with a kind of innate sympathy; not the less comforting and encouraging because it is very unobtrusive in its manifestations.”

“How do you know?—how can you guess all this, sir?”

“I know it well; therefore I proceed almost as freely as if I were writing my thoughts in a diary. You would say, I should have been superior to circumstances; so I should—so I should; but you see I was not. When fate wronged me, I had not the wisdom to remain cool: I turned desperate; then I degenerated. Now, when any vicious simpleton excites my disgust by his paltry ribaldry, I cannot flatter myself that I am better than he: I am forced to confess that he and I are on a level. I wish I had stood firm—God knows I do! Dread remorse when you are tempted to err, Miss Eyre; remorse is the poison of life.”

“Repentance is said to be its cure, sir.”

“It is not its cure. Reformation may be its cure; and I could reform—I have strength yet for that—if—but where is the use of thinking of it, hampered, burdened, cursed as I am? Besides, since happiness is irrevocably denied me, I have a right to get pleasure out of life: and I will get it, cost what it may.”

“Then you will degenerate still more, sir.”

“Possibly: yet why should I, if I can get sweet, fresh pleasure? And I may get it as sweet and fresh as the wild honey the bee gathers on the moor.”

“It will sting—it will taste bitter, sir.”

“How do you know?—you never tried it. How very serious—how very solemn you look: and you are as ignorant of the matter as this cameo head” (taking one from the mantelpiece). “You have no right to preach to me, you neophyte, that have not passed the porch of life, and are absolutely unacquainted with its mysteries.”

“I only remind you of your own words, sir: you said error brought remorse, and you pronounced remorse the poison of existence.”

“And who talks of error now? I scarcely think the notion that flittered across my brain was an error. I believe it was an inspiration rather than a temptation: it was very genial, very soothing—I know that. Here it comes again! It is no devil, I assure you; or if it be, it has put on the robes of an angel of light. I think I must admit so fair a guest when it asks entrance to my heart.”

“Distrust it, sir; it is not a true angel.”

“Once more, how do you know? By what instinct do you pretend to distinguish between a fallen seraph of the abyss and a messenger from the eternal throne—between a guide and a seducer?”

“I judged by your countenance, sir, which was troubled when you said the suggestion had returned upon you. I feel sure it will work you more misery if you listen to it.”

“Not at all—it bears the most gracious message in the world: for the rest, you are not my conscience-keeper, so don’t make yourself uneasy. Here, come in, bonny wanderer!”

He said this as if he spoke to a vision, viewless to any eye but his own; then, folding his arms, which he had half extended, on his chest, he seemed to enclose in their embrace the invisible being.

“Now,” he continued, again addressing me, “I have received the pilgrim—a disguised deity, as I verily believe. Already it has done me good: my heart was a sort of charnel; it will now be a shrine.”

“To speak truth, sir, I don’t understand you at all: I cannot keep up the conversation, because it has got out of my depth. Only one thing, I know: you said you were not as good as you should like to be, and that you regretted your own imperfection;—one thing I can comprehend: you intimated that to have a sullied memory was a perpetual bane. It seems to me, that if you tried hard, you would in time find it possible to become what you yourself would approve; and that if from this day you began with resolution to correct your thoughts and actions, you would in a few years have laid up a new and stainless store of recollections, to which you might revert with pleasure.”

“Justly thought; rightly said, Miss Eyre; and, at this moment, I am paving hell with energy.”

“Sir?”

“I am laying down good intentions, which I believe durable as flint. Certainly, my associates and pursuits shall be other than they have been.”

“And better?”

“And better—so much better as pure ore is than foul dross. You seem to doubt me; I don’t doubt myself: I know what my aim is, what my motives are; and at this moment I pass a law, unalterable as that of the Medes and Persians, that both are right.”

“They cannot be, sir, if they require a new statute to legalise them.”

“They are, Miss Eyre, though they absolutely require a new statute: unheard-of combinations of circumstances demand unheard-of rules.”

“That sounds a dangerous maxim, sir; because one can see at once that it is liable to abuse.”

“Sententious sage! so it is: but I swear by my household gods not to abuse it.”

“You are human and fallible.”

“I am: so are you—what then?”

“The human and fallible should not arrogate a power with which the divine and perfect alone can be safely intrusted.”

“What power?”

“That of saying of any strange, unsanctioned line of action,—‘Let it be right.’”

“‘Let it be right’—the very words: you have pronounced them.”

“May it be right then,” I said, as I rose, deeming it useless to continue a discourse which was all darkness to me; and, besides, sensible that the character of my interlocutor was beyond my penetration; at least, beyond its present reach; and feeling the uncertainty, the vague sense of insecurity, which accompanies a conviction of ignorance.

“Where are you going?”

“To put Adèle to bed: it is past her bedtime.”

“You are afraid of me, because I talk like a Sphynx.”

“Your language is enigmatical, sir: but though I am bewildered, I am certainly not afraid.”

“You are afraid—your self-love dreads a blunder.”

“In that sense I do feel apprehensive—I have no wish to talk nonsense.”

“If you did, it would be in such a grave, quiet manner, I should mistake it for sense. Do you never laugh, Miss Eyre? Don’t trouble yourself to answer—I see you laugh rarely; but you can laugh very merrily: believe me, you are not naturally austere, any more than I am naturally vicious. The Lowood constraint still clings to you somewhat; controlling your features, muffling your voice, and restricting your limbs; and you fear in the presence of a man and a brother—or father, or master, or what you will—to smile too gaily, speak too freely, or move too quickly: but, in time, I think you will learn to be natural with me, as I find it impossible to be conventional with you; and then your looks and movements will have more vivacity and variety than they dare offer now. I see at intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close-set bars of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but free, it would soar cloud-high. You are still bent on going?”

“It has struck nine, sir.”

[thetwstwildcard]

"Ah, my dear esteemed benefactor... My proud, beautiful flower of evil. You are truly the fairiest one of all. O magic mirror, thy wisdom I entreat... Reveal unto me the visage I seek.. You, whose image the Dark Mirror did beckon forth... If your heart bids it, take the hand of the one reflected in the mirror."

Meet Lark and Lanner Crowley, "children" of Crowley who help Yuu

Full Name: "Lark Crowley"

Gender: Female

Age: Unknown

Sexuality: Pansexual

Birthday: September 13th

Star Sign: Virgo

Height: 5'10 (roughly 178 cm)

Eye Color: Periwinkle and purple

Hair Color: Ombre black to silver

Homeland: Our World

Affiliation: Crowley's assistant

Favorite Food: Pupusas Revueltas

Likes: Disney, helping fix Yua's rewrites in the story, rewriting the story to make it slightly easier for Yuu, her family and her memories of her life

Dislikes: Remembering her death, being reminded that she can't return home, being unable to fully help send Yuu home and overblot migraines

Hobby: Combing through ripped pages to bring characters back to life

Personality: An obedient girl who is quick to tease and giggle. Much more serious than her old form. While her origin is unknown to Yuu, she often unintentionally drops hints and knowledge about the world Yuu was from. But she's a fictional character... Right??

Unique Magic: Composer's Farewell: the ability to make keys that open or close the coffins of both Yuus and characters that allow them sentience/a way home

Trivia:

• The form the former Yuu, Lacie Reyes, now takes as she took Yua Misaki's role

• While her name is still "Lacie" she has rewritten the story so that Yuu will only hear her called "Lark"

• Older twin of Lyre Reyes/ "Lark Crowley"

• Chose the name "Lark" after the songbird as she can often be found humming/lightly singing to herself down school halls while everyone else is asleep

• May slip spanish words into her vocabulary (or when she cant remember the word)

• Will mention media and locations of our world to Yuu but will continue as if she didn't and brush off Yuu's assumptions

• As she is dead in her own world she had no problem staying in the world of TWST and has written herself into the story

• While his assistant, she's quick to threaten Crowley

• The keys she wears are the keys that correspond to the coffins in which she sealed many Yuus of her time so that they can return home while she cannot. She has given copies to "Lanner" so that they may have mementos of people forgotten by everyone else

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

Full Name: "Lanner Crowley"

Gender: Male

Age: Unknown

Sexuality: Pansexual

Birthday: September 13th

Star Sign: Virgo

Height: 6'4 (roughly 194 cm)

Eye Color: Periwinkle and purple

Hair Color: Ombre black to silver

Homeland: Our world

Affiliation: Crowley's Assistant

Favorite Food: Chile Verde

Likes: Messing with Yuu, seeing how the story plays out, disobeying Crowley and reminiscing with "Lark"

Dislikes: Being unable to lighten Lark's burden, missing his friends, having to control what he reveals to the characters and the fact that he is growing fond of Yuu

Hobby: Wadding through blot to find the hidden pages to return them to Lark

Personality: The more talkative twin between the two of them. Like Lark he seems to know more than he lets on. He often refers to the world as a story, but maybe you're just mishearing him

Unique Magic: Composer's Blessing: the ability to heal fatal wounds, can also be used to fully cleanse blot

Trivia:

• The form the former Yuu, Lyre Reyes, has taken to assist his sister

• His name is still "Lyre" but "Lark" has made it so Yuu will only hear "Lanner"

• Younger twin of Lacie Reyes/ "Lark Crowley"

• Chose the name Lanner after the lanner falcon as like them he is often found in a pair and helps "hunt" rogue overblot monsters

• The idea to pretend to be children of Crowley came from him

• Has scribbles of the Yuus of his time to not forget them

• Unlike Lark/Lacie, there is a part of him that hopes the Yuus of their time can find a way to re-enter the world of TWST and take them home

*Neither twin will reveal their full face to Yuu until their true identity is known

[irisinthemoon]

Until I Found You, Pt. 6

[Pt. 1], [Pt. 2], [Pt. 3], [Pt. 4], [Pt. 5], [Pt, 6]

Warning: F!reader, Rollo being a Malleus hater, event spoilers, mock kidnapping, NRC students being NRC students, Eliott and Jules being menaces to society, Rollo being jealous, and blot

Characters: Rollo, Eliott (Oc), Jules (Oc), Malleus, Silver, Sebek, Idia, Rook, Epel, Jamil, Azul, Ruggie, Riddle, Deuce, Yuu, Grim, Professor Trein, a few Oc's here and there. Neige, Chen'ya

Summery: It was finally the day of the week long festival! And it was time you did your duty as a student in Nobel Bell College, but it also meant meeting the person who was in the same situation as you.

“Did you see the NRC and RSA students?”

“Wow! I never thought I would be able to see Neige Leblanche up close!”

“Did you see that guy with silver hair? He looks like a prince!”

Voices of both boys and girls mingle together as they talk about the newly arrived NRC and RSA students. You hadn’t been able to see them yet, having risen early to get everything you needed along with the two outfits you were going to wear for the performances. Just alone from the conversations you had been hearing all morning, you could tell that the people who came here today weren’t just anyone. 

A prince, an actor and model, a son of a noble family from the Queendom of Roses, a second year who was known for his booming business at such a young age, and the heir to the Shroud family business. Those were some of the things you managed to hear from the two girls who were accompanying you for the first performance. You had expected to meet and see many people from different social standings, but expecting and actually doing so were two different things. 

With a clammy hand, you continued to brush down Snowflake’s mane, the black stallion calmly eating the almonds you had brought to keep him in good spirits and calm. Though, you were starting to think that the one who needed to keep calm was you. You had practiced your routine for almost two months, way before decorations for the Masquerade Ball started to appear on peoples’ houses and the school. 

You practically knew the routine by heart! But that didn’t stop the nervous tremor you felt in your hands. This was different, all of this was new to you. Performing for a group of royals and nobles was already nerve wracking, but performing in front of a crowd of people who saw you on the daily really made your head dizzy. If you mess up, the royals and nobles will speak about it but won’t ever see you again.

But the people who lived in the city and attended NBC would most certainly see you everyday and remember your failure.

“Great seven…I’m not up to performing yet and I am already getting myself nervous.” You told your stallion, running your fingers through his mane. He huffs, a crunch leaving his mouth as he continues to chew on the almonds. The stables were the least packed, most of the performers had taken their horses outside in order to get some last minute preparations.

You had decided to stay inside with a few others, far too nervous to face the crowd that you were sure had formed just outside the battle arena. Instead, for the past hour or so you spend them going over the song you were to perform as the closing event. It was a classic one, originating from the City Of Flowers. And for whatever reason, they decided that you were to perform it.

“Maybe you've heard of a terrible place where the scoundrels of Paris collect in a lair.” You hummed under your breath, the familiar tune you had come used to hearing after countless hours of practice coming out of your throat easily. Snowflake’s ears perked up at the sound of your voice, his hoofs tapping on the dirt ground. Seems like he also recognized the lyrics. Smiling, you patted his neck before putting away the brush and taking the empty snack bucket. 

The rest of the song came out clearly, Snowflake dancing along with it, happy little huffs leaving his nose. The nerves in your body melted little by little as you went over your routine with the black stallion. By the time you finished going over the routine you had been filled to the brim with energy. 

“Ok, we got this Snowflake! All we have to do is keep calm.” He huffed, almost as if telling you that he was not nervous to begin with. You rolled your eyes, a small grin on your lips. “Yeah, yeah, I was nervous for the both of us.” Glancing at the time on the clock hanging by the stables’ double doors, you curse under your breath. 

“Shit, I gotta go and get changed.” Calling over one one of the stable boys, you instructed him in what to do with Snowflake. Then, you rushed out of the stables with a few of the other performers and into the changing rooms. One of the girls handed you a yellow dress, brown riding boots, and a deep blue coat. “Good luck [name]!” Giving her a rushed thanks, you changed as best as you could.

With some help, your hair was done in a style that would keep it away from your face. Some light make-up was added and with that, you were already mounting Snowflake. Pulling on the reins, you directed the horse towards the line of other horses. Glancing behind you, you casted an encouraging smile to one of the girls performing with you. She gave you a nod, her brown eyes glinting with excitement.

You could already hear the crowd inside, all anticipating the performance so they could start the week officially. Rubbing your palm against your stallion, you took another deep breath and put on your best smile. Once you got this done and over with, you would be able to spend the rest of your day with Rollo. 

“We will now be presenting the Equestrian Club!” 

And with that, all ten selected club members guided your horses to the battle arena, bright smiles and ready to perform.

_____

Rollo covered his lower face with his purple handkerchief, a frown present on his lips. He watched the NRC and RSA students mingle with each other, speaking and laughing in excitement. Their black and white uniforms make them stand out like a sore thumb among the festive outfits the citizens of the City of Flowers wore and Nobel bell students still wearing their school uniform. Glancing at the city’s clock, he sighs, your performance won’t be until a few more minutes. He hadn't been able to see you for most of the morning, his duty as student president prevented him from leaving early as he had to show their guests around.

It would have been fine if not for the fact that the moment the NRC students arrived they started to show off whatever magic they had. That put a bitter taste on his tongue and soured the majority of his morning. He was grateful to Eliott who quickly took over when it became clear that Rollo wouldn’t be able to stay quiet about their magic use.

“Why is everyone heading over there?” Yuu, the magicless human Crowley had mentioned in his letter, asked him. He was painting towards the battle arena where he knew you were probably getting ready. “It is tradition to start the week-long festival with a performance and a traditional song from the City of Flowers.” Rollo explained, lowering his handkerchief to speak properly to Yuu.

“In a few minutes, members of the Equestrian Club will perform a small show, and lastly, one of the members will perform an old traditional song. After that, the festival will officially begin.” Yuu nods in understanding. “So it’s like an opening ceremony?” The third year president nods. 

“The festival hasn’t started?” Rollo suppresses the want to roll his eyes. Turning to face the very bane of his existence, Malleus Draconia, he nods. “Yes, I will guide you to the battle arena before the ‘annual hunt’ begins.” Jules nods, his eyes scanning the area. “I think it will be best to leave now, while there isn’t a big crowd.” His secretary adds.

A few of the NRC students furrow their eyebrows in confusion, others looking around the area. “What is this ‘annual hunt’?” Rook peaks up after a few seconds of silence. Jules and Eliott share a look, both of them look unsure of whether they should just tell them in case they are selected. Rollo could see the conflict and familiar mischief swimming in their eyes.  

He gave them a blank look, while it would be amusing to see one of them get selected for the annual hunt, he didn’t want to run the risk of them using magic as self defense thinking that they would get kidnapped. Even if the ones doing the hunt use a magic nulling spell, there could be some sort of repercussion. Turning to face the invited students, he is about to explain what is the annual hunt when a puff of smoke appears in the middle of their formed circle. 

‘Too late’ he thinks as four more clouds of smoke appear, clearly a coordinated attack. Instantly, Silver and Sebek form a protective barrier in front of Malleus, their magic pens out and ready for attack. Deuce stands in front of Riddle in a protective manner, pen out as Riddle covers his back. Epel and Rook put their backs together, eyes sharp while their hands on their magical pens, not taking them out just yet. Ruggie, Jamil, and Azul get into an attack position, each ready to attack if needed to. Idia lets out a whimper, shrinking into himself with fear and shock written all over his face. 

The only ones who don’t move are Rollo, Jules, and Eliott. The three of them simply stood back, already knowing where this was heading. So much for trying to get to the battle arena before the group of ‘hunters’ appeared. “A boss battle this soon in the event?!” Idia said, voice trembling. “Who are you?! And what do you want?!” Demanded Riddle, glaring furiously at the five selected hunters for this year.

“Now, now gentlemen! There is no need to be hostile!” The leader of the hunt, a blonde girl, said. Her hands raised in mock surrender. She was sporting a yellow jester outfit, a black and yellow mask on her face, making it hard for Rollo to tell who it was. “We have come in humbling peace!”

The bells in her hat ring with each movement she does, the other hunters, dressed as different color jesters Rollo noticed, all follow along. A purple jester hums a tune under his breath, and Rollo already knows who Purple jester had picked out of the students. A red jester walks towards him, his brown eyes looking over at the third year with interest before walking away in favor of looking at Neige.

Neige smiles nervously, hiding behind Chenya who looked intrigued by the five different color jesters. A blue jester stands near Malleus, Silver, and Sebek, eyeing the two guards and from where Rollo stands, he could see him thinking about the pros and cons in taking one of the guards. And the final jester, one dressed in green skips around Idia, smirking at the way the blue haired boy shrinks into himself even further. 

“President! You don’t mind if we snag one or two of your esteemed guests do you?” Yellow jester says, hands on her hips. Rollo looks at her, then at the students. They all look at him, confused and a little worried. Their magical pens are still out but he could see how some of them start to lower them. “We just want to show the two specials selected to the V.I.P. room where our esteem judge is!”

At this, Rollo perks up, “So, she really was selected to play the part of the judge this year?” Yellow nods, tiny smirk on her lips. He did know you had a solo performance to do, but he didn’t know if it had been for the part of the judge/jester, or if you were just one of the backup vocals. 

“Very well, whoever you choose, please do handle them with care.” Placing his handkerchief up to his lips, Rollo hides the tiny smirk forming on his lips. Eliott sniggers while Jules jabs him on the ribs, trying to contain his own laughter. “W-What?!” Exclaimed Epel, anger clear in his face. “Yall just gonna let us get taken?!” 

“You will be fine.”

His response only made them even more agitated. Good, they were starting to get on his nerves. 

“Where will they be taking us?” Riddle asked, trying to suppress his rage.

“Who is this Judge person?” Deuce added, his blue eyes eyeing weary at the blue Jester who was circling him and Riddle like a shark.

“Better yet, what do you mean by two of us?” Silver spoke up, aurora eyes glaring at the yellow jester. She laughs, her bells jingling along with her. Rollo sighs, then steps aside. “Take whoever you want, but do so with haste. Or we will be late.” 

“Oh shoot! Right you are Mr. President!” Clapping her hands, she points at the purple jester and red jester. “Let’s hurry! We mustn't make our dear judge wait!” And with a snap of her fingers, purple and blue jester lunged at Idia while red and green jester lunged at Neige.

It all happened in a blink of an eye. 

Without having any time to cast a single spell, Idia was already being carried like a sack by the purple jester, a scream so loud pierced the town square where they all were standing. The blue jester mumbled the familiar incantation and in an instant, whatever spell Idia had thought of using vanished. 

Neige also led out a loud squeal as the red jester carried him bridal style as the green jester did the exact same thing as the blue jester. And in quick fast jumps, they all landed where the yellow jester was. The rest of the students screamed the names of the other two, ready to lunge at the hunters when in a fluid and elegant motion, the yellow jester moved her hand into the air and just like they made their grand entrance, purple smoke blinded them momentarily. 

The echo of their laughter was all they could hear as the two students that had come with them vanished alongside the hunters. Huffing, Rollo put away his handkerchief and casted a quick wind spell, airing out all the purple smoke. The hunters were long gone, only a yellow and black handkerchief left behind. Once everything was clear, he turned to face the remaining students. 

“What the hell was that?!” Exclaimed Epel, eyes trained on Rollo angrily. “And what was with letting them take Idia and Neige?!”

“We have to go and rescue them!” Exclaimed Deuce. “Are they in any kind of trouble? They mentioned a judge, and by the looks of it, you seemed to know who it was.” Added Riddle, gray eyes staring at where Idia had been standing. “Do not fret, they are fine.” He finally said, “Let us go to the battle arena before we miss the opening ceremony.”

“And what about Neige and Idia?” Azul points out, he still looked frazzled about the whole ordeal. “Why were they even dressed like that?” Grim grumbled from where he was in Yuu’s arms. Both the magicless human and cat monster had decided to hide behind the statue of the fair judge until the cost was clear. Not that Rollo blames them, for the years he had stayed here, not once had he been picked. 

And it was mostly because he either sacrificed someone, or hid very well so they weren’t able to grab him. Much like now. 

“As I have said, they are fine. No harm will come to them,” He began walking towards the battle arena. Jules and Eliott to his left and right. “Now I suggest we hurry unless you wish to miss the opening ceremony.” Jules turns to face them, an apologetic (Rollo knows that it was a mocking smile) smile on his lips. “Worry not, I will explain who they were and why they took your two companions as we make our way to the battle arena.”

That seemed to put most of them at ease. Chenya smiles, eyes flashing with interest as he makes his way to Jules and wraps an arm around his neck. “Oh, now this just sounds like something mew would like to hear.”

‘Great Seven, please help me keep my sanity’ 

Shaking his head, Rollo leads the group to the opening ceremony. 

_____

If heaven was on earth, it was at this very moment. When they had announced for the Equestrian Club to make their entrance, Rollo’s eyes had immediately searched for you in the crowd of yellow dresses and suits. Once they landed on you, the world seemed to blend in the back as he watched you throughout the whole first half of the performance. 

The way you seemed to guide Snowflake in elegant movements following your fellow clubmates left him breathless. The smile on your lips, shine in your eyes, and little waves you did for the crowd had his eyes glued to you. He fiddled with his magic ring, finding it grounding him as he continued to observe you. 

Slplitted into two teams of five, he watched as you and four others ran the horses and jumped obstacle courses. The other group of five would trout around the edge, waving at the crowd while handling flowers and bead necklaces. 

From the corner of his eyes, he could see how Riddle, Silver, and Sebek stared at the group who was performing elaborate tricks in amazement. “Wow…I didn’t know they could be maneuvered in such a way.” Said Silver in amazement, aurora eyes following one of the riders. Riddle nods in agreement, “Most of what we do is focused on racing other than performing arts.”

Sebek didn’t say anything, but his electric yellow eyes kept trailing behind one of the riders, interested in them as he saw how they did another high jump. Malleus hums, interest flashing in his green eyes as he keeps a close eye on the riders handing out flowers. Rollo gave a suitable nod to one of the riders, who understood immediately as she galloped towards them. 

“Welcome to the City of Flowers! May your visit here be one to remember!” Handing Azul, Jamil, Ruggie, and Riddle a red rose, she made her way towards Deuce, Silver, Malleus, Yuu, and Grim. “Here you go! A flower to represent an everlasting friendship.” Each one of them got a yellow rose. After she finished handing them one, she moved on to the next group. 

“Rollo, we got word of the last guest that was supposed to be the chaperon for both NRC and RSA.” Whispered Eliott to his right, a tablet in his hands. Pulling away from your figure, he gestures at him to continue. “He will be arriving in around ten to twenty minutes, there has been a delay with his trip but he should be able to make it before the ceremony comes to an end.”

Profesor Mozus Trein, he had volunteered to be the chaperon for both schools, however, he couldn’t be there when Rollo had gone to greet the students. Apparently, he had some issues with his familiar that he couldn’t ignore. “When did you receive the notification?”

“About twelve minutes ago.” Eliott responded after checking his tablet. Rollo nods, “Send one of the members from the student council to go wait for him at the magic mirror. It shouldn’t be long before he arrives.” 

“Alright, I’ll send Catherine then.” Typing away in his tablet, Eliott turned to Jules and began discussing the next planned events they had for their guests. Rollo went back to look at you, however, he noticed that someone else had their eye on you. 

Malleus Draconia

The fae prince had a small gentle smile (it would have looked sadistic to anyone else) as he gazed at you. Something aching to tenderness flashed in his deep green eyes. Rollo felt himself sneer and quickly covered his lower face with his handkerchief. Something ugly twisted in his chest, it made him feel bitter. 

Suddenly, your eyes met him and you beamed at him like you always have. And in an instant, the feeling vanished as it was replaced with gentle warmth. You raised your hand, excitedly waving at him, the sun casting warm rays to your face, illuminating your natural beauty even further. He felt himself smiling like a fool, and without even noticing, he had raised his hand in a half waive. 

That seemed to boost up your energy as your face flushed pink and a dazzling smile covered your face in pure joy. Guiding Snowflake towards the other set of obstacles, he watched as you ran with your other four clubmates, more energy in each movement than before. 

Someone hummed cheerly in his left ear, startling him. Turning to face the cause of the sound, he almost shrieked as the floating head of Chen'ya greeted him. The cat beastman chuckles, a smile too wide for his face breaks out as the rest of his body appears before him. “Why dear president~ I had no clue you had a lover performing. I wonder, is that why you were in such a hurry to get us here?”

Something about the tone Chenya used was getting on his nerves. It may have been the teasing tilt or the obvious mockery, either way Rollo didn’t like it. Glaring at the cat, he simply turns to face the performance. “She is simply a friend of mine, it’s her first time performing and she wanted me to be here.”

“Mmm, my, my, friends?” Leaning in further, the purple haired boy hums. “Are you sure that is all you feel for the little birdy?” 

“I don’t know what you are insinuating.” 

Leaning back, the cat gives him a shit eating grin. “I am just saying, if you don’t act quick, a little dragon may steal that birdy from you.” At the implication, Rollo feels a wave of anger hit him. Before he could respond back, Riddle had reached forwards and pulled Chenya by the collar of his sweater. “Chenya! What have I told you about instigating fights?!”

The cat laughs, “Sorry, sorry, I just wanted to have a nice little chat with the president.” He looked anything but sorry. Frowning, he gave the boy a pointed look. “I would appreciate it if you don’t stick your nose where it doesn't belong.” His voice was so cold that it even startled Riddle.

“I apologize on his behalf, Rollo. I will make sure this doesn't happen again.” Pulling the boy away from the white haired boy, Riddle once again offers another apology and walks away with Chenya, scolding him about manners. 

“Honestly, who does he think he is…” He mumbles slowly under his breath. Huffing, he goes back to watching the performance, yet the words Chenya spoke to him bounced inside his mind. Without thinking, he glances towards Malleus. The fae was staring at another rider, but his eyes flickered to you every once in a while. 

Shaking his head, Rollo tried to rationalize that Malleus simply looked at you like that because he may have never seen people perform with horses until today. He reeked of child amazement the longer he looked at the performers. 

Nothing more, nothing less.

_____

Blot, blot, blot…

Staggering at the sudden vision, you lean on Snowflake for balance. The horse huffs as if concerned and stops moving once you reach the stables. Blinking away the blurriness, you swore you had seen black ink drop right in front of you and into a puddle. 

“What the hell…” You mumbled, head feeling a little fuzzy. “Hey, you alright [name]?” Asked one of your clubmates. Her blue eyes glancing at you with worry. Giving her a strained smile, you nod. “Yeah, just a little thirsty. Don’t worry, I will get some water before the last performance.” She doesn't look convinced but nods nonetheless. 

Guiding Snowflake into one of the stables with water, you leave him there and go to your changing room in order to take a break before the next performance. 

_____

Yuu blinks away the wave of dizziness he suddenly has. Grim yelps as he is almost dropped to the ground the moment Yuu stagers forward. Deuce, who was next to him, manages to steady him before he could fall to the ground. “Whoa! You alright?!” Asked his blue haired friend, eyes glancing at him with concern.

Epel helps him settle Yuu in one of the nearby chairs, his baby blue eyes looking just as concerned as he felt. Waving them away, he gives them his best convincing smile. “I-I’m fine, it's probably just the heat of the sun mixed with the excitement of the crowd.” 

It wasn’t the full truth, but he couldn’t tell them why he had almost fainted. Deuce and Epel share a look, “Have you gotten enough sleep prefect?” Said Deuce, eyeing him cautiously. “Or did you barely sleep because of the excitement of going on this trip?” Added Epel while giving him the same look.

“He actually woke up pretty early.” Grim finally spoke from his position on the ground. Both boys turn to look at him and Yuu glances away with a wince. He had another weird dream, the usual ones he had when someone was about to overblot. He had tried to piece it together to figure out who may be the next victim. 

But the dream didn’t fit anyone on campus. 

And now that he had another vision, this one showing the blot accumulation, he was sure that the person who would overblot wasn’t from his school or RSA. His brown eyes glanced at Rollo, Jules, and Eliott. The three of them huddled in a circle, looking at something Eliott was showing them. Yuu had a hunch that this time, the victim was going to be one of them.

And if his hunch was correct, it may be Rollo.

Yuu had no clue what Chenya had told the third year, but it must have struck a nerve if even Riddle flinched at the tone Rollo had used. No one had seen the interaction, and Yuu had only managed to witness it when he noticed that Chenya and Riddle were not next to him as they had been moments prior. 

“Yeah…I was excited for the trip and ended up waking earlier than planned. I couldn’t go to sleep after that.” Yuu laughed awkwardly as he rubbed the back of his neck. Epel shook his head, “Ya need to take care of yourself prefect.” Yuu chuckles but nods along. 

Looking towards the left, he sees Malleus looking at the place where the performance had taken place. A far away look in his green eyes. He wondered what he was thinking about. Shrugging, he went back to focusing on Deuce and Epel, both talking about the tricks the horses had done. 

Yuu prayed that he was wrong about the next blot victim.

____________________________________________________________

Info on the event:

In this au, the festival has a tradition in where five different color jesters will appear and take two people before the opening ceremony begins

The five color jesters are called hunters

The judge mentioned is not related to Frollo, it will make more sense once I post the other chapter as to why they call the reader 'judge'

In case you haven't figured it out, yes Rollo will be overblotting

Neige and Chen'ya will be more included in this au

Eliott and Jules like tormenting people

Fun fact, did yall know that Frollo's horse's name was Snowball, I decided to use that in my favor

[blackbird-brewster]

How about Alex/Emily and Summer Treats combined with Sensation Play???

I had already done Sensation Play, so this went into a different prompt. Thanks for the request!

Make You Melt

Emily/Alex || Rated: T || WC: 730 Fills: Teasing (for @cmkinkbingo2024) and Summer Treats (for @storiesofsvu bday bingo)

[Read on AO3] || || [Kink Bingo Masterlist]

Emily frantically licked the side of her ice cream cone to prevent it from getting all over her hand, but it was clearly a losing battle.

Alex watched her with an affectionate smile. "How's that working out for you?"

Emily realised how ridiculous she must look, practically making out with her double scoop. She wiped her mouth with a napkin. "Not great, if I'm being honest."

"I told you to get it in a cup," Alex replied, lifting her own in the air.

"The cone is the best part."

Alex raised an eyebrow as another perfectly timed drip of Emily's melting scoops ran down her hand before falling onto her shirt.

"Shit!" Emily licked around the cone to try and stave off anymore accidents as she tried to clean her shirt. She awkwardly juggled her cone and a napkin while Alex sat across from her laughing. "Stop laughing. This is brand new!"

Alex licked the corner of a clean napkin and reached over the blot the stain in the middle of her shirt, her fingers lingered a moment, softly rubbing Emily's breast through the fabric. Her eyes flicked up to meet Emily's again, "Good to see all these years later, you're still such a dirty girl."

Just like that, Emily was melting quicker than the ice cream in her hand. "Alex."

"Yes, Emily?" Alex asked innocently.

"That was a one time thing."

Alex took another bite, making a show of tonguing ever bit of ice cream from her spoon. "If you say so."

Emily lowered her voice. "We can't."

"Who says?"

"Me! I say!" Emily argued. "It's not the same now, back then I was just visiting. It was a one night stand. Now, I'm the Unit Chief, I can't go around sleeping with BAU team members anymore."

The corners of Alex's lips turned upwards ever-so-slightly. "I'm not even with the bureau anymore, Chief."

Emily rolled her eyes. "You know what I meant."

"How long has it been since you got laid?" Alex replied without missing a beat.

"I-- I, well --"

"That's what I thought," Alex chuckled.

"That's not the point!"

"Isn't it?"

"No!" Emily snapped. "This," she gestured back and forth between them, "isn't going to happen."

Alex leaned back in her chair casually, basically undressing Emily with her eyes as the slowly moved up her body until they met her gaze again. "Whatever you say."

They stared at each other intently as a silent challenge of power simmered between them. Emily refused to even blink, she was not going to yield to this argument, not this time. Sure, the one night stand they had years ago was enjoyable, or rather it was amazing, but it couldn't happen again. Emily had only moved back and taken up UC a month ago, last thing she needed was to create a scandal.

In her determination to win their little staring contest, Emily had completely forgotten about the ice cream in her hand. Alex, however, had not. She'd been watching the entire time as it melted down Emily's hand and arm.

"Well, alright, since you're so sure." Alex shrugged and stood up, seemingly giving up on her invitation. She tossed her trash in the bin behind Emily and used the proximity to lean into her ear, "But, five-bucks says your cunt is dripping just as much your arm right now."

The timbre of her voice made the hairs on the back of Emily's neck bristle as an undeniable wave of arousal settled between her legs. The reminder also finally brought her attention to the disaster in her hand. She threw the cone and remaining ice cream in the trash. She tried to use her already dirty napkin in an attempt to clean herself up, to little success.

She groaned and looked back up to Alex, who was still waiting expectantly. "Dammit, at this point I just need a shower."

"You already know from experience that mine is big enough for two," Alex grinned.

Emily shook her head with an affection sigh. She fished out $5 from her wallet and handed it over to Alex. "It's not fair how hot you are when you're so fucking smug."

"It's my special talent," Alex said, tucking the money into her bra. She offered her arm for Emily to take with her clean side. As soon as she'd accepted the gesture, Alex pressed a kiss to her temple. "Good girl."

[cup1dt3a]

How does the 1st year ob look like? I mean, what outfit/accessories are they wearing?

So basically I am actually working on some concepts for this but here are a few I have came up with. Hope you like them! I didn’t do a full design due to a time limit and art block please forgive me.

Adeuce duo they basically have the markings of their respective card suits on their head. Their markings downward are kind of like helmets too. But they both still have the heart/spade on the corners of their eyes.

With Aces overal design I had wanted it to be like a jerster and soldier like outfit. Because I had loved the traitor Ace theorys and some particular designs of his ob form had stood out to me a lot. But I had taken a lot of inspiration from the card soldiers from Alice in wonderland a lot.

With Deuce I wanted his more delinquent side to show throughout his appearance. Because his delinquent years were a big part in his life. A part that he tries to repress so I just thought what if he hadn’t changed? What if he was just very impulsive and didn’t hold back his tounge on snarky comments like Ace. So I have just been looking for the most grunge and delinquent styles I could find for him. His messy hair was kept since he probably doesn’t care that much for appearances. I had given him chains as his neck mark and to surround him. Because of his gangster persona and as a symbol of the weight of guilt he carries from seeing how upset his poor mother was. Not even bothering to change his ways because he was too deep into it and went “ FUCK GRANDMA!”

Epel like deuce would be a menace. For he must have a lot of built up gender dysphoria and hatred from always being called a girl. Even after constantly stating it to others only for them to still call him girly. So I wanted to give him a very delinquent-y look along with a long cloak since he is obviously inspired by the old lady queen? I forgot the name but anyways I wanted you to convey that through giving him a more intimating and messy look to convey how manly he is. Along with the fact he doesn’t care for his appearance either and is just a messy and chaotic farm boy. His blot markings are very similar to Vil’s but extremely messy and he has splashed markings everywhere on him.

Jack I am not too sure for his reasons of overblotting. Because sure you could have a good supportive family and childhood but still have issues. So I’d say that he maybe overused his powers to a point he had overblotted. But he is an obvious leader of the group due to him always keeping them in check. So I’d see his overblot form showing his animalistic side a lot more. Id keep his little shark tooth? Or fang necklace. But adding more fur onto him for a more animalistic look. Along with his very complex hair being more disheveled to add to his blot form looking very over worked. I’ve added the three scratches on his nose because of Leona.

Sebek… it’s just very obvious that he was bullied as a child for being half human. Due to Briar Valleys rarity of humans being there so he probably would have occasionally been bullied or felt different from the rest of the kids there. This would result in his self hatred. So his adoration for malleus besides his strength and other admirable characteristics would probably also be because he’s living perfection in his eyes. So his human racism would be at its max! But his loyalty to Malleus would still shine throughout his design because of how devoted he is to him. So most of his outfit would contain little accessories similar to malleus but expressed in Sebeks own unique way. Along with his reptilian looks shining through so he would most definitely have many inky and real scales around his face and body. Kinda like freckles for example.

I haven’t gotten his yet due to running out of time but still hopefully you all enjoyed this and are having a good day/ have your day get better! Sincerely Cup1d T3a💕

@simping-on-the-daily Got you some food!