#advanced hopefully if its offered

[sanguineterrain]

Kurt wagner and tail stuff!!! I love that boy! I love how you write! I love the tail! Smashing them together we got a a little piece of heaven! So Kurt wagner with s/o and some tail action pretty please!!

(Like if you need some more then that: for example, the times before they were together Kurt’s tail always seemed to gravitate towards reader (I’m an advocate that Kurt’s tail is like a fricking mood ring) wrapping around them, touching them. The times when they were together! And the time reader wraps their hand or something around his tail or something)

Love your writing! You’re awesome and amazing! And I want to say in advance, thank you so so much for doing this ask! I will treasure it dearly! And if you don’t do the ask then thank you so so much to taking the time to read it! Have a lovely day!

ouuu this is a sweet request <3 tail boy! thanks nonnie :) hopefully I did him justice 🫶 changed the request a bit but kept the same idea about the tail. may write a part 2... we'll see!

kurt wagner (nightcrawler) x gn!reader. fluff, cooking, gambit and rogue trying to talk some sense into the reader.

note: I tried to capture kurt and gambit's accents. however, as always, I'm open to feedback on them. It's definitely not my intention to offend or miswrite anyone!

****

The smell of bubbling cheese wafts from your pot as you stir. It's been a while since you were able to cook for yourself and have a nice meal, always running out to do something or another for the good of the planet.

"Smells good," comes a familiar voice. A moment later, a tail curls around your wrist as you shake some paprika into the pot.

You look away from your stirring into golden, irisless eyes. Kurt grins at you.

"Mac 'n cheese," you say by way of greeting. "Want some?"

"Please und thank you."

Anytime you cook, you offer Kurt to share. You frequently have the thought that you spoil the hell out of him, but you can't help it.

He helps you out by putting away the milk and cheese. But he's never far; his tail remains on you. It slackens from your wrist, then explores up your arm and around your elbow.

It's nothing new, of course. The first thing you learned about Kurt Wagner is how physically affectionate he is.

"That tail seems to have a mind of its own, elfie," you say, smiling down at the pot.

"What do you mean?"

"It's always holding onto me." You turn off the burner.

"Ah." Kurt drops his tail. "My apologies. I can ease up, as you say."

You shake your head. "Don't. I don't mind. Never have."

So Kurt gives you one final tail squeeze. The fur on his arm tickles you as he brushes past. You watch him in confusion.

"Where are you going?" you ask, halfway through scooping two servings of the pasta.

"Not far," he says brightly. "Jean wanted me to bring spoons from the kitchen." He holds up three metal spoons with his tail.

"Spoons?"

He shrugs. "An experiment. Who am I to question a scientist's whim? I promise I will be fast."

He teleports away, and you have a mind to cover Kurt's bowl with a plate. You bring both bowls to the table. At last, a proper meal.

You don't mind eating alone, but that hardly ever happens with Kurt around. Even if he's just eaten, he'll nibble on whatever you've made. You don't know where he puts all that food—perhaps in another dimension—but he makes it a point to eat with you, regardless of whether you've cooked or not. Even if you're in the middle of the forest eating a tin of beans, Kurt will plant himself right next to you and keep you company.

He's a good friend. The best friend you've ever had, actually.

"Woo, smells good!"

Gambit comes in first, followed by Rogue, since the two are never seen apart anymore. Gambit, nosy that he is, makes a beeline to Kurt's covered bowl.

"And what's in here?" he asks, lifting the plate.

"That's Kurt's," you say. "You can get some from the pot."

"Mais, it's Kurt's, huh?" He glances at Rogue, who grins. "Hear that, chère? Not sure if I should take from the pot. Might take my head, too."

You squint as they share laughter. "What're you talking about?"

"Oh, nothin'," Rogue says sweetly, taking the seat diagonal to you. Gambit sits next to her.

Your frown deepens. "I didn't say you couldn't have some, G, I just—"

Gambit shakes his head. "Don't go worryin' 'bout that. I'm just teasin'. I think it's cute how you feed the furball."

"Excuse me, I feed myself first," you say, and shovel a forkful of pasta into your mouth.

You hate not being in the know. It happens frequently, being that you're not a mutant. You're here on a personal invitation from Charles due to your "technology skills."

Really, you'd been brought here to fix Cerebro. And after that, you'd sort of just... stayed at the school. Charles had offered you a room, Kurt had won your friendship (or, perhaps, you'd won his), and you'd never left.

"Well, what do you mean, anyway? So what if I feed Kurt," you say, unable to stand not knowing.

"Just seems like where you are, Kurt's never far," Rogue says, watching you eat.

"Yeah, so? He's my friend."

"Oh, un ami. Is that what we're callin' it?" Gambit asks, eyes gleaming with mirth.

"What else would you call it?"

They look at each other in that Siamese cats way. Often, you've had the thought that they can read each other's minds—no powers needed.

"You really don't know?" Rogue asks, voice softening.

"Know what?" you ask impatiently.

Gambit makes a quiet noise in his throat. "Y'all don't know. He's gone on you."

Your brows rise. "Kurt? Don't be silly, Remy."

"Oh, great. You're both in denial," Rogue says, rolling her eyes. "Haven't you noticed how touchy he is around ya? Always huggin' and clingin'."

"Kurt's like that with everybody," you say. "He's like that with Logan!"

"Mais, the tail, it never lies," Gambit says with all the wisdom of someone centuries older. "He don't go wrappin' that tail 'round anybody."

Rogue nods sagely. "True. And he's always puttin' that tail around you."

"But he's..." You put your fork down in frustration. "That's ridiculous. Kurt would've said—I mean, there would've been a sign. He would've told me. Kurt doesn't hide anything from me."

"This is new for him, honey," Rogue says. "He's never been in love for real. He's not gonna act rationally."

"Alors, look at it this way. La Raison parle, mais l'Amour chante. Hm? His body betray his words. It sings to you. Jus' like I sing to ma cherie."

He reaches to take Rogue's hand, eyes practically heart-shaped. Rogue lets him, smiling in that secret, shy way of hers whenever Gambit is sweet on her.

L'Amour...

"Kurt is not in love with me," you say. "End of story."

They both heave sighs.

"Just watch his tail," Rogue says. "Kurt can hide a lot, but he can't control how he—"

BAMF!

You flinch as Kurt teleports into the kitchen. He grins and waves, then bounces around the table to greet the others.

"I'm back!" he says. "I hope my mac did not get cold. Will you be eating with us?"

"No, that's okay," Rogue says, looking at you meaningfully behind Kurt's back. "Rain check. We've gotta go train."

Gambit winks at you. "See y'all."

They disappear quickly. Kurt turns to you, blissfully unaware of your newly formed nerves.

"I am sorry I was gone for so long," Kurt says, sitting down to his bowl. "Jean had some questions about my abilities. Apparently, she's trying to replicate them in a machine."

"That's okay," you say. "Rogue and G kept me company."

Kurt beams. "They are so good for that, yes?"

He shovels a mouthful of mac 'n cheese into his mouth and groans in appreciation. His tail instantly curls around your wrist.

"Amazing!" Kurt says. "Perhaps your special ability is your cooking, hm? I would believe it."

You laugh. "Danke, elfie."

"Bitte schön," he says, eyes lighting up at your German. He frequently informs everyone about how good your German is becoming, even though you hardly know ten phrases.

His tail begins to stroke your arm. You wonder if he's aware of it. If he knows how his tail betrays him.

But no, that's outrageous. And even if it was true, it's not like the feeling's mutual, right?

"Oh, and," Kurt says. "I got us tickets to that show you wanted to see. They're playing it at the theater downtown. We can go on Saturday, ja?"

"You... oh. Wow. I told you about that ages ago, Kurt. You remembered?"

"Why wouldn't I?" he says, tilting his head. Like it hadn't occurred to him to be anything less than thoughtful.

"No, I'm just—thank you. That's really nice of you."

Kurt beams. "I am excited to watch the green witch und her pink friend sing!"

He keeps eating, unaware of the way he's made your world tip on its axis. Because now you know.

You're in love with Kurt Wagner. And the feeling just might be mutual.

[peachessndreamss]

Wolfswood

Summery : Cregan receives an injury while out hunting, his wife cares for him

Characters : Cregan Stark x f!wife reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings : Cannon typical injury and first aid/wound care, cannon typical hunting

Word count : 4k

A/N : Cregan Stark I love yooou. Also, apologies in advance if this is the most boring thing you've ever read.

Winter had arrived with devastating speed and brutality in the North. The first heavy snowfall had destroyed the last remaining crops left out in the fields and the woodpiles stacked as high as two men and just as wide had looked like enough to see them through two winters but soon began to deplete at an alarming rate. 

And when a great boar had been sighted at the edge of the Wolfswood, Lord Cregan Stark quickly called the men of his house to a hunt, knowing it was better to find the creature now and make use of it rather than let it be starved by the winter. 

They had set out in the pre-dawn, 10 men of House Stark, wrapped in layers of leather, wool and fur, mounted on the most surefooted horses the Winterfell stables had to offer. Lord Stark rode at the front of the group, his steward and close friend Martyn Snow riding beside him, the two of them talking as they disappeared from sight. 

Once in the Wolfswood Lord Stark had led the hunt, first on horseback as they tracked the creature deeper into the cover of the dense wood and then on foot, when the terrain had become too dangerous for the horses and the boar needed to be harried out of its hiding place.

Cregan had been moving slowly north, stepping over tangles of brambles and avoiding tree roots thicker than his thighs, the men of the group formed a large crescent shape as they moved slowly, hopefully driving the animal toward a clearing. One of the men at the end of the line gave a sharp whistle to indicate the group should stop, instinctively his head moved toward the sound and in that split second of distraction Cregan missed the rustling of dead leaves and the heavy breathing of an animal charging. 

The great tusk of the boar gored his left thigh. Cutting deeply through the skin to the muscle beneath, bright red blood immediately falling to the leaves at his feet. The power of the blow from the animal knocked him off his feet and sent him slamming into the cold ground, the back of his head knocking hard against a tree root. The metallic stink of blood filled his nose as shouts went up from the men of the household, they abandoned the hunt and gathered around their injured lord. 

“Get the beast,” was all he managed to say before the wintery sunlight faded from his view and he wasn't aware of pain or cold anymore. 

Lady Stark watched the hunting party return from the covered walkway between the Great Keep and the Armory. She expected to see Cregan leading the party, a triumphant smile on his cold reddened face with the great beast slung over the back of his stallion. 

Instead it was Cregan's steward, Martyn, who galloped in at the front of the procession, his horse wet with sweat, its nostrils flaring as it snorted. The animals rider didn’t look much better, the steward’s face was fearful and the same colour as the bark of the weirwood tree, his pale brown leather jerkin was darkened with blood. 

“My lady,” he called when he saw her watching, “Lord Stark’s been hur’, cut by the boar. Please send for the maester,” 

His words caused a lump of ice to form in her stomach, chilling her from her heart outward. There was always a risk when the men went hunting, and more often than not her husband returned home with some small injury or another but this had to have been serious. As she dashed into the Great Keep she caught sight of a wagon being drawn by two great horses, on the bed of the wagon a tangle of fur and blood, she fought a wave of nausea at the sight and ducked inside the keep. 

Her feet were light and silent as she reached the maester’s chambers, not bothering to knock on the old man’s door she threw it open with a crash. 

The maester was startled by her sudden interruption, jumping up from his stool at the desk with surprising speed and agility for a man who was nearing 70. He opened his mouth, ready to scold whoever had so rudely burst into his rooms, but his words died on his lips. 

“Lord Stark’s been injured in the hunt,” she said, praying her voice didn't waver and give away the fear that was gripping her throat like a claw. 

“Injured how?” The maester replied, moving toward the large wooden sideboard that dominated the room. On the shelves were jars, bottles and boxes containing every substance needed by a maester, and probably a few they didn’t need as well. 

“Gored, I don't know where, they've just arrived back, please come now,” she said firmly, not willing to keep Cregan waiting. 

The maester nodded and gathered his heavy leather case from the side, the bag was filled with sharp tools and simple herbs and mixtures for most every day healing.  He followed behind Lady Stark as she led them to the undercroft of the Great Keep, where there was a great deal of noise and disruption. 

The undercroft was a dark, cool, enclosed space usually used for storage, most days it would only see one or two visitors but now it was alive as men lit torches around the walls while others heaved Cregan’s limp form onto the huge oak table that sat in the centre of the space. They stripped him out of his blood soaked outer clothes and left him lying in his linen shirt and woollen trousers. 

The left leg of his trousers was ripped open at the mid thigh, revealing a 5 inch gash, skin and muscle had been torn apart and glistened dark red. A tourniquet above the wound had stopped most of the bleeding but his face was ghostly pale and his lips an unhealthy shade of blue. 

Lady Stark moved slowly toward the head of the table where Cregan’s closed eyes made him look almost peaceful, the maester went straight to the wound and began cutting away at his trousers. 

“Has he been talking?” he asked as he began to inspect the wound more closely. 

“A little, but he was unconscious for a minute or so after it happened,” the steward replied, standing by Cregran’s right hip, wringing his hands together. 

“Hello my love,” Lady Stark said softly, brushing her hand over his forehead, willing herself not to fall to her knees and weep when she felt how cold his skin was. 

His grey eyes fluttered open and blinked slowly, trying to bring his wife’s face into focus, the world around him seemed to shift violently, left and right, up and down but her warm hand on top of his head held him steady. 

“Now, what have you been up to?” she asked softly, as if addressing one of their children. 

Cregan’s whole left leg throbbed painfully and his stomach roiled with nausea, he swallowed once, finding his mouth and throat dry. 

“It's barely a scratch,” he croaked. Lady Stark gave a small huff that might have been out of amusement and stroked her fingers over the crown of his head. 

“‘Tis a dreadful looking scratch,” she replied, “still, the maester’s here now,”. 

Cregan hissed with the pain as the maester applied a green tinged ointment to the wound. Sweat broke out all over his body and he felt his hands start to tremble. 

“Did they get the beast?” Cregan asked, once the initial wave of pain had passed and faded back into a constant throb. 

Lady Stark glanced at Martyn who gave a small nod of his head. 

“Of course, and you shall have the beast's head for your chambers if you want”. 

He gave what appeared to be a weak nod before closing his eyes again and taking a deep breath. Cregan had known pain before but dislocated shoulders, broken bones and the sharp bite of Valyrian steel were nothing compared to this. 

At his thigh the maester had soaked a small piece of linen in a clear, strong smelling substance that he placed over the wound before tightly wrapping a clean bandage before removing the tourniquet tied high up his thigh. As the blood was allowed to flow back into the lower leg the colour returned to the skin but there were no signs of excessive bleeding at the wound. The maeester turned his attention to Lady Stark. 

“It’s as clean a cut as we can expect from a tusk, most importantly there’s no sign of dirt within, I have great faith that it will heal well,” the maester explained, wiping his hands on a clean piece of linen that was tucked into the belt at his waist. 

“I'll go to my rooms now and make a poultice to fight infection and in the meantime he can be moved to his rooms to ensure he's comfortable,” he added. 

With a small nod from Lady Stark the men still standing around the room went into action, they brought a stretcher and carefully moved Cregan from the table to the stretcher. He was then carried slowly through the Keep and up to his rooms. The masters chambers were the largest but the least used within the Great Keep, Cregan and his wife favoured the smaller but warmer Lady’s chambers, especially as they were the closest rooms to the children’s rooms. 

Once he was settled on the bed she sent for two bowls of water and a cloth before stripping him of the last remaining pieces of clothing. Unable to lift him from the bed to get his shirt over his head she cut the fabric straight up the middle with a small knife, pushing the two halves over his chest and cutting the sleeves apart to expose his arms. She also had to cut away what was left of his trousers, finding some of the material stuck to his skin with blood. 

Once he was as bare as the day he’d been born she soaked the cloth in warm water and set about washing him. Somehow the blood had managed to get up to his neck and down to the bottom of his left foot. She started at his neck, watching as droplets of reddened water ran down onto his chest and collected in the dark mess of curls that started at his collar bone, completely covered his chest and then funnelled into a thick strip that ran all the way down his stomach to the apex of his thighs.  

“I swear you're more beast than man sometimes,” she said softly as she dabbed at his chest, lifting the blood from his skin and hair. 

“It's the wolf in me,” he replied softly. 

Her head snapped towards his face, she’d had no idea he was awake and seeing his soft gaze on her face brought a wave of emotion flooding through her body. The usual surge of love she felt whenever she looked at him, intense relief at seeing his cheeks a healthy flushed colour after how deathly pale he’d looked before and bubbling anger brought on by the extreme fear that still sat in her stomach like a block of ice. 

“The wolf couldn't smell the boar sneaking up on you?” She asked as she felt tears burn her eyes. Cregan offered her a small, reassuring smile. 

“The wolf is more,” he paused a second while he thought, “passive...”. 

Unable to resist him, Lady Stark felt herself smiling and the two of them shared a laugh before she continued to wash him, revealing the pale skin under the dark curls and dried blood. 

“You're lucky it wasn’t more serious,” she said softly as she wrung the red water out of the cloth into a mostly empty bowl before dipping the cloth back into clean water, “if it’d caught on the inside of your leg you'd have been dead before they got you home,” she added, an icy edge to her voice as the fear that had gripped her throat now throbbed behind her eyes. 

“But I wasn't,” he placated gently, reaching out and taking hold of her wrist as she dabbed at his stomach.

“I'm fine,” he added when he noticed the tears gathering in her eyes and the angry wobble of her bottom lip. 

She snatched the hand from his, throwing the cloth into the bowl of clean water at her feet. The water splashed up, catching the skirt of her dress. 

“And what if you weren't? What if you weren’t fine?  Your son is barely 9 months old Cregan, do you expect me to hold the entire North until he comes of age? Fighting off every grasping lord from The Wall to Dorne trying to get to him and steal his birthright?” An angry tear tracked down her cheek.

“I cannot be regent, Cregan, I cannot be here without you,”. 

He reached out again and took hold of her balled first at the wrist, bringing her hand towards his face, pressing a soft kiss to her curled fingers. 

“And nor will you be,” he said softly, his lips still touching her fingers, “you and I are going to grow very old together, so old they write songs about us when we're all but turned to dust,”. 

She gave a small, watery laugh through her tears and pulled her hand out of his again. 

“Now you're just placating me,” she said, reaching into the bowl for the cloth and ringing it out. 

“Of course I am,” he replied with a smile, stretching his right arm up and settling it behind his head, the bend in his arm causing his muscle to flex and bulge under his skin. Were it not for the bandage around his leg he would have looked as if he was just relaxing for the evening. 

“I understand well that my most important duty is keeping you happy,”. 

Lady Stark scoffed at him and returned to the gentle washing of his stomach. A small smile tugging up the corners of his lips as he watched her tending to him so carefully. He'd been in a fair few scrapes before this one and was always happy to be tended to by his wife, the mixture of her gentle hand and sharp words always made him feel better. 

“Am I permitted to say how I'm enjoying your undivided attention?” He asked. 

“You may not say it” she replied, flicking her eyes to his face and catching him grinning at her. 

“I shall just think it then,”. 

They both fell into a tense silence as her cloth inched closer to the bandaged wound. The maester had said he would come by later that day to stitch the wound closed once it had time to dry and he could be certain there was no rot. Sweat broke out across his body as her gentle touch began to feel like needles piercing his skin, he kept his jaw firmly shut, unwilling to let a single sound of pain pass his lips.

“Would you take something for the pain?” She asked, not needing to hear him cry out to know he was in great discomfort, she wrang the cloth out again wetted it with clean water again. 

“I would rather keep my wits,” he replied, his voice strained. 

“Then perhaps a little when we’re finished and you can rest?” She pressed. She knew he disliked the effects of milk of the poppy but seeing him in such pain made her heart ache. 

“Perhaps,” he nodded before pressing his lips tightly closed, redoubling his efforts to stay silent.

She finished his bed bath at his left foot, cleaning the dried blood from the bottom of his toes and the ball of his foot. And all the pain that had passed before paled in comparison to the agony he felt as her hands gently tended the most ticklish part of his body. He fought with every ounce of willpower to stay still and not curl his toes and kick his foot out of her hands. 

Once finished she rung the cloth out one final time before standing and carrying the two bowls of water across the room and setting them aside to be cleared away later. 

“Will you sleep for a while? She asked him, moving back toward him and running her hand over his forehead before drawing a soft woollen blanket over his nakedness. 

Cregan nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted and wanting nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep until the dawn of the summer. 

“Alright, will you take a little milk of the poppy?” she asked.

He nodded again, opening one of his eyes to peek at her face. 

“And a kiss to sweeten it?” He asked, letting the corners of his lips quirk up just a touch. 

She laughed softly, taking the small bottle of white milky liquid from the table beside their bed. She unstopped it and helped him lift his head off the pillow, she held the bottle to his lips while he took a small swallow before dropping his head back onto the pillow with his eyes closed. 

“And to make it sweet,” she said, bending and pressing her lips to his. 

As she stood he opened his eyes again although she could already see he was fighting the effects of the milk of the poppy. 

“Kiss the babies for me as well?” he asked. 

“Of course,” she replied, stroking his forehead again and watching his eyes close as he finally gave in and allowed himself to be dragged into a dreamless sleep. 

She watched him for a few minutes, keeping an eye on the steady ride and fall of his broad chest. In sleep he always appeared to be younger, his features softened as sleep took away the worries and the duties he carried on his shoulders every day. 

Once she was happy he would sleep for a while and there was nothing else she could do for him, Lady Stark went in search of Martyn the steward, she knew he would be worried and was waiting for news of his lord and friend. 

She found him outside the stables, running a brush over Cregan’s stallion. 

“Is he alright?” Martyn asked as she approached him. There was a panicked edge to his voice and his face betrayed his worries. 

“He'll be fine,” she soothed with a nod, “he's made of strong stuff,” she added as she placed a comforting hand on his forearm. 

“I'm sorry he was hurt, my lady,” he said, already looking lighter knowing Cregan was alright. 

“You've nothing to be sorry for, he's a man grown and it's his own fault if he doesn't hear a boar sneaking up on him,” she said, making her voice playful and teasing. 

“I'll pray for him,” the steward said, returning to brushing the huge grey horse that stood patiently in front of him.

“Thank you, I know he'll appreciate that,”. 

She stayed talking to the steward a little longer, the two of them discussing how to make the best of the creature that’d been killed that morning. The sky was quickly darkening and the air turning colder by the minute, although no new snow had fallen that day there was a crisp smell of it on the air and dark, heavy clouds covered the sky, threatening a heavy snowfall that night. 

She left Martyn to his final tasks for the day and returned to The Great Keep, she went first to the nursery to look in on their children. The eldest, Aly, was playing on the floor with her nurse, the two of them racing carved wooden animals across the floor. She paid no attention to her mother when she entered the room, too caught up in her game, while their son slept in his cradle. 

She lifted the boy from his crib and carried him to a chair beside the fire where she sat, focusing on nothing other than the small sound of his breathing and the tiny movements as his chest expanded and contracted with every breath. 

After a few minutes Aly got up from her spot on the carpet, her wooden horse still clutched tightly in her small hand as she walked toward her mother. 

“Where's papa?” She asked, coming to stand beside the chair, reaching out her own empty hand to take her mothers. 

“Resting, the men went hunting this morning, do you remember?”. 

“Will he put me to bed?” Aly asked, letting the toy horse drop from her hand with a small thud. 

“Not tonight, I can do it tonight,” Lady Stark replied. 

The girl sighed heavily, like she'd received some truly dreadful news, her small shoulders slumping. 

“But Papa tells the best bedtime stories,”. 

“I know he does, and I’m sure he’ll have a very special one for you tomorrow night,”. 

After another heavy sigh Aly climbed up into the chair with her mother and younger brother, curling into Lady Starks chest and closing her eyes. The girl found a loose thread on the bodice of her mothers dress and begin to twist it around her finger, in a few minutes she too has slipped off to sleep. 

The warm weight of her children soothed the Lady’s fractured nerves, this wasn't the first time her husband had returned home injured, his body was a tapestry of scars, each one she'd lovingly touched and kissed in turn, learning his scars as closely as a traveller learns a map. 

When she heard the first spatterings of wet snow from the nursery window Lady Stark decided it was time for her to look in on her patient. Calling the nurse over and letting the young woman take the sleeping girl from her lap. 

“Let her sleep a few more minutes, then wake her or she’ll never sleep tonight,” Lady Stark instructed as she stood and carried her small son back to his crib. 

“And I'll be back to feed this one once I've looked in on Lord Stark,” she added, lowering him into the cradle and watching as he settled. 

The nurse nodded and smiled softly as she lowered Aly onto her day bed, covering the girl with a soft embroidered blanket. 

Cregan didn’t stir when the heavy oak doors of his chambers were opened and his lady wife stepped inside, she paused, watching him for a few moments to see that his condition was unchanged, the only difference was that he’d thrown the blanket off his body and was now lying naked, his whole body exposed to the cool air. Moving toward him she noticed his breathing was still easy and his cheeks were a healthy colour. She touched the back of her hand to his cheek and then his forehead. 

At her touch his eyes flicked open and he blinked slowly as the world around him came into focus. He made a small sound of approval that rumbled up deep from his chest as his eyes focused on his wife. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked softly. 

“Better for seeing you,” he replied, his voice gravelly. 

“You're a dreadful flirt Cregen,” she replied with a smile, knowing his ability to flirt was a far better indication he was on the mend than anything else would be. 

“Come lie with me,” he said, choosing to ignore his wife's chastisement.

“Only for a few minutes,” she replied, moving to the other side of the bed and climbing on it, settling herself beside him and placing her head on his shoulder. 

He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and encouraged her to roll onto her side, tightening her body to his in a familiar and comfortable way and she sighed contentedly. Her hand rested on his chest, her fingers pushing and playing with the dark curls of hair. Cregan turned his head and placed a soft kiss on her forehead, feeling the warmth of her body sink into his own flesh and bones. 

“I should ban you from future hunts,” she said, her voice muffled by having her face squashed on his shoulder, “make you take an oath never to put yourself in such danger again,”

“Even for you, I could not swear such an oath,” he replied, kissing her forehead again and keeping his lips pressed to her skin, breathing in the familiar and comforting scent from her hair. 

The two lay in silence for several minutes, Lady Stark listening to the steady and deep drum beat of his heart, the thumping sound reminding her that he was still alive, injured but alive and home with her and in their private moment it was easy for her to believe that was the only thing that mattered in all the known world. 

“But I can swear, it will only be death that keeps me from you,”.

[warabidakihime]

Rules and Roses Chapter 2

★ characters: kibutsuji muzan x reader x akaza

★ plot summary: Kibutsuji Muzan has finally decided to expand his empire, and the way he intends to do so is by running for the highest political position. With you, his darling wife, at his side, he believes he can achieve and have everything the world has to offer. He is, after all, the Phoenix of Phario.

★ fic playlist: sometimes, same day, as time stops, wolf’s song (this is also the vision board for the fic). 

★ content warnings : implied violence and abuse, profanities, toxic relationships, smut.

★ Previous Chapter

a/n:

hello!!!

first of all, i am so sorry for taking so long to update this story. ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

life happened and i got sooo busy. the time i uploaded this fic was when i just started at my new workplace and shortly after a few weeks, i was already preoccupied with work. at first, i was laser-focused on getting used to my new work and the culture. then later on, i found myself playing a more important role in the office that required my undivided attention lol. besides that, so many things happened in my personal life as well that i didn't have the time and energy to write.

btw i'm now a writer by profession as well so oftentimes i would feel drained af after writing corporate write-ups. tbh, i also got hit by writer's block, especially for this fic because the plot i have in mind for it is lowkey intricate, and for the most part, i haven't decided on what route i should take story-wise. so during those 2 years, i was constantly trying to reconstruct the story in my head, and here we are!

i'm back but i'm not so sure about updating regularly as i'm still incredibly busy, but i will do my best! the latest kny seasons inspired me to write again (aka my crush for muzan lol).

hopefully, everyone is still here to read this. ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

as always, comments and kudos are highly appreciated!

happy reading!

-

"Can you outline your key policy platforms should you be elected President of Phario? Given your extensive background in the human resource industry as well as your rich connections owing to your business ventures in Obelisk Kibutsuji, do you first plan to address the pressing issue of the national unemployment rate?"

"Indeed, that's correct. As President, one of my top priorities will be to strengthen our nation's workforce, which is crucial for advancing our economy. I have a comprehensive plan focused on job creation, vocational training, and support for small businesses. These initiatives will not only reduce unemployment but also stimulate innovation and competitiveness within our economy.

I also aim to implement policies that ensure equal access to education, equipping our citizens with the skills needed for the evolving job market. Healthcare reform is high on my agenda. I'll ensure healthcare assistance is accessible to everyone, public hospitals are well-maintained, and healthcare workers are fairly compensated and protected by the state in any dire situations. Additionally, I'll push for technological advancements and infrastructure development to attract both local and foreign investments.

Addressing social issues is equally important, and as a devoted ally of these communities, I'm committed to fighting all forms of discrimination, especially against women and the LGBTQ+ community. We must ensure everyone, regardless of gender, sexual orientation, or identity, has equal opportunities and protections under the law.

Moreover, I'll advocate for the rights and welfare of people with disabilities, ensuring they have access to the necessary resources and support to lead fulfilling lives. This includes improving accessibility in public spaces and promoting inclusive employment practices.

Animal welfare will also be a significant focus. We need to enact and enforce laws that protect animals from abuse and ensure humane treatment.

Lastly, I'll champion the rights of minorities and immigrants. Our nation is built on the strength of its diversity, and it's imperative we create an inclusive society where everyone feels valued and respected. This includes reforming immigration policies to be fair and humane and implementing programs that support the integration and empowerment of minority communities.

In essence, my administration will be dedicated to creating a sustainable and inclusive economic environment where every Pharian has the opportunity to thrive and contribute to our nation's progress."

Muzan stood confidently at the podium, a modest yet proud smile gracing his face after addressing a journalist's question amidst a room bustling with media personnel.

Today was the day where presidential candidates shared their platforms, which also served as an open forum for engaging with the press and fielding inquiries on a wide array of topics—from current events to personal matters.

With his seasoned composure before cameras and crowds, Muzan navigated the spotlight effortlessly. His articulate delivery drew admiration from all corners as he outlined his plans for the presidency, filling you with pride as you watched from the audience.

Among the attendees, your smile beamed with pride and unconditional support for him. Akaza, who is sitting right beside you, maintained a stoic demeanor outwardly, though inwardly, he couldn't deny a hint of impressed regard. Muzan's comprehensive platform and commanding presence left an undeniable impact on him.

Eloquence had always been Muzan's forte, a skill honed through years of being a businessman and somewhat of a public figure, as among his peers and in the business landscape in general, he is well-revered and widely celebrated.

Beyond his ability to articulate ideas, he possessed a magnetic charisma—an invaluable trait for navigating the intricate world of politics and public service.

Several hours later, the policy speech slash press conference finally ended, and now you were on your way to meet up with Muzan at the lobby of the hotel where the gathering was held when a few journalists spotted you among the sea of people who were also exiting the function room.

Akaza was right behind you and is also on full alert, an important instruction your husband told him when he appointed him as your personal bodyguard a few years back. Committed to his duty, he stood there in a stance where he is ready to take action should anything happen that is out of the ordinary.

Mics were stretched out and placed within just a few inches of your face, and one of them took the liberty to ask you a question: "What are your thoughts on Kibutsuji Muzan's campaign platforms?” 

Very much like your husband, you also wore a modest yet confident smile on your face as you held eye contact with the journalist who asked you that question before displaying your own version of eloquence as you answered,

"To say that I am proud while listening to him share and advocate for the causes he wholeheartedly believed in would be the biggest understatement of the decade," you said with a fond chuckle before continuing, "even before he filed for his candidacy and even way before he became the man we all know now, he has always been outspoken about these things. He would always share with me his desire of making significant changes in the world, hoping no more children would have to endure what he did. As many of you know, Muzan, my dear husband, came from very humble beginnings, and unlike me, he has faced challenges far beyond my own. His vision and intuition surpass that of most, and so, as cliché as it may sound, his words and strong convictions carry a weight and authenticity that are strong enough to enable him in doing the impossible and inspire others to believe that a better future is within our grasp."

Akaza listened intently to your answer, finding himself captivated by your words. The way you addressed the press made you sound like a candidate yourself who's also sharing her platform. In that moment, he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming surge of pride as he continued to absorb your statements.

The journalists surrounding you mirrored his sentiment, clearly impressed by your response—no surprise from the esteemed Ballerina Queen of Phario.

It had been quite some time since you last entertained interviews, having retired and chosen to stay away from public engagements.

"Among the plethora of initiatives he wishes to take action on once he's elected, what resonated with you the most?"

You paused, contemplating the list of campaigns your husband had presented earlier. Just as you were about to respond, an arm encircled your waist and gave it a tender squeeze.

It was Muzan.

"Knowing my wife's love for animals, I'm certain she's most excited about what I have planned for animal welfare," Muzan interjected warmly.

You playfully rolled your eyes, eliciting amusement from not only your husband and your respective bodyguards but also the press. "You say that as if it's a bad thing," you quipped.

Muzan chuckled fondly. "Not at all, my love. Your passion for animals is one of the many reasons I fell for you."

The same journalist who had asked you the second question now directed his attention to Muzan, eager for his response. "Based on the most recent public survey, you're likely the most favored candidate to win the elections. What can you say about that, Sir Kibutsuji?"

Muzan smiled bashfully at the reporter, his eyes reflecting a mix of humility and determination. "I'm incredibly honored and thankful that our fellow countrymen have placed such faith and confidence in me. It's a humbling reminder of the trust they have in our vision for a brighter future. This campaign has always been about bringing real change to Phario, addressing the pressing issues our nation faces with innovative solutions and inclusive policies. The support we're seeing reflects not just my efforts, but the collective desire of our people for progress and unity."

He paused briefly, his gaze sweeping across the room, before continuing with renewed conviction, "Though I would like to emphasize that I don't take this trust lightly, it actually fuels my commitment to serve with integrity and purpose, to listen to the voices of every Pharian, and to lead with compassion and foresight."

By now, the press was highly satisfied with the answers both of you had given, granting you the freedom to depart. Clearly spent after the eventful day, you exchanged farewells and well-wishes before going your separate ways.

With Muzan's arm still draped around your waist, he guided you towards the grand entrance of the hotel. Meanwhile, Akaza made his way to the basement parking lot to retrieve your car, preparing to drive you both home. Kokushibo remained close to Muzan, ensuring your security as you awaited the car's arrival.

Turning to Muzan, unfazed by the bustling activity around you, you placed a tender kiss on his lips, smiling warmly. "Great job out there, my love. You did so well today. I'm incredibly proud of you."

Clearly elated, Muzan mirrored your smile and returned your affection with a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Thank you, darling. Your support means everything to me."

"Truly, I was beaming throughout your speech. You were absolutely amazing. Phario is fortunate to have such an admirable leader like you," you praised sincerely.

Right there and then, Muzan couldn't help but raise his eyebrow and playfully smile at you, prompting a confused raise of your own eyebrow.

"What's that look for?" you asked.

Muzan shook his head with a playful smirk before replying, "You're not showing favoritism now, are you, my love? I know you adore me, but let's keep it fair, hmm?" he teased, his tone light-hearted and affectionate.

You rolled your eyes at his playful accusation. "Ha-ha. Very funny, Muzan. I'll take it back, then."

Muzan laughed wholeheartedly, drawing attention once again. "I was just joking!" He then smiled warmly at you, his eyes reflecting pride. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "Hearing that from you means more than any applause, you know?"

You reached out to pinch his cheeks. "You play too much sometimes, you know?" you said with a chuckle before continuing, "But like I said, hearing you speak today—and in all those times you shared your aspirations with me from when we were students up to now, as you finally have the opportunity to make all come true—it's evident how deeply committed you are. Beyond your skills and capabilities, your passion is what makes you so compelling, Muzan. It's what makes me believe in you, too."

Minutes later, while waiting by the entrance, Akaza finally pulled up with the car. You and Muzan bid farewell to those around you before stepping into the comfort of your vehicle.

As the city lights blurred past the windows, you reflected on the day's events.

"You know," you began, glancing at Muzan beside you, "I have a feeling your speech today touched more hearts than just mine."

Muzan smiled softly, intertwining his fingers with yours. 

"I hope so. Though the election is still months away, and who knows how things might shift, that's why I don't want to take any of this for granted. I'm in this for the long haul. You'll be there with me, won't you?"

He looked over to you, and in that moment, despite his big words, he looked absolutely adorable, with his ruby eyes shining at you and his lips slightly pouty as he waited for your response, which you gladly provided through the means of placing yet another sweet and passionate kiss on his lips and squeezing his hand reassuringly. 

"I'll always be here for you, Muzan, through every challenge and triumph."

"I love you," he whispered lovingly, his expression sincere and heartfelt.

"And I love you," you replied with equal affection.

With a comforting squeeze of your hand, you nestled against Muzan's shoulder, feeling a sense of contentment as the car navigated through familiar streets towards home.

Meanwhile, in the driver's seat, Akaza's face remained unreadable. He was outwardly indifferent to the tender exchange between you and Muzan, but inwardly, he was seething with rage.

You think you're so clever, spouting all those promises and pretty words, playing the saint for the public eye. But I see through you. You're nothing but a manipulative snake, a liar wrapped in a facade of righteousness.

His gaze hardened and his grip on the wheel tightened as he stared ahead, the streetlights casting shadows on his determined expression.

One day, your mask will slip. 

I will fucking rip it off your face, even if it's the last thing I do.

[ozzgin]

Various Predators x Predator! Reader (IV)

@avaleigh16 asked (a very long time ago, sorry for the wait!!) for a fourth part to the Predator saga, where Reader is brought to Yautja Prime. Therefore I bring a potential sequel that focuses on Predator culture, depending on who you’ve chosen as your partner!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Horror Masterlist]

Feral Predator

As promised, your new home didn’t stray much from your expectations. Feral Predator is from a different hemisphere, of a drier climate. The imposing, sprawling megalopolis of Yautja Prime is but a distant outline, fading before the marvels of raw, unforgiving nature this place has to offer. Tribal architecture and interminable tunnels are the prominent features of these ancient cities. One has no need for advanced technology. In a way, it does remind you of Earth, of your modest countryside roots. Communities are made of small family units, so days are spent hunting or training in the company of your partner. Feral Predator is a patient and caring father, guiding his offspring and showing them the ropes of survival. There will be frequent visits to Earth as he, too, favors its wilderness, especially when it comes to honing one’s skills. While he treats you as an equal, he does hold you in significantly high regards as the mother of his children.

Elite Predator

With great status comes great responsibility. Elite Predator has been eyeing the Elder status for some time now, in order to provide you with one further reason to be grateful for choosing him. That implies, naturally, that he is often on special missions to teach or rescue Young Bloods, or clear out Alien infestations. Your offspring will go through Spartan training as soon as they can crawl their way around: it would be shameful if his own younglings end up weak or devoid of skill. Although he does not worry about such outcome. He hasn’t picked you out of random chance. Only someone of his level could’ve made it as his mate, and he was certain of it from the moment he saw you. Hopefully you, too, can tell that this outcome was fated to happen. You most certainly won’t regret your life with him, he will make sure of that.

Fugitive Bad Blood

If you were hoping for an idyllic, peaceful life in a humble hut with ocean view, I have some bad news for you. Even settling on Yautja Prime is an optimistic stretch when your partner is a criminal on the run. You’ve unwillingly followed in the footsteps of your parents, watching your child grow from within the confinements of a ship, sailing through space with no ultimate goal. Not all is grim, however. Despite his ruthless nature, the Fugitive has kept his word when it comes to being a fitting partner for you. Your wish is his command and he will not allow anything endanger his family. To your great shock, he’s even willing to take risky detours on Earth whenever you feel particularly nostalgic. He will stare at you incredulously; why the hell would he have gone through all the efforts to court you if he didn’t want you as a partner? Have you forgotten who you’re dealing with already? Whatever your heart desires, he will make it possible.

Berserker

The Super Predator cannot wait for his younglings to be old enough to begin their hunt. He lives to kill and one can easily tell from his impressive collection of trophies he has gathered from all across the Universe. Truth be told, you’re somewhat afraid to see the outcome of your copulation. Berserker Yautja are much larger and much more aggressive than your species. You’d assumed his first choice for a mate should’ve been from his own kind, but for reasons unknown he’s preyed on you instead. The Berserker seems to have a fervent attachment towards you and will even growl at his own sucklings if they show any sign of disrespect. There’s not much space for freedom and sometimes you feel like you’re trapped under the suffocating affections of a savage animal ready to defend its territory. From his point of view, you should enjoy the privilege of belonging to the superior Predator. There’s no one out there that could go against him.

[mothhball]

I – BIVIUM

bivium – a meeting-place of two roads

JONATHAN CRANE X FEM!READER

summary You need this internship. You're hungry for a challenge, desperate to prove yourself. Against your mentor's wishes, you applied to Arkham Asylum, aware of the risks and difficulties. But when you meet the enigmatic Dr. Crane for the internship interview, you get the feeling that this could work out nicely, after all.

warnings none aside from brief mentions and descriptions of anxiety and some bad language! enjoy a chill first chapter <3 for more general warnings for the rest of the story, please check out the masterlist

notes first multichapter thing! i'm just as scared as you guys lol this is set in the Nolanverse, but before Batman Begins, and it's gonna be a semi-slowburn (sorry haha)

! MINORS DNI !

story masterlist • main masterlist • taglist • kofi word count: 3.9k

As expected, the rest of your week turns out to be torturous. Whenever a second of calm rears its head, you make sure to squash it immediately by thinking of the worst things that could possibly happen during the interview. Your life, your achievements, your very personality get mercilessly torn apart by your viciously overthinking brain, and you could almost scream with joy by the time Friday comes around. Finally, the wait would be over. But unfortunately, that thought is a double-edged sword. Because yes, you’ll get to prove yourself. But God, you’ll have to prove yourself. Luckily for you, your urge to get somewhere in life prevails against the wish to not be perceived at all.

It's almost comical how horrendous the weather is on your way to Arkham Asylum. It’s like someone ordered the deluxe experience, making sure to include intense rain, thunder and an additional helping of lightning that turns your car into a rolling Faraday cage, which keeps the electricity outside and your anxiety inside.

Navigating the Narrows is a challenge in itself, and a few times you have to curse under your breath and turn down the car radio in an attempt to “see better”. Then finally, the road signs start to pop up, leading you along your way like desperately needed little breadcrumbs. People usually don’t make their way into this part of Gotham without a good reason. Your good reason of the day is to market yourself as a great potential employee.

A sigh of relief escapes your dry throat when you finally turn off your motor in the Arkham parking lot. It’s not that busy, and you’re not surprised. The rumors about the institution's understaffing must’ve been an understatement. Your hand is already shaking as you reach for a water bottle. Christ, your nerves are bad today. The environment doesn’t help either. The few barren trees on the property reach up their blackened limbs like bony fingers trying to rip the clouds from the sky, and even the sparse patches of grass look almost completely desaturated. Above all, Arkham Asylum looms ahead, exuding the same energy as an ancient beast banned into the form of bricks and cement rather than a proper construction.

The building doesn't seem to be in the right place, you think to yourself. As if an architecture student misplaced their model on another's desk. A desk where the model of a haunted house was supposed to be placed instead. But once you swallow the sip of water and check yourself in the car’s rearview mirror, you decide to approach anyway. The only offering you previously sent in advance was your CV. Hopefully, it’s good enough to not let you get eaten alive by this monstrosity of an asylum. Is it just you, or does the sound of your shoes crunching on the gravel sound like chewing already?

Unfortunately, the rain doesn’t give you much of an opportunity to stall the pace of your steps, forcing you to hurry through the main entrance in favor of staying relatively dry.

The large windows of the entry hall of Arkham Asylum were meant for sunlight, you muse silently. Meant for days with better weather than Gotham could ever provide. But the construction is confined to the dirty, foggy streets of the Narrows; doomed to eternal gloom and ominous scenery.

You look and feel a little lost as you look around the room, secretly disappointed that Dr. Crane didn't make the effort to pick you up here. But you're not a victim of learned helplessness, so you decide to walk over to the reception to make yourself known.

"Excuse me?"

The receptionist looks up from the book she's reading, flipping a page as she looks at you from top to bottom and right back up to the top. You can't help but wonder how many people have withered beneath her critical eye before you came along. Maybe she has a pile of skeletons already stashed away in one of her drawers.

"You're here for the interview, right?" She concludes by herself, looking over at a list of names on her desk. The list of your competitors, no doubt. You nod, suddenly very aware of what's at stake here. You have to ace this if you don't want to be confined to a summer of endless boredom and excruciating staff meetings at Potomac.

"You're early. That's great," the receptionist drones on, sounding not too enthusiastic despite what she’s saying. "Head through this door right here. You'll get a visitor's badge after the security check. After that, head up to the third floor. The rest is pretty self-explanatory. Dr. Crane will be waiting in his office."

You manage to mutter a ‘thanks’, but she’s already immersed in her book again, obviously done with the conversation. To avoid lingering for an awkward moment too long, you immediately head through the doors and further into the building to get through the security check.

Unsurprisingly, the security protocol is pretty strict, and while your bag is being searched by one guard, you're waved through a metal detector by another. It's like a miniature TSA, and once you explain the reason for your visit, you're allowed to put your shoes and jacket back on. Getting handed the little visitor’s badge on a lanyard feels like a rite of passage, and once you hang it around your neck, you feel even more weighed down than before.

One hellish elevator ride full of janky movements and devious mechanical noises later, the antique means of transport spits you out on the third floor of Arkham Asylum. It’s eerily quiet. So quiet, in fact, that you can hear every step of your freshly shined shoes on the linoleum floors echoing down the hallway. Up here, the absence of sunlight through the large windows is even more obvious, and the smell of petrichor and a faint hint of disinfectant add to the already dreary atmosphere. Would you really be able to last the summer in a place like this? Maybe you should’ve stuck to Potomac after all. At least that place had a well-kept garden full of rose bushes and swanky outdoor furniture sets.

The moment you regret that thought is also the moment that you realize you’re completely lost.

Every turn, every door and every hallway look the same, and the more you try to make sense of it, the more disoriented you feel. It’s like trying to run in a dream. Everything is complicated; feels slow. Fear creeps into your bones. What time is it? How long have you been wandering around? You’re going to be late for the interview. Fuck. The interview. Your internship. Your future. Dr. Crane will be disappointed. He’ll see right through you. See how scared you are. Of a fucking floor in a fucking building. You’re going to –

“Lost, are we?”

The rapidly spinning carousel of your mind immediately comes to a screeching halt due to a voice behind you, and it’s a miracle that you don’t flinch. You turn stiffly, feeling like a doll whose head has been turned by the hand of a child. Definitely the opposite of the first impression you had planned on making. Your eyes meet his, clashing with blue so icy that your fingers feel cold. The photos you saw in the newspapers failed to convey just how striking the director of Arkham Asylum truly is.

Swallowing your nerves, you force yourself to straighten up and smile, letting go of the strap of your bag that you were clutching onto like a lifeline. Confident posture, confident body language. In the eyes of any other employer, you’d look like a dream. But Dr. Jonathan Crane’s face doesn’t move a single muscle.

“Ah, yes. I suppose I am,” you admit, removing your visitor’s badge from around your neck and holding it out to him. Dr. Crane takes it, pointedly making sure that his fingers don’t touch yours. There’s a glint of recognition in his gaze when he reads your name that a security guard haphazardly wrote onto the back.

“I was on my way to your office for the internship interview, but this place is like a maze... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“You didn’t,” Crane answers with a tiny, sardonic smile. “I was just on my way as well. And you were already heading in the right direction anyway.”

He hands you back your badge, and you return it to its rightful place around your neck. Crane gestures towards a door with its number next to it on a neat little sign. He taps it, drawing your attention to a little red stripe in the bottom left corner.

“Allow me to let you in on a little trick regarding the navigation at Arkham,” he starts, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose, “No matter where you are on this floor, if you follow the red stripes, you’ll end up at my office eventually. The markers alternate in direction, so it’s easy to follow once you get used to it.”

“Like a little red thread,” you muse, looking around. Now that he mentioned it, the red stripes are almost glaringly obvious. You can’t help but feel a little special, because he shared such important information with you. Even though your competitors most likely got the same treatment. “So, everything else looks identical on purpose?”

“Precisely,” Dr. Crane responds with a nod. “Sometimes, we have some… difficult patients. The need to be free is part of the human nature for most. But that doesn’t mean we should make it easy for them to escape.”

“That makes sense,” you nod back at him, resisting the urge to fidget now that his attention is back on you and no longer on the navigational system of this behemoth of a building. But the psychiatrist just motions for you to follow him, not allowing the silence to grow into something palpable that would waste his time.

“Walk with me. You know the way now.”

And so, the two of you are off, walking side by side at the pace that Crane sets for the both of you. You hurry to match his strides, making sure not to seem too eager now that you know how to find his office. To your dismay, the interview starts right this second.

“How much experience do you have?”

“I did 3 months at Potomac – “ you answer, promptly getting cut off when the director scoffs under his breath.

“So, basically none.”

Ouch. But he’s not wrong. You did learn how to navigate the rich and entitled, and you know how to keep a killer file structure now, but that’s almost it. In hindsight, Dr. Rabin underutilized you so much it should’ve been a criminal offense. You swallow your ego and agree with him, figuring it might be what he wants to hear.

“That's... pretty much what I told Professor Campbell as well.”

Dr. Crane’s brows furrow. He makes no effort to conceal his contempt for your mild-mannered mentor, sounding noticeably incredulous as he responds.

“Campbell? She's overseeing your thesis?”

You mirror his expression, but in your case, it’s due to genuine confusion.

“Yeah... I thought I wrote it in the application? Did you read it?”

“Skimmed it. I don't have much time for the menial details. Doesn’t matter. You’ve made it here regardless, haven't you? Maybe it was for the best that I skipped some parts,” he shrugs, not caring for the little frown that threatens to pull at your lips. Luckily, you manage to reign in your expression. Don’t let him get to you. This is just hazing.

“In any case, Dr. Rabin was more than happy with my work,” you counter, keeping your tone pleasant.

“Sure. What a wonderful letter of recommendation it was,” he says, sounding amused in a mocking kind of way. “But come on, we both know what kind of establishment Potomac is. That's why you're here, isn't it? To have a challenge. To actually make an impact.”

This makes you stop in your tracks in the middle of the hallway, forcing Crane to pause along with you. As much as you’re trying to hide that small feeling of triumph, it’s easy to tell from the glint in your eyes that you see this as a little personal victory.

“So, you did read my motivational letter,” you conclude, raising an eyebrow.

You swear the corners of his lips twitch upwards for a split second. Whether that’s in amusement or disgust at your audacity, you’re not quite sure. From what you know about Crane (which is, admittedly, not much), you decide on the latter. But to your surprise, he quips back in that rumbly baritone, making a point to clasp his hands behind his back.

“Might've been one of the sections I skimmed more closely,” he shrugs, briefly looking away from you to notice a stack of files that a passing nurse is carrying. Nosy. Or just used to being involved in everyone’s business. Letting out a sigh, he continues, dragging his eyes back to meet yours.

“Truthfully, I believe those motivational statements are the most important part. Not grades, not recommendations. They look nice on paper, yes. But at the end of the day, I've had interns here with a perfect GPA, glowing reviews from paper-pushing professors like your dear Ms. Campbell, and you know what? Those precious show horses barely lasted a month. Because Arkham chewed them up and spat them out like the gum under those dreadful desks in the Gotham U lecture halls.”

The comparison is fitting, and you cringe a little when you remember the last time you accidentally touched one of those forgotten, dried-up clumps of a stranger’s saliva and polymers.

“Well, I might not be a show horse, but I’m certain that I could jump any hurdle you put in front of me.”

“Delightfully ambitious. But I make sure to stack those hurdles high.” His expression tells you that he’s in no way joking around, and you swallow dryly as the two of you reach his office, and he lets you go in first.

The office is cold and impersonal. No plants, no decorations. No family photos on his desk or frames on the walls aside from his degrees. Rows of filing cabinets are filling out the room, as well as a large bookshelf that’s seemingly overflowing with literature. Some of the books have been handled and read so often that the spines are cracked and withered, almost making you empathize with them.

The faint smell of coffee, cologne and chemicals hangs in the air, and the curtains are drawn, making the office seem even darker and isolated than it already is. Crane seems to exude the spirit of the asylum as well, living and breathing the ominous gloom. The doctor steps past you, pushing several empty cups to the side, but not bothering with the stack of folders that’s also cluttering the space. Busy. Or counting on someone else to sort his mess and his thoughts.

"Sit,” he says, pointing at the empty chair in front of his desk.

You know it’s not an offer. It’s a command. And you immediately comply, eager to please the man who holds the cards regarding your future. Setting your bag down next to your feet, you mentally anticipate his next words.

"Go on, then. Tell me about yourself."

You straighten up in your seat, already prepared for this question, so you rattle off the main facts. Your name, age, and main areas of interest when it comes to psychology. Hell, you even mention the high school you went to, even though it's been ages. As soon as you mention Potomac, Dr. Crane holds up a hand to stop you.

"Thank you. That's enough, I suppose. No need to tell me how you wasted your time there."

He flips through a file, letting you stew in the awkward silence for a solid minute before he sees it fit to show mercy.

"Could I ask you some personal questions? We’re looking for a specific type of person, after all," he says, looking up from the document. "So, I'm afraid that the shallow chit-chat won't suffice."

“Of course,” you nod, making sure your smile stays relaxed and pleasant.

Crane picks a pen out of a pencil holder on his desk, clicking it twice before he puts it to the paper that you now recognize as your CV and application letter. The psychiatrist clears his throat and rattles off some more of the standard questions. How well do you work under pressure? Which meds do you currently take? How frequently do you consume alcohol and other recreational drugs?

You manage to elegantly fight your way through your answers, sprinkling in a few white lies here and there. There’s no way you’d tell a potential employer about your preference for tequila or how many times you’ve cried after a long day of work and uni. Your secrets are yours. So, you tell him that you work excellently under pressure and only drink very occasionally. What the eye does not see, the heart does not grieve over. Or whatever. His second to last question, however, makes you pause a little.

“What is your current living situation and relationship status?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment before Dr. Crane feels the need to clarify.

“Our interns usually have a rather tight schedule, and since the work with humans has the tendency to be a little unpredictable, it’s good to know how long the drive here usually is. In case it’s an emergency and we’ll have to wait for you. As for my inquiry about a potential partner, it’s useful to know how much time personal matters would take up in your life.”

You shift in your seat, chewing on the inside of your lip for a second before you mentally reprimand yourself for such a nervous gesture.

“I’m currently living with my boyfriend. We’re renting an apartment in Haysville.”

“Haysville…,” Crane thinks out loud, visualizing a map of Gotham in his head. “That’s quite a drive, though. Isn’t it?”

“The drive won’t be a problem,” you assure him, silently hoping and praying that this tiny detail didn’t just ruin your chances completely. “I have a car. And… if I leave home early enough, I can avoid traffic.”

You’re met with silence as Dr. Crane takes a moment to write something down on your printed-out CV. You absolutely despise that you can’t decipher his handwriting from where you’re sitting. You despise that you don’t know what he’s thinking. And you despise yourself for living in Haysville of all places, instead of in the damn parking lot of the asylum, so you’d always be available. In that world, there’d be no argument against you. In that world, you wouldn’t overthink the barely five seconds of silence that settled between Crane and yourself.

Finally, he lifts his gaze to meet yours once more.

“I must admit, everything so far sounds quite promising. I shouldn’t be saying this, but I’m quite optimistic that you’ll hear back from us.” He doesn’t smile, and there’s no warmth in his voice, but his words are like liquid gold dripping right into your ears. “In the event that you're accepted for one of the three internship spots, you’ll receive an envelope. That’ll be quite thick since it will contain your contract as well as an NDA and some additional paperwork.”

Your face lights up like a Christmas tree, and your mouth opens and closes a few times before you find the words to speak.

“That… would be absolutely incredible.”

“Now, now,” he lifts his hand, already stopping you before you’re too far gone over the moon. “This isn’t a ‘yes’ quite yet. I’ll hand my opinion over to the rest of the staff, and they’ll decide whether to give you a spot. They’re the ones with whom you’ll be primarily working, after all.”

He seems to think about his own words for a beat, considering what your role would be at Arkham Asylum. But you don’t really care. Even just a positive statement from him could be crucial.

“Regardless,” you say, unable to keep your smile from growing. “Thank you for taking the time to see me, Dr. Crane. I can only assume how busy you must be on a daily basis.”

This seems to snap him out of his own thoughts, and he nods stiffly, clearing his throat as he fixes his tie.

“Incredibly busy, yes. So, I won’t keep either of us any longer.”

He gets up from his seat before you do, guiding you to the door but staying behind in his office. Whatever he thought about just a moment ago, it seems to have shifted his mood ever so slightly.

“You’ll find your way back to the elevator by yourself, right?” he asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow, which causes you to nod quickly.

“Yes. Just… the whole thing in reverse.”

He nods in response, not stepping out into the hallway with you.

“Good. Enjoy the rest of your day. And… expect mail from us. Maybe I’ll see you around in the future.”

You barely have time to say goodbye before he closes the door to his office, leaving you standing by yourself. Strange. But it matches his reputation, you suppose.

The way back to the elevator seems much more logical this time, and you can’t help but feel a little proud of yourself for remembering how to navigate the hallways now. Even the diabolical rattling as you descend back to the ground floor can’t wipe the smile off your face.

Dr. Crane’s words gave you hope and a surge of confidence, and as you hand your visitor’s badge back to security and leave the asylum, you feel accomplished. Satisfied with how the interview went. Back in your car, you check your rearview mirror once more, making sure you didn’t have anything on your face the entire time before the motor hums to life, and you back out of your parking spot.

The drive back to your apartment would almost be peaceful if it wasn’t for the last bits of excess adrenaline that are still rushing through your veins. Your hands shake a little every time you turn the steering wheel or reach for the dials of the radio, and once you’re finally safe and sound with in your own home, you sink down to your knees and let out a sigh that comes from the deepest depths of your soul. Relief. But not entirely. The next few days would be a test of patience and endurance. But you’re good at playing the waiting game.

Each day, you throw a longing glance at the mailbox in the shabby lobby of your apartment building, only to get disappointed once more. Days turn into a week, and you’ve almost given up hope when, one day, your boyfriend comes home with a stack of mail under his arm. The Arkham logo is peeking through behind a few bills and ads, and you recognize it instantly. This is it.

Like a vulture, you snatch the letter from your boyfriend’s hands, earning a disgruntled noise in response that you couldn’t care less about if you tried. The envelope rips under your impatient hands, and you immediately skim through the letter, searching for the magical words without realizing how thin it is.

Dear Miss…

                      … we hope this letter finds you well…. 

… thank you for applying…

… unfortunately…

      … large number of applicants…

                                                                        … must hereby reject…

… best wishes…

                                                            … better luck next time…

The silence in your living room is deafening, and you can hear your pulse in your ears. The floor feels like it's going to crumble beneath your feet.

Better luck next time.

@ellebelleshelby @cilliansprincess @mcumorningstar @x0xomady @mandies24

@detroitbecomevenom @pretty-bluebird @ink5ouls @flwrs4aust @vampmary1411

@ashdrinksoatmilk @nnattu @ptolemaniac @kiss-me-cill-me @celebrities-imagines

@hanawrites404 @ilovetoxicfictionalmen @nocturnest @biblicallyaccuratebee @red-riding-wood

@luvlloyd @ribbonystar @smxkyqvxrtz @bloodandglitter207 @seaamonster

@rosiemarieyn @sagepixieswrld

[gabessquishytum]

New Ballet AU prompt - Single Parent Hob's son Robin has been taking dance classes for a few months, the other Dance Moms handle car pool after school, so Hob hasn't been back to Storyteller Studios, since he signed Robin up with that nice Morana in the front office.

In any event, Robin is supposedly very good in the classes he's taking, and has been offered a place in a more advanced class, taught by the studio's founder. Hob is offered an opportunity to talk the teacher if he wants to after Robin next class -- Robin loves talking about how cool "Mr. M" is, but of course He's running late this afternoon, only a few minutes (hopefully the classes are running over, they do sometimes).

While Hob is rushing in, his head is turned by this gorgeous man, getting out of this cute sports car, so badly that Hob almost smacks face first into the glass entrance doors. Argh, Hob hopes hot guy didn't see that. . . Hot guy totally saw the cute guy who seemingly tried to open the doors with his face.

Hob is only a little blushy and stammer-y when he formally meets hot guy/Mr. M.

Ahh, just imagine how absolutely sexy “Mr. M” is. He’s got the ballet physique, tall and sleek with the most incredible musculature Hob has ever seen. These days he runs the ballet studio and nurtures young students, but he used to be very famous, and he’s still very talented.

And there’s Hob. A single dad who teaches primary school kids, who takes very good care of Robin but not such good care of himself (he hasn’t been to the gym in about a decade and he’s lucky if he gets to eat something that isn’t chicken nuggets or fish fingers). And he rounds it all off by walking into a glass door. So although he blushes and bites his lip, he doesn’t even entertain the fact that he’d have a chance with this beautiful specimen of a man.

Little does he know that Mr. M (who prefers Dream, when he’s not teaching) has been gazing at him with soft eyes ever since he saw the cute, frazzled, homely looking man almost walk into a door. He can hardly keep on topic and talk about Robin’s potential progress in the advanced classes. Hob listens very intensively and he just looks incredibly sexy when he tucks his dark hair behind his ear and nods seriously.

The good news for both of them is that the advanced class is on Saturday mornings, so Hob will be dropping Robin off and picking him up. And maybe just staying for the duration of the class to watch. To watch Robin, obviously. He totally wouldn’t be checking out Dream’s incredible quads as he demonstrates the exercises. He’s just crossing his fingers tightly that Robin doesn’t lose interest in ballet any time soon.

When the summer holiday comes around, Robin signs up for a week long ballet camp kind of thing with fun classes each day. It’s the middle of a heat wave and Hob shows up to drop Robin off for the day, dressed in a white tank top and a pair of frankly criminal denim shorts. He bends over to readjust his shoe and Dream, who was also just arriving… turns his head, stares and walks into the glass door.

For the first time in about 10 years, Hob feels a surge of confidence. He’s 90% sure that his hot crush is blushing and stumbling over him. He can hardly believe it, but maybe its time to finally make a move…

[nanamis-bigtie]

Round 5: The Drink Is on Me

about, rules & navigation | previous round | in some of the routes reader consumes alcohol

The dates are now all proceeding in a promising direction. How the gentlemen will handle the trial of time though? Will they be able to hold your interest with the same intensity towards the end of the dates?

Remember you vote for a character you don't want to advance further! The character with the biggest number of votes will be eliminated.

Higuruma Hiromi

The party headed under the deck earlier than you expected. Insisting on dressing elegantly shattered Hiromi under the merciless sun; even after he took the light jacket off, he kept sweating profusely and you worried he might get a heat stroke.

"I'm sorry, I'm not really fond of summer weather," he said when you proposed moving to a (hopefully colder) different spot, but his voice was full of relief rather than genuine apology.

"Don't sweat it, I could use some shade too."

There's still time for enjoying the sea and the sun, after all, and you would rather savor the strength for the island exploration. Besides, you can't really complain: the under-deck space is even more comfortable and has an exceptionally intimate atmosphere. The lights and music are toned down, everything is soaked in the blue of the sea behind the colossal glass—and most importantly, except for the person behind the bar you're all alone.

Hiromi orders you light cocktails and you choose yourselves a cozy sofa right by the glazed part (according to him, closer to the island you will be passing by a reef—a sight you don't want to miss). You're finally sitting close, your knees almost touching and your shoulders bumping against each other whenever one of you tries to take a turn or lean towards the table. It's a rather tight space but comfortably tight, in a way that melts the remaining, tense ice.

"Do you take all your dates for cruises or is it just a coincidence?" You don't want to poke at a fresh wound, but the topic presses itself into the conversation. And you would rather have it behind it now, when the mood can be easily salvaged.

"Yes and no," he shrugs but keeps that friendly smile, gentle but pushing the corners of his lips enough to reveal his dimples. "The previous one was first and a coincidence. But this I had planned from the very beginning."

"I fell into a trap?" You remember the placement of the ticket on that photo. You suspected it was bait—but a whole meticulous strategy? You wouldn't peg him as someone who puts this kind of logic into dating.

He slightly narrows eyes, giving his smile a sly touch, as he leans against the back of the sofa, one arm casually thrown over it, "Yes and no, again. I wouldn't call it a trap. I would hate to do something illegal, it's against my profession's ethics. And I don't like to trap my dates."

You take a sip of your drink, tossing a few strategies of your own in your mind. A slight buzz of alcohol in your blood lifts your spirit and you can't pretend that the atmosphere hasn't added its dime to certain ideas perking their heads.

"So, what do you like to do with your dates?"

There's a longer break on his side as Hiromi swirls the remains of his mimosa, clearly weighing his words, "This... depends wholly on the character of the date. I'm open minded and I like to try at everything from the buffet before I settle on a certain dish. But if I were to choose here between trapping and being trapped, I would go with the latter."

Nanami Kento

Holding your breath, you untuck the offered bundle. It's a little shell, one of many you saw around, both on the beach and stalls with souvenirs—but its color is unique. It's probably painted over or otherwise embellished but you have to give it to the anonymous artist (who also threaded it with a thin leather thong): they knew how to keep the appropriate balance between their vision and the natural look.

"I found it on a local market the other day." The way Kento glances at you is somewhat shy. Head slightly lowered, he observes you over his glasses, his eyes big, almost doe. "The color reminded me of you. But please, don't feel inclined to accept it."

You decide to keep the bribe. He helps you to tie the bracelet around your wrist—but more than on the new accessory you're focused on his moves. His hands are big, warm and very gentle. He clearly pays attention to not touching you more than necessary but also doesn't shy away when you're catching an additional contact on purpose. It pushes your thoughts into an interesting direction. Would he be as gentle and overly respectful if you agreed for being touched in a less innocent place? How would he act if you initiated something bolder? How would this pleasant and soothing touch against your shoulders, middle, hips?

You're looking for a thread of communication in his eyes when his fingers brush your wrist for the last time—but he averts them and leans back to his side of the table, to the comfortable and appropriate distance.

So, it's still too early for him.

At least the mood doesn't have time to falter; soon your drinks arrive, and they swallow all of the attention. Sweet and decadent, served in hollowed-out pineapples, they please the eye and the camera. You take photos almost at the same time and the thread of communication returns with a shared smile. From word to word, you end up in his gallery, filled to the brim with food and drink pics.

"Is that your friend?" You point at the first person you spot in the roll: a wide-smiling man, posing with the biggest loaf of bread you've ever seen. "The one from the bakery?"

Maybe it's alcohol, maybe it's a perfect choice of topic, but it's like a breaking dam with the way Kento's tongue untangles. Right now, in the bar, under the slowly fading light of the sunset, you learn more about him than through all the hours you spent on texting. You learn about his previous disappointing job. About said friend dragging him out of his lonely life (lonely part not said outright but it's not hard to read between the words). About the first proper vacation he's had since highschool and how badly he refused to go just to love every single moment of his first proper leisure time now.

"Am I your first too?" Having the comment about Tinder at the back of your head, is not hard to draw this conclusion.

"No." Kento's answer is as concrete as always, no shade of embarrassment or hesitation hidden behind the words. "But first in a very long time. I haven't had any dates or casual sexual contact since college."

Ryomen Sukuna

He stayed true to his words however the promised entertainment had less to do with the exhibition and more with his...overwhelming presence.

And it's not because Sukuna is a bad guide. Quite contrary: he must have prepared himself for this with the amount of detailed information he bandies around as he walks you through the gallery. Yet again he leaves you with an impression of a very well-educated person, in addition used to working with speech. If your assumption is wrong and he simply is natural: you can only envy such talent.

No, he's excellent in his role. He's just too distracting.

He keeps close, right on the edge of being a little inappropriate for this stage of a date and your "situationship" and being in public. But he doesn't cross it, just teases and tests your reactions. It's leaning close and over to speak closer to your ear, voice lowered down with courtesy, it's touch brushing against your shoulders, middle, the small of your back, it's the soft vibration behind his words that resonates with the right strings of your body. You wouldn't categorize it as straight up sexual flirting—but he's definitely building a steady ground for it, to strike as soon as you open yourself to it.

You would love to, if only out of curiosity, how far he can go in an art gallery of all places. But it's just more fun to be the prey who requires a meticulous hunt. It might be a weird strategy after the shameless exchange in the chat and very bold pictures you shared but you're both so into it. It would be such a pity to lose all of this thrill for the sake of any easy and fast route.

Sukuna greatly appreciates your attempt to pass as hard to get, seemingly not paying attention to your weak knees and silent gasps you let out when he finds—and remembers—a good spot to touch. He tightens the screws slowly but with precision, bringing you up right to the boiling point but not letting you burst. He's tending to you as if he was a chocolatier tending to his signature exquisite dessert. One that he plans to devour in private.

By the time you're finished with the exhibition and heading for lunch you're not sure if you're hungry for food or something...different.

Following his recommendation, you settle on simple and classic pasta and wine. Light and tasty—perfect to sate the needs for now but leave enough space for another meal later. He doesn't say it outright but it's clear he's predicting the day together will last longer than a meeting for art and lunch.

"Will I finally learn the secret?" You muse over your glass. The wine is not enough to mess your thoughts, but it does loosen your tongue after the teasing tortures you went through.

"The secret?" Sukuna leans against the back of his chair, content with the meal and your presence. He eyes you with a curiosity of a predator assessing if the prey is worth the attack. "There's plenty and a few darker ones. I don't mind sharing, I'll allow one question for now, though."

You meant his profession but now your attention takes a sharp turn. You ask for a darker one.

"Whether it counts as dark depends on your approach to BDSM—" The corners of his lips budge but he doesn't smile openly. "—but I used to be in the community. As a dominant."

Kusakabe Atsuya

Somehow, you end up at his place.

The desserts were exquisite, and the ice cream parlor was an endearing place to be, but it got significantly colder once the storm passed and goosebumps spilled all over Atsuya's arms, indicating he desperately needed a change of fresh and dry clothes. He kept wiggling out of your suggestions and insisted to withstand everything till the end of date, but you set up your mind. You didn't want to get him sick (and possibly ruin the rest of your plans for him).

After a chain of backs and forths, he sheepishly invited you over and led you to his car. 

He lives nearby, in the area blending between the suburbs of the town and the countryside, in a big, older house with a huge garden. You're looking around curiously; the place is tidy but undeniably inhabited with the natural disarray breaking here and there, toys thrown all over the corridor and the living room where you're eventually seated, and family photos on the walls and almost every flat surface of the furniture.

"I know what it looks like." Atsuya sighs once he spots you staring straight at the composition over the fireplace. All photos displayed there are of a woman and a child, in a hard to assess age somewhere at the early stage of elementary school. "That's my sister. And my nephew."

Indeed, when you take a closer look, you can spot a strong family resemblance between her and your date. If Atsuya was a woman and smiled as much as she does in every single picture taken, they could convincingly pass as twins. Some of the resemblance passed on the little boy too as he took lots after his mother.

You can't help but wonder how many times Atsuya must have been taken as his father. The divorced dad energy and desperation to not look like one finally finds their explanation.

Atsuya serves you coffee from the machine and cookies, then excuses himself to get changed. You use your extra alone time to run an investigation over the place, nothing too nosy, just a quick scan at things offered on display to any visitor. Some of your pressing questions find their answers—and a few new ones appear, especially in regard to cups and medals in a display cabinet and photos of him with various kids in uniforms you can't pinpoint to any particular sport but associate with Japanese martial arts.

"Ah, those?" You ask him as soon as he's back and he leans over your shoulder to see better what you're pointing at. "I'm a kendo instructor. And those are the fledglings I gathered over the years."

He smiles fondly at the picture you paid special attention to: him posing with a cheerful teenage girl with characteristic, blue-dyed hair.

"You're such a family man without even having one." You tease, curious about his reaction.

"Yeah, tell me about it." He grumbles, running fingers through the hair at the back of his head. "I keep picking up kids but with my luck in dating I don't think I'll ever see one that's truly mine."

"Hey, it can't be that bad, right?"

He gives you a look that's somewhere between tired, embarrassed and 'is it really a topic for a Tinder date?', "Let's say I haven't had a partner for a while now. But I'm not running rusty."

Choso

With adrenaline and excitement running through your veins after the concert you easily overpower poor shy Choso. He seems to be thankful you took the initiative; he's focused on listening, nodding and answering sporadic questions as his body and speech gradually relaxes. His confidence from the scene doesn't return though. He doesn't act like a spooked doe after a while but the submissive and introverted vibe to him doesn't ease even after he's refreshed himself and reapplied the makeup. He clearly is one of those artists who put a strict distinction between the scene and normal life. Even if keeping the scene persona would be beneficial for him.

Choso doesn't make a big mystery out of the fact he's not the most popular guy around. He's aware of his shyness and rather busy life, even admits his profile was made by one of his brothers. He wouldn't find courage on his own—and wouldn't even know what to put in it to make himself presentable.

"I don't know how to talk to others," he says more quietly than usual, his words slurred by the mouth of the bottle he keeps close to his lips. "I either make an idiot out of myself or I scare them off."

Yet, he maintains conversation with you. The shared enthusiasm about the concert is a huge help but he also perks his ears up when you show interest in his family. Your head spins a little when he starts throwing names and photos (he has more of them than money in his wallet), but he doesn't falter when given the initiative and manages to keep your interest. It's endearing how he cares about his big family and how protective he is of them, especially of the youngest of the gang, the one dreaming of college and involuntary (and unknowingly) making Choso work his heart and soul out to earn money for it. There's no doubt he would give away everything to make their lives better. Truly the role model for the oldest son of the family...

"What about you, though?" You nudge once he finally leaves you some space to speak.

He takes a longer break to think over his words, staring into the distance with a look painfully in between longing and emptiness, "They keep telling me this too, you know? Especially Kechizu and Yuji. That I should stop babying them and think about my own life instead."

There's another episode of silence but before you take the reins back, he decides on another addition, "Maybe I scare others off because I am too overprotective of people I care about. It's just a guess, I have never gone any further than the beginning of attachment. Once it starts, they disappear."

You don't know what to say. You would pull him into a comforting hug if not for the concern and respect for his reserved nature. You have no idea how he would react to a spontaneous cut of the distance—and the last thing you want now is to make him feel worse.

"You haven't dated anyone before?" You risk instead.

"I haven't even met anyone from Tinder face to face." He admits and smiles at you. "You're the first. Thank you for this opportunity."

Geto Suguru

How is this man a self-defense instructor instead of a voice actor or a preacher—you have no idea. Unless his trick to break his opponents is talking to them softly before he proceeds slamming them on the ground, that you could believe without hesitation. Suguru's voice is made of wind chimes, rustle of old paper and humming of calm waves. He speaks and you're entranced, thirsty for more even before he finishes a sentence. No wonder you let him take over the conversation. You wouldn't even mind, if he didn't take breaks for your turns.

When you eventually point out the contrast between his profession and presence, he laughs (oh, what a beautiful laughter he has...), "I haven't said that I've never worked in a different field. I do gigs rather than staying at one place. Currently it's only self-defense but I did audio dramas, radio, acting, fitness, bondage classes—"

You almost choke on your coffee, "Pardon?"

His smile now reminds you of the face of a curious cat. Maybe it's only your imagination but you could swear his pupils have dilated a little as he leans forwards, cutting the distance between the two of you—for only a few inches but enough to have you squirming in your seat, "I had my little step into kink. Not as a work, with the little exception of those classes, but it used to be a significant part of my life at that time."

You can't say you're surprised, given the effortlessly dominant aura he's had to him all this time, but you're still a little disconcerted. You haven't expected such a confession during a casual date with a goal of assessing each other before the matters take a more direct route. And in such a calm cafe on top of that! Your intuition has convinced you there's going to be at least one more date, in a more... intimate place.

But maybe you're overthinking. Maybe he mentioned bondage and kink without any particular horny intentions for now. Maybe it's just his voice that made it sound so...sultry.

"You got quite shy." Suguru tilts head to the side, his gaze piercing you inside out. "You've been braver online. Am I making you uncomfortable?"

You shake your head over your salad. No, you're not uncomfortable. Nor shy, "Is it bothering you?"

"Not at all. It has a certain charm to it." His smile sends shivers down your spine and has your hand trembling together with the fork you're holding. "I like shy people. Or when they are acting shy. Breaking those confident into shyness is such a fun thing to do, too."

Something tells you he's done it many times before. Hell, you're sure you've just become a subject of a play of this kind, whether you like it or not.

"You said... That it used to be a significant part of your life." Despite everything you decide to follow this direction. "You lost interest?"

"Not... quite." For the first time his domination falters—but he's quick and smooth to cover it. "I had a break in dating in general due to...certain life circumstances. But now, once I'm back, I'm not opposed to returning to my favorite roots."

[anshares]

It was just a normal day at the office for Shi Qingxuan...files needing approval, sit for hours on meetings, and meet the new employee who will work under her.

That is until said employee was also the same woman she had a one night stand with a week ago! WAIT???!! WHAT IS THIS ITS NOT HER UNDER ME BUT ME UNDER HER?!??!? WHAT IS HAPPENING?!??!?!?!?!?!!!!

Click more for full plot!

Modern Office AU (F/F Beefleaf flavor)

Shi Qingxuan lives like a princess, she has it all! friends, money, position in a company courtesy of her brother who is the owner of said company. Shi wudu is a successful business tycoon and is planning on running as a politician and SQX fully supports her brother.

Her friends invited her to go clubbing being the social butterfly that she is, she accepted the invitation. As soon as she enters the club, she notices this lady dressed in a black minidress.

This lady has an air of mystery in her but just spends her time alone drinking on a corner of the club, she doesn’t interact with anyone and just turns down attempted advances on her by others but she can’t help notice said lady keeps glancing at her.

SQX admits she feels drawn to this woman plus she is gorgeous! So she steels herself to go invite her to dance at least, hopefully she won’t be rejected.

When SQX asked if she wanted to join her on the dance floor the lady in black turned her down dejected she starts to leave but the Lady stopped her.

MY: “I'm not much for dancing but shall we drink some wine while you keep me company instead? I admit it's getting lonely here.”

SQX: “Sure!”

MY: “ What’s your name?”

SQX: “It’s Shi Qingxuan”

MY: “Ming Yi, nice to meet you Shi Qingxuan”

One thing led to another and they spent the night together, sadly when SQX wakes up Ming Yi is already gone.

She regrets that she wasn’t able to get her number, she would love to see the gorgeous lady again if she allows it but doesn’t regret spending the night with her because she gave her a night worth remembering.

A few days later, SQX is at work and they are about to welcome a newly hired employee that will be working directly under her, the head of the department. Imagine her surprise when she sees the very same woman who she has a one night stand with!

She sees that Ming Yi doesn't have any visible reactions on seeing SQX again, that kinda pricked at her feeling cuz could Ming yi have forgotten about her already? Is she just a passing fling to her?

But no SQX isnt a quitter so she tries to befriend Ming Yi but Ming Yi just treats her like a stranger and when she tries to hint about their shared “history”,

Ming Yi changes topic back to work. It frustrates SQX a lot till one day during overtime and they are the only ones left in the office that Ming Yi confronted SQX.

Ming Yi corners (kabedon) SQX to her door office,

MY: Do you think this is funny? I see the way you look at me, do you think I don't notice your attempts at flirting?

SQX: AHA! I knew it!! You do remember me so why are you ignoring me?

MY: Of course I remember you, my memory isn’t shit. You are aware of the position we are in right, You are my boss and this is inappropriate so i suggest you stop this for both our sake.

SQX: What if I don’t want to? What are you gonna do about Ming Yi?

They just stare at each other and then proceeds to make out and office sex. As they were getting dressed, Ming Yi says she won't deny that the attraction that they feel to each other is mutual but honestly she is quite reluctant in having a relationship with her boss,

so she offers a friends with benefits situation instead SQX agrees to this and thinks that she can charm her way to Ming Yi’s heart and get to see her romantically. Ming Yi on her side tries to set up boundaries such as no strings attached,

they maintain a professional relationship at work, no one can know about this even her friends, and finally no falling in love. They act like a normal boss and subordinate in the office but no one knows that these two are in a FWB situation.

As they spend more time together, SQX inevitably falls and falls harder to her. Based on moods, Ming Yi can be either rough or gentle on her, SQX loves the gentle one because it makes her feel loved by Ming Yi with how tender and gentle she holds her.

During one such night while they were cuddling in bed after their romp, SQX is complaining about how her brother is strict and suffocating sometimes she just needs to get away

So Ming Yi offers her the key to her apartment and tells her if she wants to get away from her brother for a while her doors are always open to her. SQX is touched by this.

She kisses her hard and starts a sweet and gentle round 2 and realizes while they are at it that she loves ming yi and wants to be by her side forever.

Whenever SQX remembers their nights she fondly touches the marks (concealed by make up or her clothing) that Ming yi left on her. SQX tries to be subtle about it, she thinks Ming Yi probably notices the change in her attitude but doesn’t say anything about it.

SQX thinks it's mutual too because of how Ming Yi is being gentle with her during, the way Ming Yi takes care of her after and the simple gestures when they are at work, it's so tender as if they were something more but Ming Yi keeps quiet, SQX doesn't want to assume….

Sometimes she acts cold to her then gently again, it's quite frustrating that Ming Yi is giving her mixed signals but she thinks that Ming Yi is just having a dilemma, SQX leaves her alone for her to figure it out,

SQX doesn’t try to talk about it nor confess to Ming Yi as she doesnt want to rush her and is scared that she’ll lose what they have at the moment, if she can be with Ming Yi like this for now that’s okay, she will give her all the time she needs to sort out her feelings.

Ming Yi may treat her gently at times but in actuality she doesn’t want any of that, it just so happens that this naive woman wrapped in her arms, dozing without a care for the world is a pawn for her plans for revenge.

Ming Yi real name is He Xuan, she grew up privileged and with a loving family, all is well till one day her parents got accused of a crime they didn't commit and paid for it with their lives. With her life suddenly turned upside down, she ended up in the streets.

She was then recruited by a fellow teenager into a mafia group where she will work for them in exchange for food and shelter. She knows being involved in that world is dangerous and may lose her life in the process but way better than starving and dying in some random alleyway.

At least with this she may be able to investigate the truth behind what happened to her family. She owes this one eyed boy a life debt for saving her from the streets and giving her the opportunity for revenge, because years later she finds out the truth about her misfortunes.

Turns out Shi Wudu, a huge business tycoon is actually quite corrupt doing dirty deals and other crimes behind the scenes. The Police won’t arrest him because the police is also in on it and coincidentally her family is partners with this company and was chosen as scapegoats.

With vengeance fueling her, she created an elaborate plan to cause this man who took everything away from her his downfall. As soon as she established her own mafia group and became a boss herself with the help of her friend/brother (she treats HC as her brother)

The plans are set in motion and it starts with Shi Wudu’s beloved little sister, Shi Qingxuan. From her seducing SQX and working in Shi Wudu’s company everything is part of the elaborate plan for this man’s downfall but there are days when HX wavers because of SQX,

she admits that she has become quite endeared with but during one of the moments when both mafia lords meet up for a drink HC asks him if she is planning on abandoning her plans now that she is close.

HX denies and no she won’t abandon her plans, SQX is just a stepping stone to get closer to the goal, she is nothing to her just a chess piece in this board and resolves to push this through without a care for the collateral damage it may leave, a taste of his own medicine.

Now with the elections drawing near, SQX notices something off with her brother and how Ming Yi is acting. She has gotten even colder now and doesn’t join her often in bed even if she does, she could feel that she is angry at something.

HX took a leave of absence for a week and hasn’t contacted her ever since…. At home she notices that her brother is also quite tense, when she asks he just says that it's just some setbacks at work and his election campaign.

In reality HX is starting her attack on his businesses and campaign, one by one she destroys it and there’s nothing Shi Wudu can do about it as the police can’t even track it down they know that there is a larger power at play here.

At the same time, SQX got a text where HX wants to meet up cuz she has something to tell her, SQX thinks this is it, this is the moment where their relationship will change for the better she hopes!

Since she also decide to confess her feelings when they finally meet up, she really missed her and wonders where did was she when HX took a leave of absence.

But something is off as the address that HX gave her led to an abandoned house (it was HX childhood home) she can't find Ming Yi but finds her brother instead and is confused that her brother looks panicked and asks her if she harmed in any way but she tells him that she just got here.

Shi Wudu tells her that they've been set up by one of his enemies he thinks and that they should be careful then out from the shadows Ming yi emerges,

SQX immediately goes to her worried that she might be set up to get to her too, not a moment passed when SQX hugged “Ming Yi” she pushes her hard away from her to the point SQX tumbles on the floor.

She was confused on why “Ming Yi” is treating her like this and she doesn't look like the ming yi she has known for months, this “ming yi” looks imposing and sinister.

“Ming Yi” ignores SWX and starts introducing herself as He Xuan and asks if SWD remembers her or her family, SWD answers that he doesn't. SQX asks what is going on,

so He Xuan starts listing all the things SWD did and how today is also the death anniversary of her family, the very family he ruined. She then asks if he now remembers this family he used as scapegoat after she revealed everything.

SWD was like what about them, they have served their purpose no use remembering cannon fodder, this angered HX and starts pointing a gun at him. SQX was shocked by all of this and in denial of what she is hearing because it's just impossible,

Shi Wudu raised her like a spoiled ignorant princess without her knowing of the darkness lurking within, even if SQX has a feeling or an inkling on what her brother is up to but she just turns a blind eye to everything,

because that just impossible her kind, sweet brother strict he may be won’t do that.

SQX jumps in front of her brother asking HX to stop this, this isn't her which HX just raises a brow "you dont know anything about me" and decides fine shell be merciful and asks for an apology and when he doesn’t she points the gun to SQX instead.

SWD starts kowtowing, “I apologize for everything I did.THERE! Are you happy now?” he tries to rise but HX just smashes his head again on the floor. “Did I permit you to rise?” SWD clenching his fist so hard you can see his knuckles turn white “No.”

SQX is just crying on the side and can't bear to see her once proud brother like this. “Ge, please just apologize properly” she says between sobs,

SWD just glared at her to be quiet, he does so and asks that her beef is with him so let his sister go as she has nothing to do with it, she knows nothing. HX says that's why it's so detestable she knows nothing,

why wasn't she allowed to know nothing that all her possessions and position she gained because lives were trampled, she didn't know then but is still ignorant. She turns to SQX with a chilling glare, she told SQX that she gave her many chances but it seems like SQX ignored all of it.

She just starts sobbing and apologizes now, “what good is your apology?” so she demands a life for a life to atone for the sins. SWD tries to negotiate that his sister’s life does not merit a death sentence and HX asks in turn which of his family sinned? Which among them deserved death?

Both just remained silent and HX just wonders why can't they answer her now. So she makes them choose a way to atone for their sins: one SWD kills his sister and makes himself scarce or two SQX kills SWD and never shows herself in front of her again.

Forget everything that happened, it's what she does best after all; the choice is theirs. SWD tries to bargain that he'll kill himself instead but HX tells him he has no right to bargain.

SQX tells her brother to pick the first one but SWD rejects it so SWD just decided to kill both of them (him and her sister) but HX put a stop to it by hitting SWD with end of her gun telling him if she gave him a third path

then SWD starts laughing and mocking HX how everything she did for revenge was futile. SQX pleads with SWD that he stop talking because it just makes everything worse.

HX asks how could he have no remorse over the lives he trampled but SWD being the prideful man that he is tells him that remorse is useless and a joke

while SQX just calls for Ming Yi while clutching her leg begging her to stop and apologizing HX looked at her and said “you called for the wrong person” then she pulls the trigger and shoots SWD in the head

As HX was walking away SQX stops her again and asks in a dazed quiet voice if she is happy now that she got her revenge and asks hx if she can answer her just one thing.

Were all the time they shared real or did HX just use her for her revenge? Was there even a tiny space in HX's heart for her during that time?

HX stops but doesnt turn around to answer just says SQX already knows the answer to that the she asks back if she has something else to say to her but hears nothing,

HX continued to walk away just as SQX starts breaking down on the floor and begs to be killed why leave her like this? She already lost EVERYTHING, what's the point in living then?!

HX turns around at this and responds coldly “Dream on. If you have someone to blame for your misfortunes, blame your brother." and SQX lost consciousness then. For Shi Wudu his greed was his downfall, for SQX it was her ignorance.

After the whole ordeal HX took a break and lied low as the whole thing made it to the headlines since SWD is a well known person and a political candidate while his sister went missing, the police doesn’t know her whereabouts.

In reality SQX is setting up for her new life in a faraway town, far away from her old life in the city. While SQX was getting used to her new commoner life,

It was hard but not as bad as she expected since there seems to be someone looking out for her. She doesn't know who and she doesn't want to make assumptions.

She wants to think it's that person but maybe not, one of her brother's old friends perhaps? She is actually right in her first hunch HX still keeps tabs on her well-being but wont interact after everything that happened between them.

After everything HX still feels responsible for her because technically she is just a bystander who got caught in the crossfire. Her only sin was being ignorant of everything. It’s best that they don't cross paths ever again.

-THE END-

[mari-writes]

Bokuto, who had recently joined MSBY and secured some well-paying sponsorships, insists on taking Akaashi on a fancy vacation.

Even before they’d started dating, Bokuto had longed to treat his best friend to something special. Akaashi deserved the best, he insisted, with how much he helped Bokuto and the rest of Fukurodani.

Now, many years later, he can finally spoil Akaashi as much as he wants!

He pays for a taxi straight from Akaashi’s apartment to the airport. When they arrive, he surprises Akaashi with a booking in the private lounge, which offers complimentary drinks, pastries, and a view of planes taxiing to and fro on the tarmac.

“Wait, Koutarou,” Akaashi’s eyes are suspicious as they settle into a small plush booth, “isn’t this place reserved for upper class passengers?”

Bokuto just grins, winking over his glass of whisky. He knows the other man wouldn’t have agreed to book First Class if he’d known in advance.

Well, too bad! He chuckles to himself.

Akaashi sighs, exasperated. “I can’t believe you,” he mutters as he takes a sip of his gin and tonic. He looks out to the runway, to where a large jet is making its approach. Bokuto watches him, taking in the man’s beautiful profile, illuminated by the setting sun.

This will be good for him. Bokuto knows it. Akaashi will push back at first—the man has always been overly careful with both his time and money. But hopefully, eventually, he’ll unwind.

[a few hours later]

“Koutarou, this is way too much.”

Bokuto sniggers as he shoulders past his boyfriend and into the hotel room. He pulls both his and Akaashi’s suitcases in after him, carefully maneuvering them to the end of the king sized bed. “Oh hush! No it’s not!”

Akaashi’s scoff turns into a gasp as he glances into the bathroom. Bokuto knows he’s seeing the giant bathtub with jets that they’re no doubt going to be taking advantage of later that night.

The room is also equipped with a large flatscreen TV, a small plush sofa and ottoman, a work desk (which Bokuto will NOT be allowing his man to use), high-end toiletries, a coffee bar (another thing Akaashi will be banned from; he needs to detox!) and a balcony with lounge chairs.

“This is bigger than my first apartment.” Akaashi sounds a bit offended. Bokuto skips over to grab his wrist to pull him deeper into the room. He points excitedly towards the large wardrobe pushed against one wall. 

“C’mon, babe, open that little door right there!”

One perfect eyebrow raised, Akaashi shrugs his backpack off before reaching to open the cupboard. He gasps again upon seeing the hidden mini bar, complete with snacks, tonic waters, and a set of crystal drink glasses.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Akasashi snaps. But he’s immediately reaching inside for a drink, so Bokuto counts it as a victory.

[that evening]

The hotel’s rooftop restaurant and bar is bustling when they arrive. Thankfully, Bokuto had been sure to make a reservation, so they get seated immediately at the best table—tucked in the corner, with a fantastic view of the city below.

“Wow.” Akaashi gulps as they settle in. “This is…”

“Incredible? Beautiful? The best thing ever?” Bokuto wiggles his eyebrows.

“Fancy,” Akaashi corrects him. “Luxurious. EXPENSIVE.”

Bokuto shrugs, glancing down at the drink menu. “Get whatever you want, babe. It’s on me.” He ignores his boyfriend’s disgruntled huff. He is sure that eventually, Akaashi will start to relax and just let himself enjoy it.

(He’s willing to wait.)

With their drinks and food ordered, they fall into easy conversation. Bokuto watches with glee as Akaashi enthusiastically digs into his plate. The man is obviously not used to such delicacies, more accustomed to snacking on convenience store food and takeout.

“I think I like the sea urchin dish best,” Akaashi says, his rosy cheeks full of rice. As usual, a few grains have found their way onto his chin. His eyes are sparkling. 

Bokuto just grins.

[the next day]

“Koutarou, stop splashing.” 

“Sorry, babe!” Bokuto switches to a calm breast stroke as he approaches Akaashi. The resort’s pool is huge, allowing the already limited amount of guests to spread out enough to have plenty of their own space. Which is perfect—that last thing Bokuto wants his boyfriend to have to deal with this week is crowds.

Akaashi is floating lazily, elbows propped up on the edge. He glares, but there’s not much heat to it. “I could forgive you if you go find me a glass of rosé,” he says. Bokuto tuts. 

“You already had one.” Akaashi shrugs, causing Bokuto to laugh. “All right, but remember, we have that wine tasting class tonight! We don’t want you to show up to it already drunk, eh?”

Shrugging, Akaashi extends his legs. His ankles hook around Bokuto’s waist, capturing him and pulling forward. “You said this trip was for me,” Akaashi states, folding his legs further until their torsos are nearly touching. “Right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.” Bokuto’s hands find the pool edge, on either side of his boyfriend, intentionally capturing him back. “Anything for you, your highness.”

They stare at each other, heat quickly building in the space between. It’s a heat that is familiar, and oh-so exciting. But also a heat that is a bit too intense for a public space.

Begrudgingly, Bokuto pulls back, shifting his focus to retrieving the drink. He feels Akaashi’s eyes on him as he climbs out of the pool. He smirks. “Later,” he mouths, and delights at how the man’s ears go red.

[later that week]

Akaashi seems like a new person when he returns from the spa.

Bokuto knew that booking a massage for his boyfriend was of the utmost importance. The man’s grueling editor job had turned his once strong, nimble frame into a mess of knots.“How was it?” Bokuto asks as his boyfriend shuffles into the room. 

“Mmm,” Akaashi replies, blinking slowly. He’s dressed in a pair of joggers and a soft linen shirt, and the resort’s complimentary slippers. He makes it to where Bokuto is reading a magazine on the small sofa.

“Mmm?” Bokuto echoes, as Akaashi lowers himself into his lap. His hands slide up Bokuto’s chest and around his neck. “Keiji?” Bokuto’s arms circle Akaashi’s middle, noticing how the man’s body is still warm from the sauna.

He stays silent for a while, as Akaashi continues to melt further into his embrace. A mop of black curls is suddenly in his face as Akaashi’s head dips low, lips finding Bokuto’s neck. “Keiji,” he breathes.

“Hmm?” Akaashi smiles against his skin, making Bokuto shiver.

“You seem relaxed,” Bokuto says, biting his bottom lip as his boyfriend shifts slightly in his lap. “And, um, cuddly.”

Akaashi nods. Slowly, he pushes himself up so that they meet gazes. He leans forward to kiss Bokuto on the nose, each cheekbone, and then, finally, his lips.

“All thanks to you, love.”

[the final day]

Bokuto awakens slowly. It’s bright, even through the thick curtains, and he hears the sound of a bird chirping just outside the window.

He turns to see Akaashi dozing next to him, spread out on his back like a starfish. The massive bed allows him to without pushing Bokuto off the mattress—a common occurrence whenever they sleep together. 

(Not that Bokuto minds much; after all, his own snoring wakes Akaashi up all the time.)

Akaashi’s cheek is pressed into the silk pillowcase. His face is calm, without tension, free of the usual furrow to his brow he often does in his sleep. Bokuto can’t help but feel proud. He successfully got Akaashi Keiji, overworked manga editor and chronic over thinker, to relax!

He might just deserve a medal.

They don't have to check out until 11am, so Bokuto plans to let his man sleep as long as he needs.

Then, one last surprise—a special brunch at the fancy French cafe next door. 

He grins, satisfied.

Maybe he won't always have the means to do this for Akaashi. Who knows what the future holds. But for now, he's going to enjoy spoiling him as much as he can.

//

I totally forgot about this fic until I was looking through my WIPs this week. I know it’s random and unstructured, so apologies for that, but I didn’t just want it to trash it. SO here! If you enjoyed, please comment and share! 🥰💕

[lostinforestbound]

Hello! This might be a bit long of an explanation so I apologize in advance, but I've been toying with the concept of a wizard tav that makes and uses plush dolls of their allies and friends as spell focuses (like in the place of staves or similar items)! So I was hoping you could write some headcanons of Rolan (and perhaps one or two of the companions if you'd like to write about one of them!) reacting to seeing Tav with a plushy of him (after theyve become close of course, so its not creepy xD) please? Tysm!!

You asked for Rolan and I'm happy to write about Rolan!! What a fascinating concept! Hopefully this is what you're looking for!

Rolan and the Wizard's Plush

AT FIRST, and only at first, he's weirded out by it. He has never experienced anything like this before, no one has ever made a plush with his likeness on it. It's odd for him.

He only becomes a little flustered when Tav explains that they make these of all of their closest friends, using them as a spellcasting focus.

It helps them concentrate and make them feel confident in their spell work, knowing that their friends are always with them, even if they're in the form of a plush. They made one of him recently since they became a lot closer.

He apologizes for making quick assumptions and asks to see it more closely, only if they would allow it. He's shocked by how accurate it is, they seem to have captured his likeness fully and even angled the plush horns right. Wait, they even added his freckles?!

At a loss for words, he traces the plushy with his fingers as Tav goes on to explain their process. How they managed to put it together, how they got a little stuck on the mantle but managed to simplify it, and how they almost forgot his tail!

As they show off Wyll's and Karlach's plush, they didn't even realize how Rolan wasn't paying attention, completely enthralled by the doll. He's thumbing the little arms, feeling around the softness of it.

When they notice it, they ask if he would like to keep it. Gods, he becomes so embarrassed, but reluctantly agrees. "Well, I suppose if you do not have any other use of it, I will take it off your hands."

When he gets back to the tower, he puts it up on display in his room next to the books he has on his desk. He now has a little study buddy with him when he practices his spells or read through book.

Tav eventually gets invited to the tower, and they present a new plush Rolan they made. "It's more accurate! I can take the old one if you'd like, and you can have this one. This hasn't been tainted by my magic yet." They would joke.

He would reject the offer instantly, because, believe it or not, he got attached to it. He can't imagine himself without it now. They find the doll within his room, resting on the bed, and gods do they find it adorable.

The next time they come to study the weave with Rolan, Tav presents a little plush of themselves to him. "Now he won't be alone." They would say, placing it next to the Rolan plush. He's unsure where he and Tav stand with each other in that moment, but he knows for sure that he's cared for by them. Those plushes are never apart from each other now.

In the romantic sense, this may be the exact moment they would have their first kiss!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Detour 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Thor

Summary: You find yourself stranded in a small village.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The burly blond leads you through the airy lobby, our valise in one hand as he drags your rolling bag with the other. He doesn’t pause at the counter, instead tossing out and order as he passes, “Darcy, we have a booking for the Berkano suite.”

A woman looks up over the desk and smiles, her lips painted bright pink as she wears a pair of thick black glasses. “Got it!”

She scribbles in an open book with a pen. Is this village so outdated they haven’t even a proper booking system? They haven’t even asked for a deposit. You’re certainly not a criminal but it’s standard business procedure.

“My card,” you step up and slide it across to her.

“Ma’am,” the blond stops by the wide staircase and faces you.

“In a moment,” you wave him off, “I’m not in the habit of existing on charity.”

“Oh, thanks, uh…” the woman, Darcy, looks at your card like she’s never seen one before. You suppose she doesn’t often see that exact type. She lays it on the page of the book and copies the number and your name beside the suite number. “Here ya are.”

She hands the card back and you arch your brows before twisting on your tall heel. You strut over to the wait brute and gesture him onward.

“There we are, sir.”

“Ma’am,” he drawls again.

“Ma’am,” you scowl.

He scoffs as he turns and lifts the rolling suitcase as he starts up the stairs, “apologies, I didn’t get a name.”

You roll your eyes as you set up after him. You keep a hold of the thick railing as you take careful steps in your stilettos. He easily outpaces you and turns back to watch your deliberate ascent, almost mockingly at the top of the step.

“Thor, if you’re curious,” he offers his name as you come up beside him, “so you would be…”

You huff and recite your name. Hopefully, you won’t have use for his. You check your watch pointedly and he chuckles.

“Ah, city folk, always in a rush even when you have nowhere to go.”

“Oh, I do have place to be,” you insist, “tomorrow, the mechanic will patch my axle and I will drive to the city and trade it in for a proper rental.”

“Mmm, sounds like a good plan,” he remarks and points you to the left, “go on. Number 2117.”

You take his directive, if only to be away from him. You will shut yourself up in the suite and shed the weariness of the day. Why did you think this trip would be anything but stressful? This is why you stick to first class and all-inclusive resorts.

“This one here,” he says as you come up to a door. 

There’s a hand-carved wooden plaque next to the door with the number inscribed; 2117. On the door itself, is an odd emblem wrought in iron; it resembles a B but is pointed where it should be curvy. He stops and lets your suitcase stand on its own as he reaches to his belt, pulling for a key attached to a retractable cord.

“I’ll have Darcy bring you the keys,” he offers as he sidles closer. You step back and watch him unlock the door. “Anything else, my lady?”

“My lady?” You glare at him, “wonderful service.”

“I wasn’t being–”

“Sir, I can handle it from here,” you grasp the handle of the round valise and the suitcase. As you try to rip them away, he doesn’t let go. He’s strong and you’re effort barely affects him. “Please, you’ve done enough.”

He snorts, “you are rather charming.”

You shake your head and yank on your bags again. He lets them go so you stagger. You steady yourself and snarl under a curled lip.

“As are you,” you snipe back, “good evening, sir.”

“Thor,” he intones.

“Whatever,” you snap and drag your suitcase through the door.

Before you can kick it shut, he pulls it closed behind you. You shake your head at him and drop your valise on the side table beneath the oak-framed mirror. A single night will be more than enough for you.

Off the entry of the suite is the door to the bathroom. You flip on the light as you peer inside; it’s large with a round tub in the corner, jets embedded in the sides; a pair of porcelain sinks and a long mirror behind them; a shower booth set into the wall with a transparent glass door; and the toilet beside the cabinet of towels and complementary lotions and soaps.

You shut the light off and proceed further into the room. The suit is divided by a centered wall; a long sofa sits against one side, a television mounted on the wall across from it and two arm chairs placed at an angle on either end of the sofa. A low table in the center of the sitting area and side table just beneath the TV, a vase of flowers atop it, along with the phone, and a kettle and pair of porcelain mugs.

On the other side of that, is the small kitchenette, a small fridge, a single cupboard, an ice bucket on the short counter, and a toaster oven on the shelf above. The other shelves hold a set of sparkling crystal glasses and a matching decanter, along with a large clear jug.

You pass through to the bedroom area. On the opposite wall, a pair of sliding glass doors open onto a balcony. There’s a table outside with two chairs. The bed is a king and is made up in luxurious bedding in a shade of charcoal. The suite melds together shades of white, iron, and some blue hues. 

There is a wardrobe against the dividing wall and night tables on either side of the bed. A chaise stands along the end of the bed and a velvet pouf in the corner. There’s a vanity against another wall with little bulbs around the mirror and a tall-legged seat before it. It is acceptable for the night.

A knock comes at the door and you sigh, expecting the same blond nuisance. Of course, he can’t just leave you be. It isn’t as if your disinterest isn’t radiating off of you. You go to the door and swing it open sharply.

It isn’t him. Thank the lord. It’s the girl from the front desk. Donna? You already forget.

“Here are your keys, miss,” she hands over a keyring with brass skeletons and a matching tag, “oh, and Thor said you were a fan of wine.”

She offers a full-bodied bottle of Chardonnay. This man must believe all the stereotypes. You are hardly a Chardonnay enthusiast, you prefer red to white.

“How thoughtful,” you drone.

“Dinner is in an hour. Just down in the dining room. Tonight is roasted hare.”

“Dinner?” You echo.

“Oh, yes ma’am, all guests are welcome to join.”

“Do you have room service?” You wonder.

“Not exactly, ma’am, but we offer three meals a day downstairs. Just turn left as you’re coming down the stairs and it’s right through the door between the lion statues.”

“Mmm, is there anywhere close by I might get a bite. Privately?”

“Um, there’s a cafe in town but it closes early. And Hank’s eatery is a bout a twenty minutes drive, out by the old lumber mill–”

“Dinner in an hour,” you check your watch, “mmm, I’ll think about it.”

You take the wine and spin, elbowing the door shut. It isn’t your first choice but it will do the job.

[heliads]

LISA !! your requests being open again is a glorious occasion, i’m so happy !! 

now, could i pretty please request spot conlon with a gender-neutral reader who’s a brooklyn newsie ? the reader’s newsie nickname is sunshine because they’re known for being super cheerful and sweet and pretty much always having a smile on their face, but thing is that spot’s kind of closed-off and gruff with them, even more than he is normally, because he finds it kind of grating how relentlessly happy they are when as newsies they live the way they do. but the reader just keeps on being the way they are, being kind to spot and smiling whenever they see him no matter how he always responds with a scowl, until finally he snaps at them and tells them to quit being so weird and happy all the time, but then they actually do and it makes him realize that he’s relied on seeing their smile every day and that he actually likes seeing it, so he goes to find sunshine and apologize, telling them that he actually admires how strong they are to keep being kind and happy despite everything and how much he appreciates it. it doesn’t have to end with a confession or anything, but hopefully at least some romantic undertones ? now, as always, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, but thanks in advance if you do, and i hope you’re doing well !! <3

'cloudy days' - spot conlon

masterlist

For once, it’s not a gray and blustery day in New York. Spot Conlon doesn’t know what the hell he was thinking, settling in a place like this, although he supposes he never really had a choice about it at all. It’s a cold and shady city, and that mood translates to its people. No one here would give him the time of day unless they absolutely had to, and he wouldn’t give them a damn thing either. That’s the tune of the city, and Spot drums it daily. Eat or be eaten. Kill or get killed.

That’s the way it’s always been, the way it always will be. Spot doesn’t want anyone’s sympathy. He’s grown past the point of needing it. Spot will do what Spot does best:  look out for himself, never take handouts, never be dependent on anything save his feet to carry him places and that weird thing beating between his ribs to keep him alive.

The other newsies respect that, and look up to it. Brooklyn may have a reputation for being the meanest borough around, but the newsies protect each other like no one else. Even when the sun don’t shine for months on end. Even on rare days, like today, when it does.

The bright streets have Spot thinking a little funny, just like always. When the sun is out and the skies are blue, he starts feeling a strange thing some might describe as happiness. For once, everything isn’t totally terrible. It’s like the high he gets after soaking his enemies, ‘cept his knuckles aren’t bloody and his eyes aren’t blackened.

Maybe it’s got him in a good mood. Maybe that’s why, when a new fella comes looking for a spot in Spot’s growing army of newsies, he’s inclined to say yes. This new ally of his is nothing like Spot has ever seen before. They’re smiling at him before they so much as tip their hat or say hello. At first, it makes him wonder if they’ve got some sort of problem, then he realizes that the newcomer isn’t grinning like that to be threatening, just because they’re legitimately, well, happy.

Strange. Confusing, even. Still, the abundance of sunshine is rattling Spot’s brain, so instead of laughing in their face, he actually offers them a place amongst the ranks. Were it any other day, he’s sure he would have made them go somewhere a little more sickly-sweet, where friendship is magic and everyone can stand around, fuckin’, square dancing or something, whatever it is they do over in ‘Hattan or the other less serious boroughs, but he doesn’t. He welcomes them into his home. He pretends he isn’t completely baffled by their happy-go-lucky act. 

And, since it’s clearly on the brain anyway, he gives them a nickname then and there, a real Spot Conlon first edition:  Sunshine. He reckoned it seemed pretty true at the moment. As it turns out, he had no idea. Sunshine gets on his damn nerves every moment of every day. They’re so sweet it makes him want to throw up. If he ever saw them without a smile on their face for longer than thirty seconds, he’d suspect an imposter. They toss out compliments like they mean it or something, and they actually pick flowers to give to their friends.

Spot would think it was an act, except it actually isn’t. No way a human being could keep up a pretense that long and not go totally crazy. Spot, for one, does feel like he’s going crazy, but that’s neither here nor there.

Every day is the same. He wakes up too early, drags himself out of bed and gets ready, then pokes his head out of his space just to find Sunshine already up and at it, beaming at him and wishing him a very good morning, Spot, before turning to the next half-asleep newsie and repeating them message, and man, he wants to throttle someone already. In the line for papes, they’re excitedly talking to him about how they hope for a good headline, and whenever Spot runs into them while selling, they’ve always got something funny to say. If Spot wanted to laugh, he’d go to the circus. Although even he has to admit that New York feels like that half the damn time anyway.

It’s actually starting to make him angry. Who is this newcomer to burst in and disrupt everyone like this? Spot’s no fool. Even though he’s proud of his newsies and glad to be among the best company there is, this isn’t the life any of them would choose if they had other options. The newsies are here because they have no money and no prospects. They are the terrible youth, set out on the streets because there is no one else to watch out for them but each other.

Yet here’s this stranger, bounding down the halls of their lodging house, beaming and laughing as if everything were sugar and sweet. It feels as if they’re making a mockery of the whole thing, and Spot doesn’t like being taken for a fool.

It twists his judgment. Spot isn’t exactly known for his warm and caring personality, but he cracks down even harder around Sunshine. Maybe then they’ll figure out that the whole super happy thing doesn’t fly around here. Dreams don’t get you anywhere, and pretending otherwise only costs a lot of effort that could instead be directed towards selling some papes.

He should be better, Spot knows that. Already, his closest friends have started to scold him (very carefully) about how he’s treating sunshine. “Y/N’s no problem,” they’ve said. “It’s just you, Spot.” But he doesn’t listen.

One day, he gets to the breaking point. After another restless night, Spot drags himself out of bed despite not getting nearly enough sleep. He’s hardly stepped out of his room before Sunshine’s smiling cheerily at him, asking, “How was your sleep, Spot?”

As if they can’t tell by the look on his face. Unable to hold himself back any longer, Spot positively growls at them, “Terrible, obviously. God, can you just quit it with that stupid attitude? It’s makin’ me crazy.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just pushes right past them and heads downstairs. He’s a grouch all morning, purposely making sure no one is near him while he’s selling and not talking to a soul all throughout the day. He manages to pull himself together enough to sell the papes he needs, but other than that, Spot is barely functioning at all.

Even the Brooklyn newsie home base seems quiet and uneasy when he gets back. Spot sits by himself in his office, temper growing worse with every passing hour. He can’t put his finger on the issue until nightfall, when he hears a chorus of cheerful voices out in the hall and realizes that Sunshine hasn’t spoken to him all day. Not since he snapped at them.

Cursing faintly, Spot drags a tired hand across his face. He’s fucked up, hasn’t he? Thinking back on it now, he remembers the startled look in Sunshine’s eyes when he told them to stop being so fake all the time. It’s fine, he tells himself. Everyone gets their feelings stepped on in Brooklyn. Things will be back to normal this time tomorrow.

Only, it isn’t. When Spot wakes up, Sunshine isn’t there to wish him a good morning. They avoid him in the line to pick up papes, and they steer clear of him throughout the entire day. Even when he makes a point of emerging from his office to sit with the rest of the newsies, Sunshine talks to every damn person there but him. It’s enough to make anyone feel a little guilty. Even Spot Conlon.

As the days go by without a single word from Sunshine, Spot feels worse and worse. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to see their smiles and hear their laughter until he didn’t get a drop of it. It’s like he’s trapped in permanent storm clouds. Only gray clouds and cold nights for him.

God, he’s getting poetic. This is horrific. Spot knows what he has to do, and even though he dreads the idea of having to admit he was wrong, he gathers his strength and goes to find Sunshine. At first, they try to duck out of the way when they see him coming, but Spot tracks them down, pulling them into an empty room so they can talk.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Spot says by way of introduction.

Sunshine doesn’t meet his eyes. “Thought that’s what you wanted.”

A sharp prick of guilt stabs through his chest. “I thought that, too. Turns out I was wrong.”

Sunshine’s head snaps up, and their eyes meet his. “Really?”

“Really,” Spot confirms. “I– I like being around you, Y/N. I like hearing you talk. I’m sorry for making you feel bad about being you.”

A slow, careful smile spreads across Sunshine’s face. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Spot says indignantly. “What, you’d think I’d go around saying things that ain’t true? What a waste of time.”

When Sunshine starts laughing, Spot feels his cheeks start to rush with warmth. “It’s not– you know what I mean, don’t you?”

“I do,” they grin. “I’m just glad to hear you want me back.”

“I do want you,” Spot breathes. “Back, I mean. I want you back. Yes.”

When Sunshine smiles knowingly at him again, Spot gets the odd feeling that he’s revealed more of himself than he really ought to, like he’s been caught showing his cards halfway through a bet. He gets the feeling he can trust Sunshine to not call him out, though. For some reason, he believes in them more than anyone. Maybe even more than himself.

The threadbare curtains on a nearby window shift slightly, allowing a thin, tenuous ray of sunlight to slip through the cracks. It slices neatly through the room, illuminating Y/N’s face in thin tendrils of gold. The sun’s back again. They’re back again, and Spot might be okay after all.

requested by @faerieroyal, i hope you enjoy!

newsies tag list: @lovesanimals0000, @misguidedswagger, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive

Novavax has faced a lot of financial losses this year. Hopefully PR stunts and vaccine drives like this will help. They have a good product. I'd hate to see it disappear.

Useful for those in and around Los Angeles

Los Angeles, CA – Novavax, a global company advancing protein-based vaccines with its Matrix-M™ adjuvant, is proud to announce an exciting new partnership with the Los Angeles Rams aimed at "Protecting the Rams House" this respiratory virus season. The partners will hold a Vaccine Drive at the Hollywood Park Farmers' Market in Inglewood on Saturday, November 16, 2024.

With respiratory disease season underway and rates of infection expected to rise during the winter, Novavax and the Rams are committed to safeguarding the health and well-being of fans and the broader Los Angeles community. Together, they are bringing convenient vaccination options to the public, starting with this engaging, family-friendly event at Hollywood Park.

The Vaccine Drive at the Hollywood Park Farmers' Market in Inglewood will provide COVID-19, flu and other vaccinations for all eligible individuals, along with educational resources and giveaways. Los Angeles Rams Cheerleaders and mascot Rampage will join the event to rally fans and locals, raising awareness about the importance of vaccination in keeping Los Angeles communities safe.

"At Novavax, we believe that protecting public health means engaging in partnerships that put people first," said John Trizzino, President and Chief Operating Officer, Novavax. "By teaming up with the Los Angeles Rams, we are excited to offer accessible vaccination opportunities, including our COVID-19 vaccine as an option, ensuring Rams fans and the surrounding community can stay protected this respiratory disease season."

"We're thrilled to partner with Novavax to 'Protect the Rams House' this season," said Molly Higgins, EVP Community Impact & Engagements, Los Angeles Rams. "This initiative not only emphasizes the importance of immunization, but also brings our fans together for a cause that supports the health and safety of our community."

The Vaccine Drive will take place from 9:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. PST at the Hollywood Park Farmers' Market on November 16. No pre-registration is necessary, but insurance cards are required, and vaccinations will be administered on a first-come, first-served basis while supplies last.

For more information about the Vaccine Drive, please visit: www.farmhabit.com/hollywoodpark.

[miasmaghoul]

Miasma, im a lil sick and if its not too much to ask could i get a lil fic of sick dew with mountain and swiss and cumulus taking care of dew? It'd mean a lot 🥺🥺❤️❤️. (Ty in advance for your consideration)

Sick little guy ahoy.

I hope you feel better soon! ♡

"Has anyone seen Dew this morning?" Cumulus pokes her head into the common room, searching for a telltale blond head.

Mountain shakes his head, not looking up from the pan of eggs he's in the middle of scrambling.

"Not yet," he rumbles, cracking some pepper into his breakfast. "He missed sunrise."

Well that's concerning; Dew never misses his early morning coffee with Mountain and they all know it. A grunt sounds from the couch, and Swiss's head appears over the arm of it.

"Haven't seen him since yesterday," he says, stifling a yawn. It's still early, and Swiss has never been a morning person. "Why, he owe you money or somethin'?" Cumulus rolls her eyes.

"He's supposed to help me organize the storehouse today," she informs them, watching Mountain pluck a few fresh chives from the base of one of his horns. He snips them into the pan, and her mouth waters. Mountain makes the best eggs. "I can't find him anywhere. I think he's hiding from me."

Swiss snorts out a laugh, shoving himself up and stretching both arms over his head.

"Sounds about right," he scratches at his chest, sauntering towards the kitchenette to steal a sausage link from the plate Mountain has prepared. He earns a wooden spoon to the knuckles for his trouble, but it's not enough to dissuade him. Mountain grumbles, but doesnt whack him again. Swiss plants a wet kiss on his cheek in thanks. "You check his room?" He leans against the counter, munching on his prize. Cumulus nods.

"I knocked," she confirms, crossing both arms over her chest, "he didn't answer." Swiss rolls his eyes, smirking.

"C'mon, Lus," he chides, popping the rest of the sausage into his mouth and licking grease from his thumb. "You really think he'd answer if he's hiding?"

That's...a fair point, actually. Cumulus pinches the bridge of her nose. She'd like it noted that it is still very early, and she can't be blamed for her brain not firing on all cylinders.

"You're probably right," she sighs, running manicured fingers through her curls. "I guess I'll go try again."

"Do you want breakfast first?" Mountain asks it over his shoulder, stirring a spoonful of creme fraiche into his eggs. "It's just about ready."

"I'll be right back," she assures him, giving the pair a wave. Hopefully with a grumpy little fire ghoul in tow. Swiss pushes away from the counter and pads his way over.

"I'll come with," he offers, "in case you need backup." Mountain trills in discontent and Swiss ruffles his hair, gives him a chuckle. "Hush, grasshopper. We'll be back before you know it."

Mountain grumbles regardless, but doesn't argue further. Swiss hooks an arm around her shoulders and Cumulus does the same to his waist, the pair of them striding down the hall towards the stairs that will take them to the dorms.

"It's not like Dew to miss sunup," Cumulus murmurs after a moment, chewing the inside of her cheek. She can count on one hand the number of times this has happened, and it's never been for anything good.

"I wouldn't worry," Swiss replies, giving her shoulder a squeeze, "you know how he gets when it comes to chores."

That much is true. If anyone is going to shirk duties, it's Dewdrop. Cumulus hums, but something in her isn't convinced. There's an unease in her belly, something not quite right. She doesn't speak on it though, the rest of their short journey made in silence. Soon enough, she's knocking on the little ghoul's door once again.

"Dew?" Cumulus calls through thick oak, Swiss leaning against the wall nearby. "You in there, sugar?" There's no response, and that wiggly feeling in her stomach grows.

"C'mon, firecracker," Swiss says, louder than Cumulus had been, "rise 'n shine, you got shit to do!" He wiggles the doorknob, but it doesn't move. Locked.

"I don't think he's here," Cumulus mumbles. Swiss is less convinced.

"One way to find out."

Swiss drops to his knees and presses a large palm just below the lock. Cumulus watches wide-eyed as tendrils of shadow leak from the tips of his fingers, slithering up into the keyhole like tiny snakes. Seconds later there's a clunking noise, and Swiss fixes her with a grin as he stands.

"That's new," she comments. Swiss gives her a wink that makes the little hairs on the back of the neck stand up.

"I'm full of surprises, sweetheart." The way he says it has her stomach fluttering for a different reason, but Cumulus tries not to think about it. She clears her throat, knocking one more time.

"Dew? We're coming in, okay?"

Once again, no response, and Cumulus pushes the door open with no further warning. They step into the little ghoul's room, and are greeted by darkness. Dew's curtains are still drawn, the only light leaking from between cracks in the heavy drapery. Swiss crosses the room to throw them open, letting the sun in and revealing an empty bed piled with messy blankets.

Now that they're in the room, though, she can hear water running, and it makes sense why Dew hadn't responded. He's in the shower. Of course he is, it's the only place he could be. She feels silly for being so worried in the first place.

Something, though, still doesn't feel quite right. She'd last knocked nearly thirty minutes ago, and Dew isn't the biggest fan of long showers. The worry bites at her again, and before she can stop herself Cumulus's legs carry her to the bathroom door.

"Dew, baby? You in there?" She knocks, presses her ear to the door, and over the rushing sound of the shower she hears...something. Soft whimpering. Then,

"L-Lulu?"

Cumulus shoves the door open without a second thought, spurred by the weakness in Dew's voice. She finds him sitting in the corner of his shower. Fully clothed, drenched and shaking like a leaf. Hugging his knees. There's steam rolling off of him in waves, and it takes a moment for her to realize that it isn't coming from the water itself.

It's coming from Dew.

"Lulu," he rasps, voice as shaky as he is, "p-please..."

Cumulus reaches through the spray and finds it icy cold, turning the faucet off before stepping into the stall, dropping to her knees.

"Dew? Dew, sweetie, what-"

Cumulus sets a hand on his shoulder and immediately puls it back with a gasp. Dew always runs hot, but right now he's boiling. The little ghoul stares at her with foggy eyes, blinking so slowly.

"Help."

Shit.

"It's okay, lovebug, I'm here." She rests a hand on his cheek despite the heat, stroking too-pale skin. "Swiss!" Cumulus calls, trying to keep the encroaching panic from leaking into her voice. It's a skill she's developed over the years, staying calm on the face of even the worst things. "Need a hand in here!"

Dew doesn't seem to know that she's speaking, breathing shallow though his mouth and leaning heavily into her hand. He looks half dead, pasty and gray. Swiss pads in a moment later, and Cumulus hears him suck air through his teeth. She doesn't bother acknowledging it.

"He's roasting," she says gently, eyes never leaving Dew's face. She's not sure he can see her, but she's not going to risk it. "Help me get him out of here, would you?"

Swiss doesn't hesitate, stepping into the stall to scoop the suffering ghoul up in strong arms and hissing at the heat of him.

"You aren't kidding," he murmurs, carrying Dew back to the bedroom. Cumulus follows close behind, shedding her now-soaked leggings along the way.

"He must have finally picked up the bug we had the other week," she says, mostly to herself. Dew is their defacto caretaker when sickness hits, his natural heat keeping him insulated from the ills that float around the abbey from time to time. When it does hit him, though, he suffers. Mightily.

"Guess so."

Swiss sounds concerned now too, a rare tone. He sets Dew down in his desk chair, the little ghoul whining and clinging to him with weak limbs. He strips Dew with careful hands while Cumulus gathers a change of clothes from his dresser - an old shirt of Aether's and a pair of sweats that must have been Rain's at some point. They're too long, but they'll be warm and that's what matters.

She and Swiss work together to get him dry, Swiss channeling his fire to blend with her air and pulling the moisture from his skin and hair. Dew shivers through it, and through the pair of them getting him dressed again. He looks so tiny in the oversized clothes, and Cumulus's heart clenches. Poor thing must be miserable. She certainly was when she was stuck with this garbage.

"You'll be okay, bug," she assures him, tucking a stray hair behind his ear. "You'll be okay."

Swiss picks him up again once he's dressed, the little ghoul unconsciously burying his face in Swiss's chest for comfort. He deposits Dew on the mattress, only stepping back long enough to pull off his own shirt before crawling in after him. He hauls Dew onto his bare chest, that slight body limp and obviously heavy. Cumulus follows, organizing the blankets enough to get the pair of them covered. Swiss is already sweating by the time she's done, focusing his own power to draw some of the heat from Dew's trembling form.

"He's in bad shape." The other ghoul strokes Dew's back under the covers, and Cumulus nods.

"Yeah," she agrees, tucking a blanket around Dew's shoulders. "Where's Aether when you need him?" Of course this would happen the one week their resident healer was away, he and Rain accompanying Papa on a press junket.

"Seriously," Swiss huffs, forcing a chuckle. He presses a kiss into Dew's hair. "Guess it's up to us to play doctor for a change."

Cumulus sighs, perching herself on the edge of the bed and rubbing Dew's leg though the blanket. They sit in silence for a few long minutes, the quiet broken only by the little ghoul's soft, distressed whines. Swiss keeps his lips pressed to temple, gauging his temperature through thin skin.

"There you are."

The voice makes them both jolt, and Dew makes the saddest little sound until Swiss settles again. Cumulus turns to find Mountain in the doorway, a large tray in his hands and a crease between his brows.

"I figured I'd find you all in his bed, but uh. Not quite like this."

Cumulus can't help her sad smile.

"Little guy's sick," she says, barely more than a whisper. "Nasty fever, like we all had."

Mountain's frown deepens. He sets the tray on Dew's desk and Cumulus sees that's it's full to bursting with a wonderful spread. Eggs, sausages, toast and fruit. It's easily enough food for for all of them, and alongside it all are four steaming mugs. Two have teabags, the other two black coffee. The ideal breakfast in bed.

She hopes it won't go to waste.

"I can help," Mountain says, eyes slipping closed.

Cumulus raises an eyebrow, but before she can ask how she's greeted by small clusters of white flowers blooming at the crown of Mountain's head. He plucks them carefully, crushing the tiny blossoms between his palms and dropping them into one of the mugs of tea.

"Elderflower," he says by way of explanation. "It's a natural fever reducer." Mountain gives the concoction a stir, licking his spoon clean with a satisfied nod. "Tastes nice too. Can he sit up?"

"Dunno," Swiss rasps, now visibly drenched in sweat. Dew has more or less stopped shaking, though, so that's a positive. "He's pretty weak."

"We have to try," Cumulus whispers, biting her lip, "before his brain poaches."

Swiss chuffs out a laugh, one echoed by Mountain, and together they work to get Dew into the proper position. Swiss moves himself to the headboard, and Mountain lifts the little ghoul with no effort. Arranges him to sit against Swiss's chest, head tipped back against his shoulder. Cumulus gathers the mug and spoon while Mountain climbs in next to them, getting a large hand on the back of Dew's neck to keep him upright. Cumulus settles herself between Swiss's legs, kneeling and giving the drink in hand a stir.

"Dew? Sweetheart?" Swiss gives the little ghoul's waist a squeeze as Cumulus speaks, Mountain rubbing a thumb along his hairline. Dew blinks up at her, hazy and lost.

"Mngh...Lus?" Cumulus smiles, stokes his cheek.

"That's right, baby," she coos, offering him a small smile.

"Wha...wha's goin' on?" He squirms a little in Swiss's arms, but he has no energy to fight.

"You're sick, Sparky," Swiss breathes into his ear, kissing just behind it. Dew makes a soft sound, drooping against Swiss's chest. "Don't worry, we're here to help."

"Mount made you some medicine," Cumulus tells him, tapping the spoon against the rim of the mug. "It'll help. I'm going to feed it to you, alright?"

Like he's in any condition to argue.

Dew gives a weak nod, and there's no more talking after that. Cumulus feeds him the tea spoonful by spoonful, the floral scent of it permeating the air around them. Dew hums after each sip, licking at his lips every now in then. It takes a while to get the full mug into him, and by the time they're done Dew's barely conscious.

He's boneless between Swiss's legs, supported only by his arms and Mountain's hand. Cumulus sets the mug to the side once he's done and the others waste no time in getting Dew settled back into the bed. Laying him out on the center on the mattress, Swiss molding himself to the little ghoul's back. Mountain gets up long enough to take his shirt off, and in the process Cumulus catches him glancing at the breakfast tray he'd brought. She rests a kind hand on his bicep.

"I'm sorry," she says, a genuine apology. "We should have come and told you what was happening, but Dew-"

"Shh," Mountain soothes, dropping a kiss between her horns. "It's alright, Lus. There are worse things than cold eggs." She smiles up at him.

"I'll make it up to you," she promises, and Mountain will certainly hold her to that. She knows from experience. She stands on her tiptoes to kiss his collarbone, and Mountain gives her ass an affectionate squeeze.

"Lulu," comes a sad little voice from the bed, and the ghoulette turns to find a spidery hand reaching for her. "'mere."

Who is she to say no to that?

Cumulus climbs in where Mountain had been earlier, pressing a soft kiss to the little ghoul's forehead. It's a touch cooler than it was earlier. That's a good sign. Dew snakes an arm around her waist, nuzzles into the softness of her chest, and to their shared delight a rusty purr kicks up in Dew's chest.

Swiss wraps his arm around the both of them, and Cumulus hums. The blankets shift and Mountain makes himself comfortable at her back, mirroring Swiss's position and getting them all tucked in.

"Rest, now," she whispers, knocking her horns against Dew's affectionately. "You'll feel better soon." Dew whines, tired eyes searching hers.

"Promise?"

Cumulus kisses his cheek.

"Promise."

Dew drifts off quickly after that, and the rest if them are content to let him. Content to care for him as he cared for them.

It's the least they can do for their favorite little fire ghoul.

[itsclydebitches]

A new stupid Ted Lasso drabble? Oh worm? 👀

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

It was too early for this shit.

Roy turned to find Ted staring intently at his computer screen, with Twitter—no fucking wonder he was losing his mind at 7:00am— encroaching on the Richmond desktop. Across from him Beard licked his thumb and deftly flipped a page of The Secret Garden. Had they planned this?

“Yes,” Beard said, not bothering to look up. Ted let out an explosive breath and smiled, like Beard’s promise of worm devotion meant fuck all when they had actual shit to do. Keeley was still waiting on a statement. Rebecca had a small library for them to sign. Higgins— Roy shuddered—wanted to talk finances in half an hour.

Which meant that instead of prepping for any of that in any way, Ted’s gaze crept towards him.

“Fuck no,” Roy barked.

Ted pouted. No, no, if Phoebe couldn’t sway him with doe-eyes at the tender age of six then Ted Bloody Lasso wasn’t going to do it around a fucking mustache. Roy set his teeth against the sliver of an apology trying to force its way out. “You’re a worm,” he said, as if that explained it all. Because dammit, it did.

“What kind of worm?”

Head jerking, Roy schooled his look of betrayal at Trent taking this seriously. He had his glasses off and everything, tap-tap-taping against his mouth as he stared contemplatively up at the ceiling.

“Uhhh...” Ted consulted the digital hellfire, but apparently no answers were offered up. Figures. “I don’t know. Just a worm? Are there a lot of ‘em?”

“Oh yes. Well over twenty-thousand last I checked.”

Roy twitted involuntarily. Twenty-fucking-thousand? And how the hell did Trent know that? Was he the goddamn worm whisperer? Made sense, given what a spineless pest he was.

Not anymore a voice whispered, sounding suspiciously like Ted. Yeah. Fine. He’d changed or what-fucking-ever. Roy growled and resigned himself to a worm lecture as penance.

“Worms are as varied as any species,” Trent was saying, curdling Roy’s stomach with every word. He took his pen out, mindlessly twirling it as he gathered his thoughts. “Silkworms, tapeworms, the humble earthworm. They seem quite simple on the surface and yet they’re a vital part of our ecosystem. Forget the bees; remove the worm and you risk a near total collapse of our agriculture. Ah, and did you know that the leech is a worm? Certainly they’ve been invaluable to the medical community as a natural anticoagulant. Science will always advance, but sometimes all you need is a good old-fashioned blood sucker—”

“Stop,” Roy groaned, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. Trent glanced over, one eyebrow raised.

“The point—sorry, my editor is always on my case for ‘overly verbose prose.’ As if she’s one to talk with those emails—the point is that if you were a worm, Ted, you would remain just as valuable a member of society as you are now. Of course we'd still love you. And why shouldn't you remain a part of our lives? I would determine your species and then set about finding a suitable environment for you. One that, hopefully, we would all be able to visit with frequency. However, if you’re a tube-worm I’m afraid you’re, well, shit out of luck, if I’m allowed to be crass. None of us are going anywhere near a hydrothermal vent and that’s even if I knew how to swim. Most land-living species would be doable though.” Trent bit his lower lip, considering. “If you were a worm I’d research everything I could about your nutrition, enrichment, life cycle. Given the magical nature of these events—I assume in this hypothetical you weren’t always a worm, yes?—I would take steps to ensure you were well looked after, should your life extend past mine. Luckily, Amelia already had a fondness for all things creepy and crawly, so I’m sure she’d be thrilled to receive you in the will. In the same vein, I’d use whatever contacts I still possess to connect with the leading researchers in Nematology and Helminthology, see if we couldn't find some way to communicate with you. I have no qualms about you being a worm, Ted, but I would miss our chats.” Trent smiled, a little wistfully, and then shook himself like a man coming out of a dream. “Why do you ask?”

“Jesus Fucking Christ,” Roy said, thunking his head down on the keyboard. Whatever these two nerds had going on he needed to bottle it and sell the shit. He'd make a fortune.

Ted let out a strangled noise. “No reason,” he said, clearing his throat. “That’s a mighty kind offer of yours, Trent, and I do appreciate it. Yes, ma'am, I do. I suppose you could say I—”

“Don’t,” Roy growled.

“—wormed my way into your heart?”

And he was done. Nearly tripping himself in his haste to leave the office, Roy unfortunately still saw the high-five Beard gave Ted—complete with a “Booya!”—and the heart eyes Trent was sending his way, fierce as fucking laser beams. Honestly, they were disgusting, the lot of them.

Still, that question was going to haunt him now...

“Wonder if Keeley and Jamie would love me if I was a worm,” Roy muttered, ignoring the look Higgins cast him and the question of where he was off to with their meeting on the horizon. Fuck finances. Worms didn't care about finances.

Roy took a right towards the exit, towards KJPR, and hopefully an answer half as romantic as the dork's.

[infiniteglitterfall]

holy shit, they actually took out Ismail Haniyeh

(And that other guy, who I've never heard of but is apparently the Hezbollah leader responsible for the deaths of those 12 Israeli Druze kids playing soccer the other day.)

I have quoted Haniyeh so many times over the past ten months. Not out of admiration. Out of the eternal need to explain to people that HAMAS IS BAD, ACTUALLY. It is NOT "the Palestinian resistance."

Apart from everything else, Hamas staged a violent coup in 2007, kicking the Palestinian government out of Gaza, and has run it as a dictatorship ever since.

I really, really want to talk (more than I already do) about the actual Palestinian resistance. But I think that has to be another post. Because I am not going to be able to shut up about Haniyeh long enough yet.

Haniyeh was essentially the leader of Hamas. The quote I keep going back to is from late last October, from an interview with him that aired on Al-Jazeera TV:

“The blood in the Gaza Strip... the blood of the children, women, and elderly... we need this blood so that it will ignite within us the spirit of revolution, so that it will arouse within us persistence, so that it will arouse within us defiance and advance.”

That's just plain vampire talk.

I don't think he was a vampire. I think if we were in an alternate universe in which any Hamas leader was going to turn out to have secretly been a vampire, it would be Sinwar.

And that dude's not turning anybody else. He's gonna want to keep them for snacks.

I've seen many tweets from Gazans who are fucking pissed that Hamas started a war they did not want, and then basically told them they should die to get it all fired up. Like... maybe calm your tits, Haniyeh??

Listen, I know "calm your tits" is an almost comically inadequate response to this dude. It is going to sound unserious as all hell. But this is all I have to offer at this point.

The man was not interested in calming his fucking tits.

He had a history of saying shit like this. (E.g. in 2014 he said, “We love death like our enemies love life!” CALM YOUR FUCKING TITS, I AM BEGGING YOU.)

He was one of those dictators who has a completely inappropriate and hopefully impossible mission in mind -- okay, yes, fine, that does describe ALL dictators.

This 2011 quote from him (on Hamas's Al-Aqsa TV) describes his mission, and Hamas's, well enough:

“We say today, explicitly, so it cannot be explained otherwise, that the armed resistance and the armed struggle are the path and the strategic choice for liberating the Palestinian land, from the sea to the river, and for the expulsion of the invaders and usurpers from the blessed land of Palestine.

"The Hamas movement will lead intifada after intifada until we liberate Palestine – all of Palestine, Allah willing. Allah Akbar and praise Allah.

"We say with transparency and in a clear manner, that Palestinian reconciliation – and all sides must know this – cannot come at the expense of principles, at the expense of the resistance."

(By "reconciliation," he means letting the Palestinian government run Gaza again -- not by Hamas stepping down, but by the two working jointly to run all of Palestine.

Which would be absolutely fucking disastrous for everyone involved, other than the people in power. Fatah does not have a strong record itself on freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom of choice, etc. It's not able to provide any counterbalance to Hamas's 17 years of absolutely brutal methods of crushing dissent.

Anyway, Haniyeh wasn't done talking.)

"These principles are absolute and cannot be disputed: Palestine—all of Palestine—is from the sea to the river. We won't relinquish one inch of the land of Palestine. The involvement of Hamas at any stage with the interim objective of liberation of Gaza, the West Bank, or Jerusalem, does not replace its strategic view concerning Palestine and the land of Palestine.”

The reason is that Hamas's 1988 founding charter, which is an absolutely wild ride, holds that the entire land is an Islamic Waqf. Meaning that it's "consecrated for future Muslim generations until Judgement Day. It, or any part of it, should not be squandered: it, or any part of it, should not be given up… This Waqf remains as long as earth and heaven remain. Any procedure in contradiction to Islamic Sharia, where Palestine is concerned, is null and void."

(That quote, and the wild ride, are in the de-paywalled article below)

This is something Hamas itself came up with. Obviously there are many places there that are holy to Muslims, Jews, and/or Christians.

But Hamas independently decided that not only was the ENTIRE PLACE holy, it was all For Muslims Only: not to be sold to or by anyone else, etc.

(Wikipedia calls it "a relatively recent belief... forming part of the group's mythology," and cites political scholar Yitzhak Reiter, who calls it "a novel politically-oriented myth, rooted neither in Islamic legal texts nor in historical practice.")

He's apparently being portrayed as something of a moderate in a lot of media coverage about his death.

I can see the temptation to consider him a moderate by comparison with, say, Hamas military commander Muhammad Deif, because it's Haniyeh, not the military, who's been involved in ceasefire negotiations.

But fuck, there's no such thing as a grade curve steep enough to make this guy a moderate. Even his ceasefire negotiations were not moderate.

Haniyeh has been perfectly clear and consistent: "We are committed to our demands: the permanent ceasefire, comprehensive and complete withdrawal of the enemy out of the Gaza Strip, the return of all displaced people to their homes, allowing all aid needed for our people in Gaza, rebuilding the Strip, lifting the blockade and achieving an honourable prisoner exchange deal."

You cannot: * invade, * burn 12 villages to the ground while trying to kill everyone in them, * take -- what was the final count, 262 hostages? -- including a literal infant who, if still alive, has now spent more of his life as a hostage than not, * publicly state you will repeat the attack "again and again and again" until Israel is violently destroyed, * then say that your requirements for hostage return are (1) Israel stops trying to eliminate Hamas and go home, (2) everyone in Gaza goes home, (3) Israel has to agree to rebuild the Strip, (4) Israel has to lift the blockade on weapon supplies, (5) unspoken lack of a limit on a Hamas ceasefire, and THEN (6) you'll NEGOTIATE hostage return. Not "return the hostages," but NEGOTIATE how many prisoners Israel has to release for each hostage. Which gives Hamas the option to say that it couldn't reach an agreement and not release anybody.... * And be a moderate.

Like, by that standard, Netanyahu is even more moderate. Possibly even liberal.

And I don't think ANYBODY (short of Ben-Gvir, maybe) is calling Netanyahu a moderate. Giving ceasefire demands that are not for a ceasefire. That instead say, "end the war with zero requirements for us and we'll consider returning your hostages." Has gotten Haniyeh and Hamas a lot of very unearned credit for "negotiation," and "willingness to agree to a ceasefire," and, apparently, being "moderate." Somehow, it keeps surprising me that a ton of people see this not as "refusing a ceasefire entirely," but as willing and open negotiation.

I'm closing with two tweets from preeminent Palestinian human rights activist Bassem Eid.