#also drawing all these freckles was torture

[inumbrapugnabimus-maybe]

ed elric is way too fun to draw ok

[bookworm-with-coffee]

The Greatest Heist of All. . .

(How they react to your pet - Slytherin Boys x Reader)

Plot; Niffler inspired crackfics

Pairings; Sebastian Sallow x Reader (Romantic), Ominis Gaunt x Reader (Romantic)

Warnings; jealousy, coarse language, floofity fluff

________________________________________

Sebastian Sallow

When Sebastian first laid eyes on that Niffler, he knew trouble would start. In rescuing creatures, you had come to love many of them, but none more than those greedy little—

The brunette fumed at the thought of them. Those cute little beady eyes had won you over that day you'd both gone walking in the woods for a picnic date. That's when you'd stumbled upon a den of Nifflers.

Of course, most ran away. But, one remained. One annoying little—

Unafraid and curious, the little creature had sniffled and shuffled closer to you both.

"Mind your pockets", Sebastian commented, your hand waving to dismiss his words without a care.

"Look at you!!", you'd cooed at the little one, your boyfriend hardly sharing your enthusiasm on the creature.

You admired the blue fur on his back, reaching keenly to pet the cheeky little thing before it practically clambered onto your lap and into your arms. Sebastian's eyes rolled as your arms engulfed the Niffler, stroking your hands along his smooth hairs.

Attention went from your date to your uninvited guest, and after some time, Sebastian grew impatient and perhaps, a bit jealous as well?

"Alright, great. You've pet it. Now, can we go?", he huffed, raising a brow.

You pouted up at your boyfriend, the Niffler eagerly accepting your affections, "I don't want to just leave him here".

"He's a wild animal", the brunette reasoned. "He has a family. He'll be fine". But, the Niffler also seemed to share your resolve, not wishing to leave your kind embrace.

"I think— I want to keep him".

Oh God. Oh no—

"Nifflers are little thieves!", Sebastian insisted. "Who wants a pet that could rob you blind??".

Kneeling by your side, your freckled partner laid a gentle hand on your back before sliding it down to hold your spare hand in his attempt to coax you away.

The Niffler saw Sebastian's possessive behaviour and recognised it as a similar behaviour to those of his own kind. Could it be that you were valuable? Not gold, but a treasure as yourself?? This would be his biggest win yet, if that were so.

Sebastian's brown hues drifted to the Niffler, whose attitude had become a bit more insistent. The creature's eyes met his own and without breaking contact, deliberately snuggled into your chest, even daring to lay a possessive paw by your shoulder as if to say, mine.

Oh, it was on.

In the weeks that followed, things grew worse.

Every time there was even a mention of Sebastian, your Niffler saw fit to jump into your lap or arms to draw your attention.

Sebastian was at breaking point. Each time he spoke with you, there was that miscreant stirring him up. He'd even taken to insisting that the thing was evil, to your amusement.

Once or twice, the brunette even went as far as to mouth, "I'm watching you!", from over your shoulder, making the signal with his hands when you weren't looking.

It was unbelievable. A Niffler participating in some form of torturous psychological warfare. And Sebastian wouldn't let him win. You were his.

Then, your owl came and the existential dread continued.

Sebastian,

Would you be so kind as to babysit my Niffler? You'd be doing me a HUGE favour, as I'm away for most of the day on Saturday and he'll be left with no supervision and company.

Love always,

(Y/n) ♡

Bloody thing can starve, was his first thought, finally inwardly relenting when he thought of the consequences. You'd hate him forever if he did that.

So, it was off to your home he'd have to go.

"You boys behave while I'm gone", you'd teasingly instructed with a pointed finger and Sebastian played it off with a forced smile.

"Don't rush", he shrugged, making sure to pull you into the most passionate kiss he could offer, hoping the Niffler would weep on the inside.

"Sebastian", you giggled against his lips, almost tempted to stay for a more intimate moment were it not for your plans. "I am coming back".

His forehead leant on your own, the Niffler forgotten whilst his hands drew imaginary patterns on your waist. "I'll be waiting with bated breath", the brunette whispered, pressing another kiss to the tip of your nose. "I love you".

"I love you too", you sighed, allowing only one more peck on the lips before your parting.

Until the Niffler scuttled to you, pulling on the fabric of your blouse from where he sat on a table. "Oh, Darling", you fawned, Sebastian resisting the urge to hurl. "I'd nearly forgotten you!!". Lifting the creature, you kissed the top of his head. "Mama will be back soon, okay? Behave for your Dad".

Oh, God. He really was going to be sick.

Giving a final wave of your hand, you were off and away, Sebastian's unimpressed glower falling onto the Niffler beside him. "I am not your Dad".

The Niffler seemed to chatter, something akin to mischievous laughter. And I'm not going to behave.

Some of the most horrible hours of Sebastian's life came to follow.

It was one incident after the other, resulting in a few smashed vases and a bruised ego for Sebastian.

"That's it!", he finally snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at the little creature. "I've had it!! Whatever, it is!!".

As if scolding a child, Sebastian continued, "(Y/n) may think you're adorable, but I know the truth, you conniving thief! You might have fooled her, but you don't fool me!! And if you think for one second that—".

"Sebastian?".

His face paled, hearing the voice of his love and the Niffler took his chance. The mischievous creature began to sniffle, as if it were crying, before faking a limp whilst walking to you.

"What happened??", you cried out, spying the shards of a broken vase by the bench, still not cleaned up because of one little Niffler. Your attention instantly diverted to your pet, seemingly in hurt. "What did you do, Sebastian?!".

"What did I do??", he repeated incredulously. "I didn't do anything to him! It was that damn creature running amok!!".

All the while, you were focused on the aforementioned miscreant, feeding into his lies and infuriating Sebastian further.

"He's evil, (Y/n)! That thing needs to go!!".

"That 'thing', is Jeffrey!", you shot back.

"Oh?? So, it has a name now??".

Your eyes bore into the brunette's, searching his darker hues in silent scrutiny for a moment before you spoke again.

"You're jealous".

Those words made him stiffen, silencing any comebacks he'd bottled inside.

"That's ridiculous", Sebastian offered, too weak to be an argument.

"You are!", your mouth fell open, drawing your boyfriend's brows together.

"I am not jealous!".

"By Merlin", you gasped, trying to restrain any laughter threatening to spill out. "You're jealous. Of a Niffler?? ".

"He gets in the way!", Sebastian yelled, harsher than intended. "You're always giving him your attention, I hardly get it anymore! He's also consciously trying to steal you from me, for whatever reason!".

"Steal me?", your brow rose, a few giggles slipping out before your expression softened. Your eyes shifted to Jeffrey, noting that he was uncharacteristically fine for a creature so 'hurt' and you stroked over his fur, placing him aside. "You'll be fine".

The Niffler watched as you approached Sebastian, bringing him into an embrace. Your fingers combed through the soft waves of his hair and down to the nape of his neck, allowing him to melt in your arms.

"Sebastian", you sighed, shaking your head only slightly. "You're right. My attention from you has been divided. And while Jeffrey's behaviour was far from innocent—". You pulled back, running your fingertips over his face, encouraging his eyes to meet yours. "— I will never be stolen away from you. No Human or Niffler can steal me from the one who matters most to me. There's only one Sebastian Sallow. And that's rarer than any treasure".

A smile finally returned to Sebastian's face, the gap closing between you both. Your lips met his, gentle and breezy, calming the fires of anger and jealousy that had once stoked within his heart.

"I'll make us a cup of tea", you whispered, tapping the brunette on his nose, leaving only the brightest of smiles in your wake as you brushed by.

Sebastian turned his attention to the little shit sitting on the nearby counter, his tongue darting out teasingly. "I win".

The Niffler's head seemed to dip, suddenly sad and deflated. A pang of guilt hit Sebastian in that moment and it made him relent to the small creature.

"Fine", he grumbled, unable to fight his growing smile. "I can't believe I'm doing this, but–". He offered his hand. "— friends?". Jeffrey sniffled, almost seeming to nod in agreement when he extended his paw. "Just don't push your luck".

♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡ °•° ♡

Ominis Gaunt

The day Ominis met your pet Niffler was utterly magical.

You had lead him into your vivarium for the first time, introducing him to the array of magical creatures that were under your care.

Ominis got to feel the smooth and pristine feathers of a Joberknoll, the fluffy hairs of a Puffskein; and the beak of your Hippogriff, Highwing.

And then the cherry on top; your Niffler.

Nifflers were curious, but harmless creatures. They were notorious for stealing jewels, treasure, coins— anything that sparkled, really. With their affectionate nature and reputation for an adorable stature, it was not a mystery as to why you chose to keep the Niffler you rescued from poachers.

The blonde had always wanted to meet one of those cute little theives and in knowing this, you'd excitedly given him the opportunity.

"Where is he??", Ominis had asked, unable to mask the way his voice travelled an octave higher in his anticipation.

"This way!", he was able to hear the grin in your tone, widening his own as he eagerly allowed himself to be tugged along by the pale tips of his nimble fingers.

You'd gently helped the blonde to be seated on the soft grass, almost finding yourself mesmerised with how the sunlight struck his delicate features.

Whistling and clicking your fingers, there was a shuffling in the grass as something approached. It had startled Ominis only slightly, the new grip of your hand over his own settling him.

You guided his hand forward as you had done so before, his palm finally landing on something soft. A short gasp heaved from the blonde, his lashes fluttering at the new sensations beneath his skin.

There was the rapid rising and falling of the little creature's breaths as he sniffed over the new guest of the vivarium.

A smile carved its way onto Ominis' expression, hesitantly stroking over the little creature beneath his grasp. Your hand lead his over the Niffler's head and snuffling snout, a breathy laugh slipping from the blonde when the small breaths tickled his skin.

Long had he dreamed about this..

"Ominis, I'd like you to meet Sebastian", you laughed at the sudden quizzical look that dawned on your counterpart's expression.

"Sebastian?", Ominis echoed with a quirk of his brow. "You named your Niffler after our friend? ".

No, he wasn't jealous. Not at all.

"Only because he gets into so much trouble", you giggled. "He also has these adorable speckles on his fur around his face. Lilac fur with faded spots".

"Like freckles", he nodded in understanding, trying to fight the deflation dampening his initial excitement. "Does Sebastian know that you've named your 'child' after him?".

Ominis was sure that with the amount of time you'd spent with Sebastian on various escapades in the fifth year and the closeness you still shared now in your seventh, that the brunette had undoubtedly been the first to be shown the Room of Requirement and these lovely creatures.

Perhaps Sebastian was the better suitor for you??

"No, actually", your amused answer shocked Ominis. "I've never brought him here. He doesn't even know of this place".

"He doesn't?", the blonde's brows creased in a bout of confusion. "I thought he'd be the first to know of this place".

"What do you mean??".

Ominis' heart had begun to beat frantically within his chest whilst he'd attempted to play his jealousy and nerves off with a smile, as he often did when it came to your friendship with Sebastian.

"I— I just meant that you two are close", he replied with a tug of his shoulders. "I thought you might have been more inclined to show him over me, is all. I was only confused as to why it was the contrary".

In the few seconds of thoughtful silence that followed, you both had taken notice to the warmth of your hand that still lingered on his own, neither of you daring to separate them. Instead, your fingers slowly inched into the gaps between his own, hinting your intentions with your words,

"Do you not know?".

Ominis squeezed the digits threaded with his own like they were a life-raft, assuring you of his consent before your lips had taken his own in careful caresses.

Absolutely magical.

Or so he'd thought at the time, not realizing he'd just unknowingly declared war against a very protective Niffler.

Ominis dismissed it as paranoia at first, just shrugging off the seemingly possessive behaviour the little creature conveyed.

But, it had become apparent over the many weeks that it wasn't just his imagination playing tricks on him..

The Niffler was clearly jealous of your diverted attention. Ominis had figured that out rather quickly.

Just as the Niffler had figured out how to push his buttons. Like Sebastian.

Whenever you both had picnics in the vivarium or brought Ominis along to help in the care of your creatures, Sebastian lived up to his name.

The mischeievous miscreant always managed to get in the way, snatching Ominis' wand from his robes so that he wouldn't be able to find you or the other creatures before misplacing it to make it look as if it had dropped out by mistake.

You thought that's all it was, despite Ominis knowing and insisting otherwise.

Then, it was the Niffler napping on your lap whenever Ominis wanted to. And of course, you were a sucker for that adorable little shit. He could do no evil, apparently.

Holding hands? The Niffler went out of his way to pry the blonde's hand from yours, snuggling under yours to draw your attention; even going as far as to shove Ominis' hand away and preoccupy your palm with his paw.

Sitting together? Sebastian interfered with that too, worming his annoying little self between your bodies so that he could sit in the middle as a barrier to separate you both.

Whenever Ominis wanted time with you, Sebastian was always there. It was like the Niffler had been incarnated with a piece of his best friend's soul, always troublesome and always interfering.

Ominis finally hit breaking point when the little shit decided to make off not only with his wand, but with the handmade necklace he'd bought from Feldcroft in his most recent visit.

The blonde planned to give it to you as a gift, but even he should've known better than to have it in his pockets when visiting the vivarium to carry out a favour for you, his beloved.

Whilst you would be attending to family business today, he would care for your creatures. Something that was turning out to be a complete impossibility.

In Sebastian's mouth? Ominis' wand.

In his paws?? The necklace.

"Come back here, you little rat! Give those back, Sebastian!!", he cried out, only able to follow the scuttling in the grass and the jingling of the jewellery in the Niffler's greedy grasp.

Wheezing and panting, Ominis crawled and sprinted around, the Niffler releasing an occasional squeak whenever he got close. Until—

"Got you!", the blonde shouted, finding a grip on the Niffler that struggled desperately in his grasp.

It soon became clear that he was holding the little miscreant upside down, coins seeming to pour out of his marsupial-like pouch. His paws were still occupied with the necklace he'd stolen, whining in despair at the loss of his precious coins as they rained down to the floor.

"Serves you right!", Ominis seethed, breathless from his pursuit.

In a sense of victory, the blonde's lips curled into a grin, his fingertips running along the Niffler's belly. The creature chattered as if he were laughing, especially ticklish at the gentle prodding. More coins and jewels rained out as Ominis' fingers reached his sniffling snout.

Quickly snatching his wand back from the little creature's jaw, he boasted, "I win", before reaching for Sebastian's paws.

Ominis caught ahold of the necklace, but the Niffler's grip was like iron.

"Sebastian, give it to me", the blonde chided, tugging on the precious piece of jewellery. "Come on, Sebastian".

The Niffler struggled and resisted, never being more keen to possess anything in his life. Even the measly coins Ominis tried to trade couldn't compare to the necklace and he wasn't willing to break it.

"You stubborn mule! Fine!!", he snapped, huffing as he set Sebastian loose.

Dejected, the blonde sat himself down, soon recieving the company of your Puffskein as it nuzzled into his side. Despite his sadness, even he was unable to resist smiling at the affectionate creature.

Ominis reached over to pet the Puffskein, your mischievous Niffler watching from a distance. All of his lost coins were on the ground by the blonde's legs, but it wasn't them that drew Sebastian back.

It was the realisation that Ominis could love him just as much as you could. That his love was not a threat to the friendship you shared with your favourite pet.

Perhaps he'd tried stealing the wrong person??

Ominis seemed just as compassionate, if not moreso.

His attention soon became divided from the Puffskein when the cool and delicate metal of a necklace was dropped into his palm. The blonde almost couldn't believe it.

A Niffler?? Returning something shiny??

And then it clicked. It wasn't of value to him, but a ploy to sabotage your relationship with Ominis. Sebastian had felt threatened.

"Thank you", Ominis whispered, his lips curling out of amusement as the little creature began to shuffle around and pick up the coins that had dropped.

Perhaps Sebastian was more alike to his human counterpart than the blonde first realised? He has a heart of gold too, although it rarely shows.

And upon your return to the vivarium, you were delighted to find things resolved between your pet and boyfriend, knowing tensions and jealousy had been spiked between the two.

There, Ominis laid on the grass asleep, a freckled lilac Niffler upon his chest.

Your plan had worked..

The End. . .

___________________________________________

Hey readers!! ❤❤ I hope you all enjoyed these fics as much as I loved writing them!! As always, any and all feedback is welcome!

So, please - let me know how I went in writing for Sebastian and Ominis for the first time and how to improve, if I can! If you wished to be added to my taglist for this fandom or any others I write for, check out my masterlist and let me know what you'd like to be tagged in!

Thank you all for your support!! ❤❤❤

[duskier]

UR BUTCH BODYGUARD GHOST RAHHHH SHE'S SO 💥💥💖💖🔥🔥💪👊💥 I LUV HER <333

Butch bodyguard Ghost x pop star reader is something so personal to me-

Her silvery blonde hair cropped so short, wearing that stupid black medical mask that you hate because it just makes you ponder the possible shape of her lips MORE-- wears musky colognes and button down shirts with the top two buttons undone under suit jackets! She's got these pale orange freckles and a couple of moles you can make out on her shoulder and clavicle which totally don't make you wonder what other surprises could be found under her clothes... after hours in your shared suites she's got her jacket off, those sleeves rolled up and torturing you with her tattoos and thick forearms (screaming hollering from the rooftops)

She takes you shooting once, because she'd determined to teach you to defend yourself. You can't help but ask, "Isn't that your job?" and she has to just huff out a laugh and shake her head in response because she's so close to actually admitting you being safe is beyond her job it's the reason she gets up every morning. (Her praise when she sees your grip slowly improve, pointing out every good shot left on your target, ohhh that lives in your head a long time after!) You watch her practice her draw from her appendix carry, over and over again she tears her shirt up from her waistband with one hand, her other strong hand darting down to her pistol and aiming it with deadly speed and precision.

Going out and you're drinking much too much at lavish clubs that fall at your feet for a chance to rub shoulders with you but all you care about is your very sober teddy bear of a bodyguard- she's so warm and soft and strong! Ghost doesn't touch you more than necessary, just enough to keep you steady, but it's so hard when you're flushed from liquor and practically throwing yourself in her lap. (She princess carries you up to your hotel room and helps take off your shoes, so in denial of her attraction to you she's blushing at the feeling of your soft ankles in her hands!!)

She is the only person who seems to see you for you, doesn't get starstruck. She gets you these little thoughtful gifts everywhere you visit- things others wouldn't have thought to get you. Like a little treat, a pretty keychain. Of course you could buy these things for yourself, but it sends a little thrill each time she gets you something- it means she was thinking of you.

Your management company being evil and trying to control your diet also sets Ghost off. She likes you just as you are, fuck the lot of them. Ghost ends up spending her free time/time off while you're safe at practice buying ingredients to make you actual dinners, not the frozen pre-prepped meals that were bland and miniscule in comparison to the feasts Ghost is always cooking you. (You catch her cutting vegetables one day, open mouthed watching her arm muscles flex as she chops with efficency. Who knew cooking could be hot.)(She absolutely spoon feeds you, once, and it's horrible how she can't tear her eyes away from your pretty lips wrapped around the fork she's using to feed you the dinner she slaved away on for hours. Totally doesn't lose it at you moaning about how good it is, how you could just kiss her for how good the food is...)

[orange-peony]

Thanks for tagging me @monbons! I've been working on three snowbaz fics (Space Oddity and my two CORBB collabs). I've also been reading the Green Creek series with Pato and I'm losing it because I love them all so much.

Here's a snippet of one of my WIPs (Baz's POV):

I tell myself that maybe I can push my luck a little.

That maybe no one will notice if I get the smallest of my sketch pads out and hide it in front of my keyboard. Maybe if I move my laptop a little to the left and point it his way, Snow won’t notice that I’m drawing him. I’m not the only person here, after all. There are other customers coming and going. I tell myself that no one will pay attention to me, even though I’m usually much more cautious than this. But I’ve had a shit week, and Father is probably going to bother me even more than usual because one of my cousin’s wedding is coming up, and I’m supposed to bring a plus one.

My heart stutters as I slide my hand inside my work bag and get my drawing kit out. My eyes are fixed on Snow while my fingers move almost seamlessly, so used to doing this covertly. It’s not the first time I sketch him—far from it. But I usually plan this beforehand. I wait until rush hour or pick a moment when he’s busy to sneakily draw him. I have a massive drawer under my bed full to the brim of sketch books. It’s all freckles and moles, blue eyes and bronze curls. That elusive smile, the determined frown and that vulnerable look he has sometimes, when he thinks no one is paying attention to him while he’s torturing his curls.

Tags under the cut:

@pato-roldnart, @bubble-gumhead, @cutestkilla, @thewholelemon, @artsyunderstudy, @leithillustration , @iamamythologicalcreature , @mooncello , @hushed-chorus , @larkral , @letraspal , @you-remind-me-of-the-babe , @facewithoutheart , @emeryhall , @imagineacademia , @alexalexinii , @fatalfangirl , @wellbelesbian , @shrekgogurt , @skeedelvee , @blackberrysummerblog , @rimeswithpurple and anyone who fancies sharing a WIP of any kind.

[goldielia]

when will met ally

a part of: call it what you want au

to say will is in a hurry would be an understatement. realizing at 6:30 pm that he had an essay due at midnight wasn’t his smartest move and he keeps thanking the universe for the afternoon practice today because if it had been scheduled for the evening he’d be screwed.

to make matters worse, the whole student body seems to have to finish schoolwork today because there’s not a single free spot in sight in the library.

he wants to cry when he finally sees a single open chair at a secluded table that’s almost fully surrounded by shelves. it’s a small table, barely big enough for two workspaces and one is occupied. it’s not his favourite but it’ll have to do.

the girl at the table only looks up from her laptop short enough for him to silently point to the chair next to her to ask if it was free and to nod her head in it’s direction to confirm he can sit down.

as soon as he has his laptop and notes set up he’s fully engrossed into his essay until he’s done to the point where he only has to write his conclusion and submit it. when he looks up for the first time to straighten his back and take a breath he notices that the library is pretty much empty, only a handful of students are still scattered around the tables.

it’s only then he really notices the girl he has been practically sitting shoulder to shoulder with at the small table. she hasn’t moved either, her warmth a steady presence against his left arm. before he can even take a good look at her, his eyes catch onto her laptop to see if she’s also been writing up a last minute essay or why else she’d still be in the library at 11 pm on a tuesday.

instead of notes or a word document he’s met with a picture of a dead body though. his eyes widen and even though he feels like he shouldn’t ever see things like that, he can’t quite take his eyes off of it.

“that’s the black dahlia” he hears to his left. finally taking a look at the girl, he sees a cute brunette with freckles all over her face. her green eyes are set on him with a slightly amused look, a sly smirk on her lips and her headphones now pushed down around her neck. he only manages to choke out a “what?”, his voice sounding rough because he hadn’t spoken in a while.

“black dahlia” she says, “her name was elizabeth short. she was murdered in january 1947 but nobody’s been able to solve the case so it’s gone cold.” he nods, clearing his throat to say “okay. are you, like, writing about her? or should i be concerned you’ve been looking at pictures of a dead body all night?”

she laughs quietly. “no, i’m all caught up on my classes. just can’t seem to stop thinking about what happened to her. what are you writing?” and then will remembers, he’s supposed to submit his essay in less than an hour and still has his conclusion to write.

“uh, can i postpone this conversation until i’ve actually finished it? i may have forgotten this was due at midnight” he admits with a lopsided grin. “sure, i’ll probably stay here anyways”.

after he sends her a grateful smile and she pulls her headphones back on to continue working, he turns back to his essay.

he tries to get back into his flow, he really does, but now that he’s taken a proper look at the girl next to him, he can’t help but hyperfocus on the way their shoulders brush when she uses the mousepad. his eyes can’t seem to stay on the words on his document either. he feels like they subconsciously draw to the pictures and articles on her screen or the way her blue nails click quietly on her keyboard.

after finishing his conclusion a torturing few minutes later, reading the whole thing one more time to make sure he’s not written total bullshit in his trance and submitting it with about 10 minutes to midnight, he turns back to her. the headphones now hanging around her neck permanently for some time - he’s obviously only noticed because he felt her arm moving, not at all because he’s been stealing glances at her.

“alright, i’m done. had to write about leadership in modern competitive environments” when she raises an eyebrow he adds “basically if you had to lead a team in any sport, would you focus on tradition or be okay with breaking some to make sure your team does better and like, the whole significance of tradition in modern sports since they’ve become so commercial.” she nods in understanding.

“how would you lead a team?” she asks, and he’s surprised to see genuine interest shining in her eyes. he subconsciously launches in a rant, it’s what happens whenever he talks about hockey. when he’s finished with his point he takes a breath and focuses his eyes back on her. she turned fully towards him somewhere during his talk, pulled a leg up on the chair to rest her chin on her knee. “i’m so sorry, i didn’t want to unpack that whole essay to you just now” he apologizes with a slight blush to his cheeks. “no, you’re okay. i like to hear people’s thoughts on things they’re passionate about.” save to say his blush did not disappear after that.

looking back into her eyes, he finds a mischievous glint, and when she quips “so hockey, huh?” is when it clicks in his brain. “wait, you’re our equipment girl, right?” “and you’re really good with people, apparently.”

“oh my god, i’m so sorry” he groans. “that’s okay, just don’t recognize the girl that tapes your stick whenever you’re late, no biggie” and he instantly feels bad because she had taped his hockey sticks multiple times and he didn’t even remember her name.

“i’m actually really sorry, you’ve been taping my sticks just how i like them but i can’t fucking remember your name.” she grins at that. “i’ve never actually told you, though” and relief washes over him. “so, could i maybe get your name now?” he asks, slightly nervous because he doesn’t feel like he’s made the best impression ever.

sitting silently next to her for hours before striking up a conversation about a dead body, all before shooting it down again because he forgot about his work. then as soon as he’s finished he rants to her and then tells her he doesn’t even remember her.

to his surprise though, she doesn’t miss a beat, answering “you’ll even get my number if you take me to get food right now”. he blinks once before he starts hurrying to pack his things, only stopping when she giggles behind him, when he turns around though she’s getting ready to leave just as quickly as him.

when he gets back to his dorm around 2 am it’s no surprise ryan’s fast asleep so when he quietly goes to brush his teeth and get ready for bed, he takes his time in front of the mirror to recap his evening.

they went to mcdonald’s, and he insisted on paying for her food because he still felt really, really bad about not remembering her. although she chirped at him because “you drove us here already” and “the driver never pays” and “i’m an independent woman, you know. let me pay for my share at least”.

they sat in his car in the mcdonald’s parking lot for a while, at first quietly eating their food. “my name’s alaska by the way.” she couldn’t help but laugh at him as he looked up at her mid-bite. he took his time chewing, looking out through the window and into the night. when his eyes settled back on hers, he answered “suits you” and the honest look in his eyes tugged on her heartstrings.

they talked about school some more, he found out she’s majoring in criminology - he still doesn’t know if that makes her more or less creepy than just looking at pictures of a dead body for fun. he’s decided though that he doesn’t give a fuck, she might be a little creepy but she listened to him rant and she has those pretty green eyes and she tapes his stick just right and that’s enough for will.

he took her back to her dorm, noticed it’s not far from his own and filed that information away in his brain for later. before she left the car he recited his number to her as she typed it in her phone before she grinned at him tiredly, leaned over the center console to hug him quickly before she hopped out of the car and headed to the front door.

he watched as she fumbled her keys out of her pocket, opened the door and waved at him before closing it.

as he just finds that comfortable position in his bed, his phone vibrates next to him.

from: unknown

spotify.com/podcasts/truecrimemysteries/theblackdahlia

unknown was changed to alaska

to: alaska

thank you, i’ll make sure to give it a listen

sleep well, see you soon?

from: alaska

i’m at that table nearly every day. also, you have practice tomorrow :)

good night, will

willsmith2 requested to follow you!

even though the vibrations were nearly silent, ryan grumbles in his bed across the room. “what’re you doin’ dude? ‘s too late” “finished that goddamn leadership essay and got food”

“you do know the essay is due tomorrow, right?”

alaska_argent accepted your follow request!

alaska_argent started following you!

[owl127]

I love your sports fics!! Can you write one (preferably in the Clexa universe) where Lexa has to get off before the game or else she doesn’t play well because she’s all horny. Im indifferent as to if it’s another locker room based fic, or it could be Lexa and Clarke are rooming together at an away game and Lexa keeps waiting for Clarke to fall asleep so she can mastrubate and Clarke ends up hearing and helping her out. Also I love the football world but whatever

(Ao3)

You have a routine. It is a meticulous process, though parts of it are spontaneous. The candles, the warm bath, the classic music, they all play the perfect part in relaxing your muscles and mind, preparing your body for the battle to come. You will demand perfection from yourself tomorrow at the game, so when you can, you take your time to prepare.

The water is borderline scalding as it fills the ostentatious hotel bathtub. The team went all out with the reservations, and you are grateful for the extra leg room. Your phone chirps lightly to Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto as the vetiver candle hits its earthy undertone. The fluffiness of your robe rubs against your exposed skin as it falls to the floor, leaving pleasant goosebumps over your things and arms. It’s perfect.

You’re halfway into the tub when a loud knock resonates from the bathroom door, making you slouch water on the pristine white tiles.

“Yo, Lexa!” Clarke, your loud roommate for the night, knocks again as if you didn’t hear the first time she almost brought the door down. “I’m going to get smoothies with the girls. Do you want to come?”

Why would they want smoothies right after dinner? Tall players like Clarke seemed to have an endless appetite. “Lexa?” Clarke’s large, goalkeeper hands smack the door again, and you finally respond, “No, thank you! Have fun!”

Clarke grunts an affirmative, and you wait until the bedroom door closes with a far away thud. Laugher and heavy steps die down the hallway, and the air calms. You trace the water with your fingers, drawing invisible patterns in the rose-scented bath. Music plays quietly, and finally, you relax. You let your eyes close, bundling up one of the many available white towels behind your neck, taking a deep breath.

You wake up with a high note from your phone, surprised at the song. You must have napped, the water lukewarm on your skin. The rustic, golden faucet squeaks as you open it to fill up with warm water. It falls next to your feet, almost too hot, but you enjoy the small torture, the decadent warmth. Your feet rub together while you stretch, the towel around your shoulders sliding down to soak into the tub. It must have been at least a thirty-minute nap with how stiff your neck is. Long fingers run over the tight ropes of your muscles, and you sigh at the pressure. Your fingers linger, the touch initially soft, but growing in pressure and expansion, exploring your collarbones, ribs, until they brush your breasts underwater, and you bite your lip.

It’s not unheard of, you argue with yourself to detox your association of pleasure with guilt that was hard coded into your brain. It’s not unheard of for sexual pleasure to be used for muscle and mental relaxation. So when you’re in the mood, you add an extra step to your pre-game routine.

You wait for the music to change from the boisterous major chords to the intriguing minors, which escalates beautifully. The water is a couple of degrees higher, the turbulent sound of the stream mixing with the song. You open part of the cold water and switch inside the tub so the thick stream hits your neck, with the velvety touch like a warm, large hand on your skin. It’s irrelevant to dwell on thoughts of large, freckled hands, or the day you found out your team’s starter keeper had freckles on her hands at all. Always hidden in her colorful gloves, you remember the moment in the break of dawn of the training room when long, freckled fingers curled around the chest bar to press an unsurprisingly heavy set. But you block these recurring thoughts because Griffin is a colleague at best, an annoying teammate at worst, and you have no intention of unbalancing team dynamics like that. So you do not think of the warmth of large hands on you as you close your eyes and touch your peaked nipple. Instead, you search through your memories for the audiobook you listened on the way to the away game, the trashy sapphic novel of girls fucking in a car. Faceless, fictional characters are safer than the thought of Griffin’s dimple, so that is your focus as you feel yourself slick between your folds. Sometimes you wonder if you would make more noises with a partner, but by yourself you are quiet, biting on your lips as you spread your legs as far as the tub allows you. The built up steam helps in your fantasy as you remember the rough voice in the audiobook begging, “fuck me hard, babe.” The music swells and so does your clit, and you feel the rush of an approaching orgasm, your toes curled on white porcelain, the water’s touch warming up your nape, and then—

“Lexa?”

You grunt to swallow the moan threatening to slip through. “You alright? You’ve been in there for a while.” Griffin’s voice is low and concerned, her large knuckles touching the wood softly as she knocks. “Lexa?”

“I’m okay,” you force out, croaking the words above the music and the shame burning your chest. “I’ll be right out!”

“Okay.” Some shuffling, and the creaking of mattress coils from the bedroom.

You slump down into the water and turn it to cold.

Something brings you back from unconsciousness, and you blink in the barely lit room. There is an undetermined source of light to your left, so you turn to face Griffin’s bed. Unsurprisingly, the goalkeeper fell asleep watching some show on her tablet, and the mix of lights take over the bedroom as your eyes adjust. Clarke sleeps soundly, her headphones lost inside a wild mane of sun-kissed blonde hair. You don’t want to stare, but the single source of light is right in front of Clarke’s face, dancing with hues of red and blue on her freckled skin. Your cheeks are warm, and maybe the light wasn’t the only impulse waking you up. Part of you wants to blame the impromptu tub nap, but the growing warmth in your lower belly claims you’re up because of other unfinished business. You watch Clarke, but not because you want to, but yet to judge how deep asleep she is. The woman snores quietly, a delicate expiration every time her lungs empty the air against her loose curls. Her mouth is slightly open, surrendered to sleep, and her limbs are scattered over her queen bed. You judge she’s dead to the world, and wonder if you can get away with touching yourself very quietly and very quickly. Since you are known for your efficiency, you ignore the rising alarms in your mind and shove a hand between your sleep shorts. Thinking of Clarke while touching yourself right next to her is too much, so you turn your back to her and close your eyes, focusing on the sensation of your fingers gliding through your folds.

The AC and the faraway, muted noise of Clarke’s discarded headphones combine with soft gasps that insist on leaving your pursed lips, but your bet is that nothing will awaken the goalkeeper. You try, you really do try to think of anything but the woman asleep next to you; you think of the smut books you indulge yourself into when the need strikes, or memorable past lovers, but those damn freckled hands keep coming back, and you feel yourself getting wetter at the thought.

Maybe just a peek won’t hurt.

You turn around on the mountain of pillows in your bed, snuggling close into the multi thread sheets, your skin hot against the soft fabric. Clarke remains immovable, chest rising and falling softly under a cotton shirt you want to touch, her nipples poking it and begging for your mouth. You lick your lips at the mere idea of your mouth on Clarke’s skin, soaking through your panties as your fingers struggle to find space in your haste. The hand spread on Clarke’s stomach twitches; the fingers shaking for a second, and you wonder how those fingers would feel inside your mouth, or inside of you. One of your own fingers complies with the idea, and you muffle a moan on your pillow. You got your fill, so you should turn around and finish this by yourself, but your eyes continue to take, take, and take, cataloging every detail of the magnificent creature that is Clarke Griffin. Her hands, the strip of pale skin under the messed sheets hugged tightly over a hipbone, the long line of her neck sneaking into her strong jawline, the dark into her eyes as she stares at you with such intensity you might—

Fuck.

The colorful hues of Clarke’s tablet reflect on open, alert eyes. Her lips part and she arches an eyebrow, watching, judging your moves; the sudden freeze of your hands under the sheets, the air that feels heavy as you gulp a loud breath.

You want to say something, and you want to disappear, suspended in between as Clarke’s eyes take your entire body up and down once, twice.

Her mouth twists to one side, a shadow of a smirk. She caught you.

You wonder if moving to Germany and buying a new identity would solve your problems. But any thoughts of identity theft and a recluse life in Berlin evaporate as Clarke deliberately slips one of her hands inside her pajama bottom. It is a purple string shorts sitting loosely on her muscled thighs, stretching to accommodate the largest hands you’ve ever wanted to be inside you.

She doesn’t move, though. Eyes as dark as you’ve ever seen them stare at you, waiting. Her headphones pool around her neck, and you notice how her nose flattens with a harsh exhale. She’s waiting for you. Silently, she lets you know that it’s your call.

You manage to convey a small nod, and it grows in vigor as you give consent. Your foggy brain can’t offer more than that desperate nod, and you hope Clarke understands. Clarke smiles, small and sweet, unbefitting of what you’re on the precipice of doing, and then bites her lips and plunges right in. You don’t hold your moan this time and she gasps, dark eyes shutting as her hands explore what your mouth desires.

You’ve never done this before. God, you almost never masturbate, but this? Touching yourself as you watch your crush’s hand move under unspeakable purple shorts, her breath catching every time a whimper escapes you; you must be dreaming. It’s the conclusion that keeps you going, that brings your hand to renewed gusto, that brings you closer. Fuck, you’re going to come watching Clarke touching herself.

You make a wish then, a small plea for one day for it to be your hands touching Clarke.

“Lexa,” she breathes because of course Clarke would ruin this with words. “Lexa, fuck, you’re gorgeous.” Or maybe not ruin this. You moan again as you fuck yourself with two fingers. You think about how thicker and longer Clarke’s fingers are, and how they would fuck you silly instead.

“I can make that happen if you want,” Clarke says, and you realize words were possible even in your frenzied state. “You’d look so good taking me.” An indescribable noise leaves your mouth, and you will die swearing you didn’t, but you whimper at Clarke’s words, nodding, touching, feeling. “Yeah, baby, let me hear you come,” she continues speaking because of course there’s no way to make her stop talking once Clarke is on a roll. Midway to the race for pleasure, you notice that in truth, you enjoy it. You like Clarke’s voice urging you on, telling how beautiful you look while you touch yourself, how wet you make her. “Lexa,” her voice is high, and you snap open closed eyes to watch as Clarke’s face contorts in bold pleasure, and can she, is she—

“I—I’m going to come for you,” she says and closes her eyes, hands lost in her sheets, and you cannot do absolutely anything else but follow her.

You come moaning Clarke’s name as she shudders on her pillow. There are few things you are sure of in your life, and that you will never forget Clarke’s face at the frozen moment of utmost pleasure is one of them. It does not simply push you to your own orgasm, it barrels you down the cliff like a runaway bison herd, and you meet pleasure in a new, flashing light, your tight muscles spamming in bliss, your toes pushing against the sheets, your mouth muffled over white linen.

Your breath is loud and wet as you slowly come back to yourself, your heart desperate and loud in a rib cage that doesn’t seem able to hold it inside. For a moment you almost forget you didn’t reach this alone, but reality and shame crash on you as a tired voice asks, “Lexa?”

Heat warms your cheeks. You clear your throat and face Clarke, watching the pink in her face blooming to her neck. “Yeah?” you say, gauging her reaction, doubt creeping in as endorphins fade from your bloodstream.

“Was this okay?” It is not always that Clarke Griffin has a small voice, but it’s how she asks you, shy and unsure, and you want to untangle the knot between her eyebrows.

“Yes.” You’re the captain. It’s your job to show certainty, even when you have no idea of what to do.

“Do you,” Clarke says and pauses, moaning softly as she takes her hands out of her shorts. Your eyes follow the wet digits, eagerly taking her in as she licks her own fingers in deliberate fashion. After your affirmation, the shy girl is gone. “Do you want to do it again? I can come over.” Her eyes dart between your beds. “If you want.”

You are sure of another thing now: you, Lexa Woods, are in trouble.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

Okay you know what? If no one else is gonna do it, i will. I give you: Destiel!Steddie >:)

(mentions of suicidal ideations below, for one little blurb; if you want to skip it, do not read from "The angel looks sad.." to "Pushing past that the best he could,". plus there is now self harm (? kinda, (MENTIONING HERE:) eddie cuts his palm to draw a sigil w/blood like in the show) and mentions of torture and hell if that counts as a tw/cw! read carefully, friend!)

If dying wasn’t bad enough, and crawling his ass out of his own grave (thank you Wayne for not cremating him like a hunter should be) wasn’t the worst thing that’d Eddie ever had to do, being backed into a rickety old abandoned barn absolutely covered in various warding sigils while whatever it was that’d left that raised handprint scar on his shoulder is still fighting it’s way through the door, may be it.

Had they been anywhere near any coast, Eddie’d think it was just a hurricane they hadn’t thought to figure into their smiting plans, but they were in the middle of the damn prairies and this goddamn barn creaked and groaned and against the battering winds (and also something maybe definitely not natural).

He and Wayne were shoulder to shoulder, shotguns at the ready, taking worrying glances back and forth through to the night sky between the boards that make up the barn’s roof and to the door in front of them. The hairs on the back of Eddie’s neck have been standing on end since they finished the last sigil, and despite pulling all his hair up off the back of his neck, those hairs have a thick sheen of cold sweat glazed over top of them.

Both their gazes snap back to the main doors of the barn as they fly open. Shotguns raised immediately to the…man(? Nope, not man. Can’t be, can it?) walking slowly and methodically over salt lines and sigil after sigil carved into the floor. (Okay, maybe just man..)

This man (Creature? Thing? Whatever…) is probably the most handsome person Eddie’s seen in his whole life. He’s got sun-kissed skin adorned with freckles, and very floofy and soft-looking sandy colored hair. And that only makes what they are about to do that much sadder. Sigh, goodbye beautiful man.

Eddie and Wayne spare the smallest glance to each other before letting shells fly into the man’s torso as he strides closer. Each light hanging from the ceiling explodes as he walks under it, showering him with glowing orange sparks.

What the fuck?? Eddie’s heart had already been hammering in his chest, but now it was going so fast it felt like it was about to vibrate right out of his skin. He had a quick thought about how in the hell Wayne’s old man heart was handling this, but fuck, he’s been through way more than Eddie had.

Bullet after bullet, shot after shot, did nothing to stall whatever creature this was. He just kept gliding forward, completely unaffected. 

He and Wayne shared a panicked glance and quickly abandoned their shotguns, each picking up something else to try and kill this thing. Eddie grips the First Blade tight and turns. It’s already there. Looking at him in…relief?

“What are you?” he growls at the intruder.

“I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” It says (in a smooth, lovely voice), like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“Oh yeah? Thanks for that.” Eddie lunges forward and stabs his knife directly into the creature’s chest.

Nothing happens. Ok, not demon then.

Eddie is stunned, leaving the hilt sticking out from the thing’s ridiculous yellow sweater, he backs away.

The thing looks down at his chest, then back up at Eddie, something like exasperated fondness painted over his features, then raises his hand and pulls the knife out. He drops it to the floor, its focus still trained on Eddie.

Eddie glances at Wayne, and sees his uncle raise a crowbar to the creature and swing. Eddie can see this thing’s beautiful hazel eyes harden in the fraction of a second it takes Wayne to swing, then it throws an arm out to his right, catching Wayne’s blow and turning the rest of his body to face him. His other hand comes up and he places two fingers to Wayne’s forehead. Wayne’s face droops and he drops to the floor.

The thing drops the iron crowbar and turns back to Eddie, looking even more exasperated. “We need to talk, Theodore. Alone.”

“Like hell we do. And don’t call me that.” Eddie ignores the creature and skirts around him to check on Wayne. He crouches down and checks his pulse. Perfectly fine. And..is he snoring?

“Your friend’s alive.” the creature tells him, offhandedly, while he paws through one of the books he and Wayne had brought with them.

“He’s my uncle. Now, who the hell are you.”

“My name would be incomprehensible to you, Theodore.”

“Well then what do I call you? Also seriously, cut it out with the ‘Theodore’ crap.”

“What am I to call you then?”

“Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.” 

The thing smiles at him, “Call me..Steve.”

Eddie’s face scrunches up “Steve? Really?” Steve nods.

“Well okay then…I’m Eddie. Not Theodore. No one calls me Theodore.”

“Very well, Eddie.” He goes back to Wayne’s book in his hands.

“Okay. Now, again, what the hell are you?”

“I am an angel of the Lord.”

“Right. Let me clarify. What are you, really?”

He looks at him then, head cocked and brows furrowed. (Cute. What the fuck shut the fuck up no he isn’t!) “Do you not believe me?” He places the book down where it was and turns to face him.

Eddie snorts “No.”

“This is your problem, Eddie, you have no faith.” he smirks crookedly at him.

Suddenly, thunder crashes outside the barn and lights up the thing in front of him. Each flash of the light reflects the shadows of huge wings on the wall and ceiling behind him, growing and unfurling to a huge span, despite the significant lack of tangible feathery appendages

After his little show, Steve ducks his head slightly, his eyes still boring into Eddie. Had he not blinked this whole time?

“Some angel you are,” Eddie scoffs at him “You burned that woman’s eyes out of her skull.” He fights back a shudder thinking back to that particular sight.

Steve actually has the audacity to look slightly embarrassed at that. “I warned her not to try and see my true visage. Most are unable to perceive my true form…or my true voice.”

Eddie knows what he’s talking about immediately “That ear-splitting, window-shattering sound in the gas station after I came back. That was your real voice?”

“Yes. Some people, some…special people, are able to hear me as I am. I believed you were one of those people. I was mistaken.”

“Uh huh, and so what visage are you in now? Holy middle school teacher?”

The angel looks down at himself and pulls at the ruined yellow sweater and jeans. “This is a vessel.”

“You’re possessing some poor bastard?”

The angel looks sad. “No. He was a broken man. One who did not wish to be of this earth any longer. We made a deal: I brought him to heaven and he gave me the use of his body.”

Oh. Damn. And Eddie just shot and stabbed the poor guy.

Pushing past that the best he could, Eddie continues. “I’m not buying what you’re selling pal. Why would an angel be sent to pull me outta hell.”

He was trying to be rhetorical, but Steve answers anyway. “Good things do happen.”

“Not in my experience they don’t.”

Steve furrows his brows. “What’s the matter, Eddie?” he steps closer, seeming to look right through him. He must come to some conclusion because he says “You do not think you deserve to be saved.”

Oof. Looks like he peered right into Eddie’s soul for that one. 

“You are important, Theodore Munson,”

“Don’t call me that like you know me, motherfucker.” Eddie spits out.

Steve cocks his head once again, eyes looking both confused and angry. “I do know you, Theodore Munson. I stitched your body, soul, and very existence back together with my grace." He steps closer, crowding in close to Eddie, who does not waver from his spot. “I know you completely. Body and soul. And you are important.”

Trying his damndest not to be flustered at that, Eddie says “And who decided that?”

Steve smirks “God.”

He reaches out and places his hand directly over the scar on Eddie’s shoulder and suddenly he’s waking up(???) on the floor of the barn. Wayne is stirring beside him as well, grumbling out a long string of curse words.

Sunlight peeks through the barn walls, and the angel is gone. “Jesus H. Christ!”

———

The two hunters are silent all the way back to Wayne’s.

As soon as they step across the threshold, Eddie drops his duffel and starts to pace across Wayne’s open kitchen/living room.

“What can this even mean? Was he serious? Angels, Wayne! Angels?! We need to do research, we need to figure out wards and how to kill them…” He was rambling, mostly to himself, keeping Wayne’s inevitable questions at bay.

He didn’t want to believe what the strikingly beautiful man had said in that barn, but Eddie knew better. Even before the proof of the creature easily walking past all their known warding spells and sigils.

Eddie knew where he was before he wasn’t. Before he’d clawed his way out of a shallow grave that had looked like a bomb’d gone off right over where the center of his chest would’ve been, the trees surrounding all collapsed outward around him when he’d emerged.

Eddie knew he had been in hell, and had been tortured for 30 years.

Beaten. Tortured. Killed. Ripped apart. Stitched whole again for his tormentors to start all over.

Then the real kicker: he’d swapped places. For what seemed to be 10 more years, he did the torturing.

That’s what made this whole thing so unbelievable. Not that heaven and hell existed, he knew better, but that the big man himself sent one of his own to pull him out of hell. That Eddie was worth saving, that he hadn’t done the things he’d done while down there. Obviously God would know, had to know, what he’d done. And yet.

“Where are we even going to find shit like that?” Eddie asks aloud.

“Only one place to start, my boy.”

Eddie looks up in time to catch the book Wayne tossed at him. 

Oh. Duh. It was a bible.

“I don’t think this will help us, Wayne.”

“True, maybe not this version.” Wayne scrubs the scruff on his chin with one hand, the other on his hip. “Wonder what the oldest version of that book is that we can get our hands on.”

“Museum? Church?” Eddie aimlessly flips through the bible, thinking of what ruse he’d have to pull together to get his hands on an old enough copy.

“I don’ think I have it in me to pretend to be a nun.” Wayne beats him to it.

Eddie snorts, “Don’t sell yourself short, old man, you could pull it off if you wanted.” He sits down at Wayne’s old home computer and turns it on. “I wonder if there are any archive scans of some old as shit ones online.”

Hours of research later (mostly to do with how slow Wayne’s connection was), the two hunters had a couple possible warding/banishing sigils, the main one of which (and the most repeated) needed to be drawn in the user’s own blood.

“No word on how long it’ll stay active?” Wayne asks from his seat in front of his fireplace after Eddie explains what he’d found.

“Nothing, just that it must be drawn in the user’s own blood.” Eddie reads from his notes “Maybe that means you can paint one by your recliner and be able to use it forever.”

Wayne scoffs and takes another drink of his beer. Eddie moves towards the front door, flipping open his knife. “I’m gonna put one by the front door for now, I guess we’ll see if it works if Stevie boy shows his mug around here again.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you boy?” Wayne laughs.

“Shut it, old man.”

—--

About a month had passed since first meeting the angel who pulled him out of hell.

Eddie wanted to believe that it wasn’t real, pretend the longer that they went without seeing Steve, that the whole thing was just their imagination. Or something.

Obviously if heaven needed him for something, Steve would’ve been back sooner, right?

Well tough luck for him, because a month and a half after that night in the barn, a beautiful vision of sandy brown hair, hazel eyes, and sunflower yellow sweater materialized in Wayne’s kitchen in a gust of wind.

Eddie definitely didn’t drop the toast he’d been munching on in surprise, nor did his hands fly downward in embarrassment of being caught in just his boxers.

Okay maybe he did.

“Jesus H. Christ! A little fuckin’ warning maybe??”

Steve’s eyebrows scrunched together as he looked the other man up and down. “My apologies, Eddie, what would you like me to do next time?”

Eddie blinked at him, surprised that the angel was willing. “Well I know it must be great and real convenient to just appear where you want, but we have a door you know.” Eddie gestures towards the front door, “You could always appear there and oh, i don’t know, knock?”

The angel looks towards where Eddie had indicated, face still scrunched in confusion. “Very well, Eddie, I will do just that.” and blinked away.

Before he could react, Eddie hears a knock on the front door. “Damn, that worked? Coming!” he yells, heading to the door.

He pulls it open, only to find the front porch empty.

“What in the hell? How the fuck do you know what a ding-dong-ditch is?!?” He yells to nothing and slams the door back closed.

“I do not.” Steve’s voice comes from directly behind him.

“Fucking hell!” Eddie spins around, “What happened to knocking??”

Impossibly, the angel manages to look even more confused. “I did knock. Then I came right back to the kitchen to find you gone.”

All Eddie can do is laugh. “You are something else, Stevie,” he pats the other man’s shoulder and scoots around him to the steps. “Just stay down here, I will be right back as soon as I’m dressed.”

He sees Steve’s hand raise, fingers poised to snap and–

“There, now you are dressed, can I please–”

“Dammit, I can dress myself!” Eddie immediately starts pulling off the suit jacket Steve had decided he should be dressed in. “Just… stay down here, take over Wayne’s armchair, I don’t care, I will be right back, ‘kay?”

He turns and trudges up the stairs to change, “Where the hell’d he even find this suit?” Admittedly, he did a good job. The red shirt and black tie with the black suit is about what he’d pick for himself, but he doesn’t even remember owning a red dress shirt.

Eddie pulls on a well-worn pair of black jeans and an even more well-loved Metallica tee, grabbing up one of Wayne’s flannels and his pocket knife as he heads back out of his room and down the stairs.

He’s almost at the bottom of the stairs when he comes to the sigil he’d drawn on the stairwell wall. Hidden from the front door’s view, but close enough to use if needed. He places his palm in the middle…nothing extraordinary happens.

“Stevie? You there?”

“Yes, Eddie, I am here.”

Damn, so a month and a half is no good. “Okay, just making sure you didn’t leave.” He hears Steve’s footsteps coming closer to the stairwell. Shit. Eddie Flips open his knife and cuts his palm, quickly drawing a new sigil beside the old one. “Almost done, be down soon.”

Steve appears at the bottom of the stairwell as Eddie finishes and steps down the last couple steps. “See, this is what Eddie really is, not that monkey suit crap you had me in before.”

Steve’s face scrunches “I think I prefer the suit.”

“Well I don’t.” There’s a slight pause, “Hey Steve?”

“Yes Eddie?”

“Sorry about this in advance, tell me all about it when you get back?” It’s a risky time to try a one-liner, just in case this doesn’t work and the angel gets pissed, but he couldn’t resist.

“Eddie, what are you–” Eddie slams his hand to the new sigil and the house is engulfed in a blinding white light.

He opens his eyes, and Steve is gone. “Stevie? You there?”

Nothing.

“Well, let's see how long this takes.” He pulls out his phone and starts a timer.

–

It’s about 3 and a half hours until Steve returns.

Eddie hears the flap of wings and pulls out his phone to stop the timer.

“Three and a half hours seems pretty long when you can just teleport everywhere, Stevie.”

“I was unable to return until just now.”

He turns to face the angel from where he’s been crafting the most sandwich of all sandwiches, and the laugh on his lips dies before it can even begin.

Steve looks like a kicked, dejected puppy. Eyebrows pulled up, eyes wide and shining, plump, kissable lips pulled taught and downward into a pout.

“Oh Stevie, don’t look so dejected.” Eddie muses and turns away before he can do something stupid like pull the other man into a hug and pepper his face with kisses until he smiles again. Not like Eddie been thinking about it or anything, gotta tamp down the idea though, right?

“You want a sammich? That must’ve taken a lot out of you.”

“No, Eddie, I do not want a sandwich. I want you to tell me why you used a banishing sigil on me.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, angel, I can assume you’re a good guy all I want but I wanted to make sure what I found would get rid of others like you just in case.” he picks up his finished sandwich and turns to face Steve, leaning back against his mess on the counter as he takes a bite, speaking around his mouthful. “Where’d you end up, anyway?”

The angel’s face had morphed into an angry frown (at least it looked like anger; it didn’t seem like conveying emotions was something he’d gotten a grasp on yet.) “A small town in Indiana.”

“Really? Indiana? You don’t immediately get thrown back up to heaven?”

“No, we are just blasted backwards from the sigil. We are unable to return to that spot until the ward wears off.”

Eddie swallows “You said ‘we’. There are more of you then.”

“Of course there are, Eddie, I have many brothers and sisters.”

“Are all of them the good guys then? Won’t try to hurt anyone?”

“Of course not.”

“Well if they do, at least we know that this sigil will work to get rid of them.”

Steve pondered that for a moment. “Please do be careful with that sigil, Eddie. If an angel is heavily injured, the sigil may banish them from existence permanently, not just from you.”

“Good to know, thanks Stevie.” he takes another bite of his sandwich. “Now, what is it that you needed?”

Part 2 is here!! | NOW ON AO3

[thoughts-with-hailey]

My Life in Prythian - Chapter 18

Sunlight and Freckles - Azriel's POV

Summary: From Azriel's POV we see him try to work through the awkwardness following the eruption.

Azriel

Focusing on training the rest of the females while my female trains with Cassian is torture. Every day the two of them are across the room laughing and joking around while I had to try and remain focused on the tasks at hand and not the way her leathers cling to her perfectly rounded ass. An ass that I knew fit perfectly in my hands when I held her to me, and ass that had been pressed against me so many times I was shocked that there wasn’t an impression of my dick in it. 

Fuck.

Ever since that night she had fallen asleep in my arms after the heart wrenching sobs had wracked her body, she had been oddly distant with me. There was little doubt that the rest of the house, including the house itself, had heard her eruption so her keeping me at arms length hadn’t caused any strife as far as Elain trying to set me up with someone else. No, everyone assumed that we had argued over something and now were in a tentative state of our ‘relationship’ where we were waiting to see where it went. Or, more accurately, they were waiting to see if she would forgive me for whatever I did wrong. 

Yeah, of course they all assumed I did something wrong. 

Hailey could do no wrong since she was the one that brought them an infinite supply of books and ways to draw on those screens she had the house conjure up. Nesta and Feyre had quickly become her devotees, constantly asking her for book recommendations or how to use something on the screen thing. Even Nyx was obsessed with her, not that I blamed him. The little male screamed with delight any time she was near him, demanding her cuddles and affection which usually lead to her sharing her croissant with him. It was cute, to be honest, considering she wouldn’t share her croissants with anyone else. Still, I wanted her to be obsessed with me. 

It had been nearly two weeks since the night of her eruption and every second of it had been torture. 

I had thought sleeping on the couch in her rooms had been bad, so close to her and yet too far to actual feel the warmth of her soft skin or inhale the faint rose scent that clung to her hair. Being banished from her rooms entirely was much worse. How quickly I had come to cherish those moments with her when she was curled up with her screen reading until she fell asleep each night, her pretty face illuminated in the darkness and filled with countless expressions as she devoured book after book. The way her scent would bloom with arousal that alerted me to what she was reading, and the way she would wait until she thought I was asleep to go pleasure herself in the bathroom. 

Okay, I wasn’t asleep. I was fully awake and listening to every little gasp and whimper that she tried to stifle and maybe that made me a creep. I didn’t give a fuck. She was mine. 

There were also the sweeter moments. The mornings when I knew Nesta was going to burst in so I crawled into bed next to her, she always curled into me instinctively like she knew she belonged to me even if her conscious mind hadn’t come to terms with that yet. Or the mornings when I remained on the couch and the first thing she did when she woke was look for me, like I was the first thing she thought of upon waking. And falling asleep to the sound of her even breathing every night? It was pure bliss. Every moment we had been together was playing on a constant loop in my head, reminding me how perfect she was for me. 

To say I was obsessed was an understatement. At first I had tried to fight it, fight the pull that had started from that first moment I had seen her in that field and had been strengthening every second she was around. Eventually I had given up as it was useless. She was perfect and I was determined to keep her. 

Which meant I needed to repair whatever had gone wrong. 

I had tried talking to her. I wasn’t a fool which meant that I had tried. She was stubborn, though, and every time I tried to broach the subject when we were alone she found some excuse to leave the room and find the nearest person to distract her from me. It was getting increasingly irritating.  

I grunted as one of the newer trainees smacked the training mitts I had on with such force it nearly hurt. A bright smile filled her face at that, obviously proud of herself, and I gave her a stiff nod of approval. The smile dimmed slightly and I tried to bite back a sigh. Showing emotion wasn’t the easiest thing for me, especially in front of strangers and for all intents these trainees were strangers. I might spend a few mornings a week with them, but I knew nothing about them. A simple few hours sparring didn’t entitle them to any of my emotions. 

My eyes unwillingly strayed over to her again as Cassian placed his hand over his abdomen, correcting her posture in her stance. 

A blinding stab of jealousy shot through me at that, even though I knew he had no designs for my female and he was just helping, it did not prevent me from wanting to rip his head off for even thinking of touching her. 

Fuck. 

I had never truly felt jealousy like that before. With Elain it had been more…frustration. Jealousy had been an abstract concept over the idea of having a mate and the potential that it could be Elain, not actual soul strangling  jealousy like I felt when anyone so much as breathed in Hailey’s direction. 

“Az?” Nesta’s amused voice infiltrated my ears. 

I turned to see her, Emerie, and Gwyn all eyeing me with their arms crossed over their chests. Emerie and Nesta both looked amused while Gwyn looked angry, per usual. Yeah, I had fucked up there with the whole necklace thing. I didn’t want to think about that. 

“I was just checking on them,” I shrugged. “Why don’t we move on to target practice?”

“Why don’t you just go over there and talk to her?” Nesta suggested, causing her friend to glare at her. “You two have been dancing around whatever happened for days and I’m sick of watching you pine after her. The ball is tomorrow and I’m sick of watching you two act like this. Go tell Cassian I need him over here and then take your girl to make up. Do whatever it takes because I am not dealing with this will they won’t they at the ball tomorrow.”

She had a good point. With the ball coming up and all the tension between us it was no doubt stressing her out even more about her decision regarding the job Rhys had offered her. If I could help her have one less thing to worry about tomorrow then I should. 

Tossing the training mitts to the side I headed towards where Cassian and her were working on her fighting form. 

Both sets of hazel eyes turned to me, one filled with mischief and the other with apprehension. Internally I sighed at that reaction as it had been the one that filled her pretty face every time I came near her for the past few days. 

“Cassian, Nesta said she needs you for something.”

Cassian’s eyes immediately found his mates and they shared some silent communication between the two of them with just the raise of an eyebrow before he was off to tend to her make believe needs, sending me a wink on his way. 

Resisting the urge to flip him off I turned to the wary female before me. Cauldron, she was stunning. Her hair was damp with perspiration, little tendrils escaping her two braids that trailed down her back. I admired the way it glinted in the sunlight streaming in, how it seemed like a thousand different colors from gold to burgundy mixed together to form her unique fiery shade. Every time I caught a glimpse of it I imagined it spread out over my pillow as she slept peacefully next to me, or wrapped around my fist as I fucked her senselessly. 

It was not the time for those thoughts. Shoving them from my mind I offered her what I hoped was a smile. “Training is about over for today. I’d like to escort you back to your rooms so we can talk.”

The flush from her cheeks drained, leaving behind her freckles to stand out against the paleness that was left behind. My girl was a fighter though, even when she was scared, so she gave me a curt nod and turned towards the door. 

Together we made the quick trek to her room, the silence between us louder than any club I had been in and it only got louder once I shut the door behind us sealing us in her bedroom, alone. 

Fuck, this was a bad idea. 

Every time I entered her bedroom I lost my head. It was the combined scent of her that clung to every surface mixed with the fact that she was just there, only feet from the bed where I had pinned her down and drew blood from her. The memory of the metallic taste of it on my tongue had me instantly hard every time I thought about it, which was more often than I should. 

“What do you want to talk about?” she asked quietly, her voice oddly reserved. 

I could hear the rapid pounding of her heart in her chest and could even see the pulse at the base of her neck as it leapt at an alarming rate. That and the way she was tangling her fingers together had me reaching for her to reassure her. 

Confusion clouded her gaze as I stroked my hands up and down her arms gently as I murmured, “It’s nothing bad, little liar. I just want to talk. Things have been awkward between us since the other day and I want to clear the air so you can stop being stressed about my presence.”

Her brows drew together. “Clear the air?”

“Tell me what’s wrong, and how I can fix it,” I clarified. “Obviously something is bothering you. If it’s something I did or someone else, tell me and I’ll figure it out.”

Those big eyes of hers stared up at me with emotions swirling through them with little regard for hiding them. She was like an open book if one knew the language and I was slowly learning hers. That look told me enough; someone had said something to upset her. If that was the whole story or not I wasn’t sure, so I gently guided her over to the sofa and pulled her down next to me. Anothing thing I had learned about her was that if I sat silent long enough she would talk. 

So we sat there. 

She squirmed a few times, her eyes darting around the room and her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the couch as I waited. Finally she let out a little huff and said, “I’m really stressed out. You have me stressed out.”

“How?”

“All of this!” she waved her hand at me. “You’re obviously hot as fuck and intelligent and you’ve got the whole shadows thing going on, so obviously I’m attracted to you. And that’s dumb considering sometimes you look like you want to kill me, I’m not entirely sure you trust me, I sure as fuck don’t trust you, and yet all I can think about is how good it felt for you to touch me. Then there’s this whole ‘be our ambassador of humans’ thing, which is a lot of responsibility and if we are being honest I have commitment issues so committing to staying in Prythian is lowkey a big deal. And there’s also this whole fake not fake thing with you that I really can’t figure out. And there’s that shit with Elain. And-”

“There’s nothing with Elain,” I quickly assured her, mentally cataloging everything else she had said so we could address that too, but needing to make sure that was understood. “Elain is nothing more than a friend to me and that’s all she will ever be. One time I entertained the idea of more and then quickly realized how ill suited we are for each other. As far as her match making efforts, she has subsided since you arrived so I see that as a win.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she murmured. 

Once again I opted for waiting. Prying information out of her was impossible but she would volunteer it if I was patient enough, so I waited. And waited. Finally she threw herself backwards on the couch, burying her face against the back cushions as she mumbled, “This is so stupid, Azriel.”

“What’s stupid?”

“To be worked up over what she said.”

I stilled. “What did she say?”

“She said she knows what happens, and it’s not happily ever after for us. Which is ridiculous because we aren’t even together! We’re just…just… I don’t know what we are but we aren’t together so getting upset over her saying that is stupid. I’m stupid. Everything is stupid!”

“If we were together would you feel stupid about being worked up over that?” I asked carefully.

“No,” came her quick answer. 

“Okay perfect, so we are together. For real. You’re mine and I’m yours. We can be worked up about that together because what the fuck does she know? She predicts things that don’t happen all the time so how dare she say that shit to you. More importantly what did she think anyone would gain out of her saying that to you? That’s fucked up and I have half a mind to go over to her stupid townhouse and tell her so.”

A long moment of silence followed my words as she lay there unmoving, processing. Eventually she turned her face away from the cushions to eye me from her prone position. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

“No. Why?”

“Who are you and what have you done with Azriel?” she demanded, sitting fully up and tucking her knees beneath her so she could lean towards me, poking and prodding at my face and shadows curiously. “Azriel rarely cusses let alone talks shit about people. You keep all that bottled up inside your pretty head. So why is it coming out of your talented mouth now?”

“You think my mouth is talented?” I grinned. 

“See!” she shouted, pointing at my mouth. “Something is wrong here. You never smile.”

“I do.”

“When?”

“When you’re around.”

A faint blush stole over her cheeks even as she said, “That was cheesy as fuck. Stop acting weird and be real with me.”

“I am being real.”

At that she rolled her eyes at me. “I’m serious, Az. No joking about the ‘we are together’ shit. You dragged me here and want to have a conversation so let’s have one but don’t play with me like that.”

“I was not playing with you. I am being serious. I think it’s pretty clear that I want you, have wanted you from the moment you stumbled into my life. It might be complicated and strange and whatever else but I don’t really give a fuck right now. Right now I care that what Elain said bothered you enough that you felt the need to act strange around me. Now, tell me more about what you’re thinking about this position Rhys offered.”

She stared at me as if I had lost my mind and maybe I had. “You’re being serious? You can’t just declare that we are together, that you’re being serious about it, and then change the subject!”

“Can’t I?”

“No! Azriel Shadow Daddy, be so fucking for real with me right now; are you asking me to be your actual girlfriend?”

“Oh I’m not asking, I’m telling,” I informed, done giving her chances over this. “Thats decided so it’s one less thing you need to worry about. Now about this job-”

My words were cut off in the sweetest way; she dug her fingers in my hair and tugged my mouth to hers, effectively ending all words and thoughts as the taste of her overwhelmed everything else.

[loopspoop]

Since I’m horrendous at drawing still I figured it would also be best to give written physical descriptions of everyone in this AU because 💅 yes! I’ll add more if I think of anything else

Fujiko

* she’s the shortest in this AU coming in at like 5’5

* she’s actually a bit more tan than in canon because she’s Japanese I’m not going to whitewash these guys let’s be fr

* I like they way her hair was in Wings of Albatross so it’s that length but a bit darker in color like a deep brown/black looking area

* pretty brown eyes with green flecks in them (super cute)

* still..ahem…well endowed… but guess what? She’s not stick figure thin! She’s got a tummy and thick thighs and muscle mass because fuck unrealistic body typing on women she’s strong and thick and still looks hot as fuck!

* she has freckles!

* was shot and stabbed a fair few times so obviously has scars too along with stretch marks because they’re so cute ^^

* surprise! She’s trans! (The boys joke about having donated their tits to her)

Lupin

* taller than fujiko but shorter than the others at 5’7.6

* has a lot of burns and scaring from his cybernetics being placed and welded too close to his skin, and scars from being whipped that one time

* top surgery scars!! Goemon did his top surgery so well!

* hazel eyes (cybernetic eye is green and it low key makes him a bit mad that he has to use colored contacts when covering his cybernetics)

* he’s still built like a string bean but he’s got more mass than canon because he is not a stick figure! He’s got muscle!

* also more tanned than canon because again, he’s mixed race

*cybernetic lower spine, left eye area, left arm from the elbow down, right leg from the knee down, left leg from the hip down, and areas on the torso

Jigen

* still has his beard and hat

* wears his hair up a fair amount (ponytail Jigen my love) but it isn’t greasy like some people think

* fuck ton of scars from his adventures because it’s Jigen and he got shot and stabbed a lot

*built like a guy in his 30s would be built, got a little chub and a good amount of muscle but still..chub because he looks like he would give great strong hugs

*taller than Lup and Fuji at 5’9

*also had top surgery! Goemon did it of course 💅

*he is a lot darker toned than canon! Give this man his pigmentation back damnit!

*dark brown eyes but they have a lot of different colors around the pupil because it’s so pretty and he has pretty eyes but nobody gets to see because his hat

Zenigata

* taller than everyone else except Goemon! Bro is like 6’1

*built like a tree with a dad bod! Bro lives off ramen so..definitely muscled up though with all that running and jumping and whatever else Lupin makes him do

* he’s been shot and stabbed a fair amount, he’s got scars

*HE IS PIGMENTED FOR FUCKS SAKE HES A JAPANESE MAN MAKE HIM DARKER

*chocolate brown eyes but they’re so pretty

*beautiful eyelashes 😌

*he has eye-bags because fuck this man never sleeps???

*trans! The department didn’t pay enough for his top surgery though so Lup had Goemon do his too (Zeni nearly pissed himself from being worried about it tho)

Goemon

*tallest! He’s 6’5 and proud of it

*his hair is a bit longer and so pretty (sometimes he puts it up)

*think Miyazaki for facial structure bc I don’t vibe with the other ones as well

*HE IS DARK SKINNED DAMNIT

*eyes so brown they’re almost black

*he’s toned and built but in this AU he eats and takes care of himself so he’s got his soft places and chub when he isn’t tensing his muscles

*got some pretty eyelashes

*less scars than the others but he was also tortured that one time so..he has reminders of that

*also had top surgery! Goemon Ishikawa XIII The Boob Remover

[pretty-blkgirl]

Vengeance

//Detective!gnReader//Criminal!Skz//Explicit Language//Triggering themes- such as mentions of murder, su!c!de, torture, overall violence, angst//

PLEASE INFORM ME IF IM MISSING ANY TRIGGER WARNINGS

PART TWO OF THREE

~~~|~~~

Your hands began to tense up when you two entered the warehouse. It was so quiet that you’re sure you could hear the man in front of you breathing lightly. He looked back, smiling sweetly at you as you two walked further into the building. You didn’t stop until you reached the middle, away from any exits.

“They’ll be here in a couple seconds” Jeongin says, almost as if he senses your confusion. You nod, anticipating their arrival.

You think about what Jeongin said, don’t interrupt them, look them in the eyes, greet them all. Seemed easy enough.

Suddenly, the sounds of several pairs of footsteps could be heard from behind you. You start to look back but Jeongin quickly stops you.

“Don’t look back, wait until they’re in front of you” He says, making a knot form in your stomach.

Seriously, you couldn’t even look behind you? Was it that serious?

Before you knew it, seven men stood in front of you while the eighth stood by your side. He had the biggest smile on his face while looking at his brothers.

“Hi guys” The youngest greets. The men all give him nods of acknowledgement. However, all of them were staring dead at you. You chose to stare back at Chan, the oldest and the “leader”. He was the most ruthless, according to the people you met when coming to Korea. One older man said he gave a fuck about nobody but his family and a few lucky people who could call him a friend.

Yes, his family. Not just his bio family (which you learned consisted of his parents and two younger siblings), but also the men standing on his left and right sides.

Han was on his immediate right, sporting a mischievous smirk. His eyes were hooded, and you could tell he was shamelessly checking you out. The “party animal”, the fun one. He was said to always be laughing and singing while people begged for their lives in front of him.

Changbin, the third oldest, was on his immediate left. If looks could kill you’d be mutilated. There was nothing but pure intimidation written all over his face. The way he looked at you made you fear for your life. He was all about business, making sure to stick to his principles. If you fucked him over, there was no chance for forgiveness.

Hyunjin was on the right of Han. Oddly enough, he looked at you with a soft smile. But that was his thing, looks like a warm person but would stab you with that same sweet look on his face. He was also an artist, drawing little pictures of the people on their hit list. Word on the street was he was one of the more sensitive ones- aside from Felix.

Speaking of the freckled boy, he stood on the left of Changbin and gave off such a warm and inviting aura. The freckles on his face made him look even more adorable, and it was said he used that to his advantage. As stated before, he was a bit sensitive, especially when it came to his brothers. It was said that his voice was the complete opposite of what you’d expect- the same with his personality when he got angry. Felix wasn’t a “let things calm down” type of person, he dealt with issues right then and there. Which is why he was one of the most feared.

Seungmin was next to Hyunjin. Yes, the man with a face of puppy- so cute and innocent looking. However, he was said to the the most outlandish out of all of them. He was smart, all of them were, but he could truly outwit you without you even noticing. He was always twelve steps ahead, and would flash his victims a smile, showing off his braces, before sending them to hell.

Lee know was next to Felix. The second oldest, Chan’s right hand man. He was everything Chan was, scary, intimidating, merciless… But he was a little “softer” than Chan was. He and Changbin kept the oldest at bay, making sure he was okay and taking care of himself.

They loved one another, more than anything else in this world. Everyone knew this. That meant they would kill for their brothers, that’s why you had to play your cards right.

“Who’s this?” Hyunjin asked, giving you a bigger smile than before. You could tell he was studying you, trying to put a name to the face.

“This is….” Jeongin starts off. Then he looks at you, you noticed you’ve never given him a name.

“Y/N” You smile, “Nice to meet you all”. You quickly bow to them, making sure to greet each of them.

Chan speaks first, a frown playing on his lips, “Why are they here?”

“Channie hyung” Felix groans, “Don’t be rude. Our guest can hear you”

“Why did you bring them here Innie?” Han asked, still shamelessly checking you out.

Jeongin was about to speak but you spoke at the same time, unintentionally.

“Jeongin and I met at a bar.” As soon as that sentence left your mouth, you cringed internally. He told you NOT to interrupt them.

But then again, you didn’t interrupt them you interrupted Jeongin.

What were you kidding, it was probably wise to not interrupt him either.

However, nobody seemed upset, so you calmed down a little.

“Yes. Y/N and I met at the bar. They said I looked like a childhood friend of there’s”

“Really?” Asked Lee Know, “What’s his name?”

“Who’s”? You ask stupidly, before it clicked in your head, “Oh I’m sorry, his name was Cameron. Though I haven’t seen him in a while.”

The boys nodded, Chan looked you up and down before shrugging.

“Well, I’m Chan. Or Chris. You can use either one.” He then started to introduce everyone else one-by-one.

“If Innie brought you here you must be cool” Felix grinned excitedly, “How about we get to know more about you! Let’s play a game!”

“Okay” You grin, feeling more at ease, “What game?”

“20 questions” Changbin smirks.

[sea-side-scribbles]

My Friend Norbert

link to ao3

Chapter 7

This week went better for Arthur, because he was looking forward to their next meeting. The fact that the last one had gone well filled him with unfamiliar confidence. He was simply happy and that made him enduring. He sat in class, writing on autopilot and daydreaming about Norbert. At home, he did his chores and his homework without his body protesting. The only tiny problem was that he couldn't quite focus on his upcoming exams. He tried to learn but his mind kept wandering off into the ruined district, chasing the tall boy with the freckled face.

He had never known that freckles could be so fascinating. Despite them, he missed everything else about this boy, too. While pretending to learn, he always came back to eyeing his map and imagining the buildings he would explore with Norbert. Then he began to draw another map that showed all the ruins that he found interesting enough to visit. He marked the route with arrows and made notes for every building, what they would see there and how long they would probably be there before they moved on.

Arthur felt like a tourist guide for the ruined district but he knew it was worth it for Norbert. What he missed for his tour was a place to get ice cream. They couldn't only eat the stuff they found in the houses since there wasn't much left. He noted a café he liked on the map, in case they had time to go there. They would have to leave the ruins for this, but it's delicious ice cream would be worth it. Arthur's mouth already watered at the thought. His dad would never go there with him again, that's why he had to do this on his own. He couldn't count the many times he had spent the coins he found in the ruins to get some strawberry ice cream bowl with whipped cream. Norbert would like it, too.

He busied himself like this and apparently stopped acting weird. At least his father didn't complain anymore and everything went back to the usual taciturnity. Arthur was glad he could keep his thoughts to himself.

On Friday however, his patience left him. The entire day, he felt as if he was about to explode. Even though he was excited, he couldn't focus and his geography teacher scolded him for not listening and let him do tasks in front of the class for the entire lesson. Arthur did good enough, though. After all, he liked maps and had a good memory for places, so it wasn't really a punishment. Just a short distraction. After this incident, he was just as unfocused as before. When the school bell finally rang for the last time that day, he hurried home and sat around in his room, trying to do his homework. He did enough to not make his father suspicious, but most of the time he just stared out of the window and wished to be out there with Norbert.

It was pure torture to eat dinner with his dad and not being able to act naturally. He had to pretend to be calm, indifferent and hungry. Just like his dad, mostly. He wanted to kick his legs, squirm and writhe and talk endlessly about his plans, his new map. Instead, he had to do it in his head while his father ate quietly and only asked a few questions about school. Arthur told him that he had been quite good at geography today, that he had found almost all the towns but his father only nagged at the ones he didn't find and told him to work harder. “If you're an engineer”, he said, “you can't build only half the bridge.” Arthur felt a pang in the chest at this. That one time he had opened up to his dad and what did it do? It gave his dad an excuse to nag at him even more. He considered lying to him next time, but what would undeserved praise do? Would only make him feel more stupid.

After dinner, he went through all his notes on the map as if they were part of an exam. Indeed, Arthur wanted to know them by heart. He didn't want to show his personal notes to Norbert. Also, wouldn't it be cooler if he looked like he did all this spontaneously? Reading from a paper was for grandpas.

He must've fallen asleep while repeating his notes because he woke up in the morning with the map on his pillow. He read it again until he heard his father walk around in the house. It was still hard to hide his feelings, but he felt much better than at dinner. He couldn't help smiling and he could barely eat, but he managed not to draw his dad's attention. Just when they finished, Arthur remembered in shock that his dad could still fuck this day up. He washed the dishes with shivering hands and waited if his dad would say something about leaving the house.

“Arthur, is something wrong?”, Mr. Hastings asked instead and Arthur hated himself for being so obvious. “No, no, I'm okay. Er...why do you ask?”, he croaked out of his dry throat. “Well, first, you grin like a Cheshire cat the entire meal and now you look like a rabbit caught in the headlights. What's going on?” “Nothing. I'm just careful...with the plates”, he held up the one he was drying. “Yes, you better not let another one fall.” His dad seemed to be content with that explanation and Arthur turned away from him for the rest of the time.

When he was finished, his dad hadn't said another word. Arthur sensed his chance. Carefully, as if the boards could catch fire, he sneaked through the corridor, towards the door. The house remained silent. With still shivering fingers, Arthur brought down the handle. It made a silent squeaking noise that rang in Arthur's ears, but still, there was no reaction from anyone. Like in slow-motion, he moved out of the house. His heart pounded in his throat and he listened for the horrible call back. But nothing came.

After closing the door, another promising summer day greeted him. The front garden was as cheerful as ever, if only a little overgrown because mum wasn't there to care for it. When he woke up from his stupor and realized his luck, he began to run. Away from danger and into a new, wonderful day. His dad couldn't stop him anymore. The map was engraved in his mind. No need to worry.

He happily crossed the district and went straight to that one house. Their house. There was a tiny chance that Norbert was there already and he wouldn't want to miss it. But even when he found it empty, it didn't ruin his mood. It was time to test if he remembered the map right and if it was really the best possible adventure.

As time passed, Arthur became more nervous. He was better prepared for this meeting, but the mere thought of meeting this amazing boy again and having to speak to him without talking bollocks made his heart pound heavily. Was he really ready? Well, he had to be. Norbert was nice after all. He wouldn't laugh at him, right?

Just seeing the boy though the window of their house warmed his heart. “Norbert!”, he shouted and climbed inside as quickly as he could. “Arthur, hey!”, the other boy said with his friendly voice and approached him. Without thinking, Arthur ran into him to hug him tightly. Norbert stood frozen for a second, then he laughed and patted the younger boy's back. “Careful, are you trying to crush me?” Arthur remembered that his father had said that to him sometimes when he had been to eager. Way back when he had still hugged him. Then he noticed what he was doing and promptly let go. His face felt very warm. Norbert didn't seem to be bothered by him, though.

“You're really back”, Arthur sighed out of breath with a wide smile. He just had to say it. The pressure in his chest wanted out. Norbert returned the smile, still not bothered by Arthur's awkward behaviour and also not mocking. Arthur still had the feeling that this boy was truly special. “Sure”, Norbert answered happily. “You made my mouth water last time. I wouldn't want to miss out on anything today.” “Oh, great!”, Arthur cheered and even jumped. He was so glad to be prepared. “I know exactly where we're going! Just follow me!” Norbert chuckled at his enthusiasm. “I'm right behind you”, he said as they climbed through the window back outside.

“Have you done this before?”, he asked while they strolled through the district. “Done what?” “Being a tour guide for someone in here?” Norbert himself didn't know what he was getting at this time. Every time he met Arthur, he felt like some undercover agent trying to figure out a conspiracy. Even though there wasn't much left of his first mistrust. Arthur just seemed to be a nice boy with a grieving father. That wasn't so rare. Nearly everybody lost someone in the past.

Also, he thought he should be happy about Arthur's excitement. The boy looked much better than before. He was beaming and jumping and laughing. But there were all these...things he had heard about the ruins. That certain shop owners suddenly put a lot of new stuff in their storage that had no specific origin. Of course, nobody was asking any questions aloud. The customers were rather happy about that unexpected blessing. And nobody would notice if anything went missing in, say, an abandoned household. And who would be better suited for collecting this stuff than little kids? As little as they could be these days. And it would be convenient for these kids to earn some money for their families.

But if so, what of it?, Norbert asked himself. It wasn't a crime. He had to admit to himself that he was just curious. It was a game he played with himself. Perhaps it was that place. Despite the fun they had, it still looked eerie to him. He had only wanted some peace and quiet in here, not actually stirring the ghosts of these houses.

“No”, Arthur crushed his theory with one word. “I was always alone here.” Then he found it sounded too sad, so he added: “It was more fun this way.” A second later, he stuttered: “Not that it's not fun now, I just...I mean...” Norbert laughed. “Hey, no problem. If you have enough of me, I'll leave you alone.” “I don't!”, Arthur shouted. Then he thought it sounded too needy, so he added: “Not yet.” in a cheekier tone. “If you behave.” A second later he wanted to slap himself. What horrible nonsense!

But Norbert laughed anyway. “If I behave? Well, let's see...You only get what you give.” “Are you trying to challenge me?”, Arthur played along. His face felt warm again. “What do you mean trying?” Arthur had to laugh and Norbert went on: “You can still give up if you like. I won't blame you.” “Never! You will give up!”, the younger boy blurted out between laughter. “Challenge accepted, then.” Oh, god, Arthur only thought. What the hell was he doing? And worse, saying out loud? He should put a plaster on his mouth.

When he gave Norbert a shy glance, he noticed something. “Did you forget your guitar in our house? Should we go back and get it?” “No, I didn't bring it this time.” Norbert shrugged. “It would just be in the way and in danger.” “Aww...And I thought you'd sing me a song!”, Arthur blurted out. He was really disappointed since he had missed his singing voice for two weeks now. Of course Norbert was right, it was better they didn't have to care for the guitar all the time. Still...

“So you really are my fan? I'm flattered.” Norbert seemed to play it down, but Arthur saw the spark in his eyes and his heart jumped for joy. “How could anyone not be your fan?”, he cheered. “Your voice is great! And your outfit...” He already hated that he had opened his mouth and stopped again. But nonetheless, he had made Norbert happy. “Even though it's too red?”, he teased with a wide smile. “It's not too red...I just...I wasn't prepared for it when I saw it the first time...” Norbert answered with a laugh. “You're not the only one. But thank you. That is...really sweet of you...” Arthur's heart jumped at the word 'sweet'. “You're welcome...”, he muttered, hiding his face away. “...not that I needed it”, Norbert concluded and threw his hair back. “I'm just awesome like that, you know?”

He made Arthur chuckle hysterically. “You're insufferable! I take everything back!” “Too late! Also, if you insist on that, I might never sing for you again...”, Norbert cooed. “Perhaps that's for the better.” “Excuse me? Would you kindly decide whether or not you like my voice?” “I have time until tomorrow anyway. If you bring your guitar then.” “I might decide it for you.” Arthur just had to look at him and met the most innocent smile. Norbert was the first person he knew who could hide a hideous message behind such a face. “Fine, I take back that I take it back! But you're still insufferable!” “I'm just honest.” “I didn't tell you to be honest, I told you to behave!” Norbert chuckled, but he put his hands together. “Go easy on me, okay? I promise you'll get used to me eventually. And then I'll appear very nice.” “That sounds...uh...I wanted to say 'promising', but...” “Oh, come on!”

“Yeah, yeah, I'll try...” Arthur acted as if he was annoyed when he was actually sweating. It felt so...new...unusual to joke around like that with someone who was older. Normally, they were dead serious or didn't care about him. Now it even looked like the opposite. Arthur played the serious part here. Like with Percy, but still not at all like with Percy. Norbert wasn't actually unreasonable, he was just joking. Unless he'd start running around with no pants...In this case... The thought made him blush. And grin.

Of course, Norbert had to notice it. “What's so funny?” He came closer but Arthur skipped away. “What? Hey, come here!” Arthur had to burst out in laughter again and ran away from Norbert's grip, making the older boy dart after him. “Come back!” “Catch me, old man!”, Arthur shouted back and set off to their first ruin in the tour. He was glad to shorten their trip this way because he hoped to act less like an idiot in the houses, where he could distract Norbert with treasure.

Gosh, did he really say “our house” to him? Now that he had time to think, he realized his mistake. Perhaps Norbert didn't notice, though. He hadn't mentioned it. During their race, Arthur managed to stay ahead of Norbert since he knew the best route through all the rubble. When he had reached the right place, though, he had to stop running. “Stop! Stop, we're there! This is it!”, he tried to convince Norbert to spare him, but the boy threw him down and tickled him without mercy. “Now you got a reason to laugh!” “Stop! I can't...I can't...”, Arthur panted and he was sure that his face was glowing redder than a traffic light.

Norbert stopped to Arthur's luck, or else the younger boy would've exploded. He sat up and panted too, even if he had been the one attacking. “You're completely exhausted”, Arthur dared to tease him. “And you, huh? You need some more?” Norbert poked him in the side. “No! That's unfair!”, Arthur shouted and kicked. “Hey!” Norbert patted the spot and when Arthur looked, he saw that his shoe had left a stain on the red cloth. “Sorry!” He shot up. “I...I didn't mean to...” Tears welled up in his eyes. “Hey, don't sweat it...”, the older boy said but he looked worried.

“If the tap is still working, we can save it!”, Arthur shouted and Norbert needed a moment to understand. Then they hurried into the house behind them and tried the sink in the kitchen. It worked. The sink was beyond dirty, but the water pouring out of the tap seemed to be good enough. Norbert splashed a handful on his upper leg. Arthur darted through the room, opening all the drawers. He didn't remember all the tiny detail in every house, so this was pure hope. He cheered when he found the soap.

“Oh, thank god!” Norbert smeared it over the stain and then poured more water over it. Arthur watched him with concern. His stomach cramped at the thought he might've destroyed this outfit forever. “Er...shouldn't you take it off?”, he asked quietly. “You have a second pair?” Arthur realized. “No, I mean...wait...Perhaps there are clothes in the bedrooms.” With that, he ran away to search the house. He was lucky again. Kind of. The pants he found had clearly seen better days and the moths had bitten a few holes in them, but they were at least dry.

Norbert didn't share his opinion, though. “Are you serious? Did you pull them out of a bin?” “You'll catch a cold if you keep these on”, Arthur tried to reason with him. Now this was more like Percy. “It's warm enough in here.” Norbert dropped the old pants on the floor. “But it's also dirty.” “I am careful, thank you very much!” “I'm sorry”, Arthur muttered and hung his head. “Hey, it's okay...”, Norbert put an arm around him and made him hold his breath. “I guess I attacked you first.” “You did...” “Yeah...”, Norbert sighed. “You alright?” Arthur couldn't believe his ears. Norbert still cared after what he just did? He gave him a surprised stare. “Yes. Er...my back hurts a little...I guess I fell on a root or something...” Norbert gently patted his shoulders. “I'm sorry”, he said with his beautiful, warm voice. And Arthur believed him.

[iamnicodemus]

I was supposed to have reblogged this ages ago wtf, I'm sorry 😭

This story was an absolute treat. How you can call yourself a mediocre writer while writing the things you do is a mystery a thousand Wednesdays couldn't solve.

Like, look at this:

With her came a sense of foreboding, like storm clouds on the horizon. You would’ve sworn she was also a cryomancer with the way she seemed to chill the atmosphere around her.

Students parted like the Red Sea when she walked through the halls, determined to avoid her wrath.

You write Wednesday with such presence and I swear it radiates from the text. She dictates the vibe everywhere she goes, as she should lol

A short, but statuesque figure with eyes like black ice and a constellation of freckles scattered across her cheeks that put the stars to shame.

Fucking gorgeous writing. What a damn description!

You knew that, once you exhausted your welcome, she would likely discard you, but until then you’d just sit back and enjoy the ride with her.

Cryomancer girl is just like me fr fr.

So much so that Wednesday had to tell you to calm down because you were freezing the rain around you into snow and leaving icy footprints

Love how her power expresses itself in these moments. A neat detail that makes the ability feel that much more a part of her.

she ended up being responsible for the worst years of your life.

Do.... do I need to square up with Mary?

There was a flurry of movement, a sharp crack, and even now you swore you could feel the sting of the impact on your cheek.

She hated you, and you could still see remnants of that hatred now, even from across the street.

FUCK MARY ALL MY HOMIES HATE MARY

And now comes one of my favorite scenes from any Wednesday fic I've ever read.

The pain in your chest intensified, drawing your limbs in to try and relieve the ache. It felt as if your body was trying to collapse in on itself, like a dying star.

They crouched before you, their face coming into view and familiar dark orbs stared at you in a way you’d never seen before.

“Identify five things that you can see. You don’t have to say them out loud,” she instructed you, slowly and firmly.

I've only quoted these bits, but believe me when I say I am so tempted to quote the entire thing.

The entire panic attack. Wednesday helping Cryo use the 5-4-3-2-1 technique to soothe herself...

God... what Cryo is going through is so, so superbly described. And Wednesday turning up to help her, and doing so in the exact manner that she did, through it is one of the most heartwarming, sweetest things I've ever seen Wednesday do in a fic, and that moment of compassion feels so very like her. It caught me by surprise and felt entirely in-character for her to do it for someone she cares about.

So dark that they appear black in most settings, but under direct sunlight they reveal themselves to be the most beautiful shade of brown you’ve ever seen. Second was her hair, the way her wet fringe clumped together, forming short tendrils on her forehead.

“The Jericho high school band doesn’t need me. You do. Weems will get over it.”

SHE'S SUCH A SWEETHEART (in her own way)

An explosion in the distance made you jump.

“Wednesday, what did you do?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” she replied easily, lips quirking at the screams of terror that arose from the town square.

Wednesday's the embodiment of this meme:

“Get changed and get some rest. I will return in a few hours after I deal with something,” she said, eyeing you as she edged back toward the door.

At this point, I already knew what she was going to do (well, not the exact thing she did, but still) and when I tell you Wednesday is one of the best friends you could ever have-

“I was told to give this to you.” She extended an envelope in your direction.

Like she didn't just torture this lady into writing the damn thing 💀💀

Under the body of text, her name was written in a red ink so dark, you’d think that it was blood… And there was a smudge of crimson at the bottom of the page. As if the ink had been crudely spilled onto the paper.

“Is it to your liking?” she asked, jaw set in determination.

For just a moment, her eyes flicked downward, the movement so fast it was nearly imperceptible.

Nearly.

"I see what's happening here," - Maui

You are an incredible writer. Factual. Confirmed. Unarguable.

Reverie

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x cryomancer!reader

Summary: In the midst of investigating, a figure from your past returns, sending you into a panic. Wednesday is there to help pick up the pieces (and maybe get some revenge too).

Warnings: panic attack, implied abuse and violence, blood, reader is a Simp, it gets a bit morbid near the end lol, abrupt ending

Word count: 5.5k (sigh)

Notes: this fic made me realize just how much i struggle with character descriptions… but anyways this is a long request for literally the nicest anon ever, whoever you are i hope you enjoy this! 

Part 2

Silence was something that you cherished.

Keep reading

[cutieboop2000]

A witch in a dissolving gang... (part 1)

I already explained the basics of Celene in Loveless Biker Boys, so it might be easier to explain her for Wild Biker Boys. Her appearance is still the same, except there's a lot more flair to the design, making it hellish to draw (if she even gets drawn by someone besides me) unless I'm proven wrong (In which I'll be overjoyed and appreciate it o:). The outfit goal is still on the whimsigothic side of things, maybe a hint of lunarpunk??

Noticeably, Celene's got a hint of night sky magic residue on her face (like night sky markings and freckles), probably because of using lunar magic and night magic for a long time. It might be a side effect of consulting in forbidden magical practices, like cosmic horror, or the advanced, dark counterpart of moon magic. In WBB, she is 29, so she's later in the 20's range (mainly by guessing the age gap in the one Dice pic from the WBB files).

Another thing is that now Dice isn't the only one with a cloak, and Celene has one too! Part of it is made with corvid feathers (which, by Luna's new moon form, becomes actual magical wings), but the rest is full of silk and hints of stardust. It's a cloak representing the night sky. Does that mean she'll overthrow Dice? ... Who knows. It can only happen when it's necessary, but she usually doesn't think about this... at least, until things really go downhill for the Loveless Biker Boys. Otherwise, her fashion is more on the mysterious, elegant, and badass side (which, like I said, would probably make it hard for her to be drawn properly compared to LBB Celene).

If WBB is about the 'worst' of someone, in this case it would be that Celene's gone coo-coo crazy, like Jeff is, except she's controlled it for the most part. She's more likely akin to a mad doctor (and maybe a 'hunter'?) even though she's still the gang's healer/medic and witch... She's gone to unethical lengths to enhance healing as well as make others suffer with dark magic and her moon magic's darker counterpart. She's also a lot more tired than usual, and it isn't just due to staying up to stargaze and check the moon. It's just pure madness from going deeper in eldritch knowledge of the night/moon and practicing unethical magic. And also... getting full knowledge of what happens, like, fourth wall or otherwise. She's become (relatively) sentient.

(CW: Blood, Violence, Body horror, Drug mention, Murder(?), Death, Necromancy, Torture, Unethical Medical Practices)

What's different with Celene's moon magic here?

New Moon: A very notable difference is that Luna is not just shadow essence anymore. She has stars to decor her entire shadow-y fur, and her eyes serve like the moon. Aesthetically speaking, a biker (or somebody else) would see a literal walking piece of the night sky should they encounter Celene as Luna at night. Another difference is that whilst in LBB, Luna did not have feathers, but in WBB, that cape Celene has grants Luna magical wings only for that form specifically. For the darker counterpart of moon magic, the New Moon is essentially the 'opposite' full moon, so she's buffed in a different way. So uhhhh... good luck with that, and my condolences, whoever gets on her bad side or her 'excitable' side.

Those unfortunate to be caught by Luna will be subject as a research experiment for those unethical magical tests involving baneful and dark magic. After all, while Celene needs to charge her magic in a unique way, now she also craves blood in addition to traditional means like rest and more. However, as a consequence, Celene would realize after putting a test subject through hell, via experimentation, 'surgery', even some body tampering (leading to body horror), she has to take a bath or a shower. She wouldn't like reeking of blood, and would rather smell like a floral bouquet of lavenders and pretend she didn't do too much of a horrible act like murder or necromancy.

In terms of the shadows, though, that's about the same. They can be used as their own weapon, they can be used for dramatics, and they can be used as part of that story choreography gig for karaokes. Celene herself can still do the glowy teeth and eyes thing too before becoming Luna, and it's still intimidating.

Waxing Moon: The waxing moon still has its principle that whatever intent Celene puts into the magic, it follows that intention. It is typically magical in nature, though it's worth adding that throughout the years, she's applied this not only in magic, but in physical combat. She improves her physical capabilities slightly by adding some of this magic with intent to a weapon, such as a scythe or a rapier. The weapon training has indeed come in handy on this department!

Full Moon: About the same. Multiple things, like speed, combat, racing, etc. get boosted, but it doesn't stack with anything else (no, not even the blue moon, which is 2 full moons in one month). Full Moon magic can also work to make weapons stronger, even more lethal, than what waxing or waning can do to boost weapons. Celene's more honest about her strength and her own limits, unlike Dice. Celene's hair, ears and tail still glow white like the moon in this form, though the small strands of white from WBB Celene's hair become black in this case. (Think black and white being the opposite colors of each other.) It can still happen on-will and with strong emotions (anger, sadness, competitiveness, etc.). However, again, the limits still apply, because having this magic be on for too long just makes her exhausted/tired as all hell. Just a reminder: Don't forget to charge your Celene's magical energy with rest, care, blood, and more!

Waning Moon: With the waning moon, it can heal, and it can also hurt. It's like vampirism that when this magic is applied to a weapon (aka, a rapier or a scythe), she could suck the life-force out of an enemy to give it to an ally for healing. It's an addition that has helped her improve and be a medical witch in more ways than one, and again, Celene's thankful for that too!

Otherwise, the healing magic is still there, and Celene tends to be very nurturing to her friends, allies, and more, caring and tending to their wellbeing/health. She's especially been really nurturing to the boss (Dice) as part of being the gang's medic as well as being genuinely concerned about his health since he took up the drugs to enhance his strength.

For the gang's enemies, however... they become the subject(s) of Celene/Luna's medical torture, and waning moon magic intends to drain them of their life. However, they may not stay truly dead forever, either! She could bring them back to life with necromancy/dark magic to rinse, repeat, and do more experiments! Part of it is to hone her magic with the appropriate target with unethical means, but the rest of it... is all in the name of medicine and research.

Bonus: Star Magic: This one is a recent ability as Celene grows and hones her lunar and night magic, however, it's not really used for combat. No, it functions like how one person would write letters, or how someone makes art on a canvas. All it takes is Celene to generate a projection of the night sky, and she'll draw on it like art or she can write messages on it. It sometimes looks like constellations, though it's different from what someone would see in the night sky when the area is clear. She mainly uses it for writing, communication, art, and musical purposes for storytelling.

[feitans-sweet-lover]

Relationship Headcanons: Feitan

Hey!! Here’s a few things I thought of for Feitan regarding a relationship with his s/o! Sorry the headcanons are not in order! Also my spelling is not the best at 2am, I apologize in advance :) Who should I do next?

What he looks for/wants in a partner | Part 1

I don’t think Feitan would not want his partner to be in the troupe, mafia, hunter, etc. I think out of all the troupe members he’d want the most civilian like s/o. A true sliver of light in his dark world. Someone that only he knows about. It doesn’t mean she is a captive, they can live their own life, do their own thing, have their own friends, etc. He trusts them. They’re his home. Some things are just meant for him to know. So he’s not willingly sharing the information with anyone. Even Chrollo.

He’d probably prefer it if they were an ambivert. More talkative than him. He would want someone more bubbly, naive and a little shyer but not afraid to be blunt and honest. Someone who isn’t afraid to ask questions, talk about anything and everything. (example: if he was talking about torture methods he would ask her thoughts, methods, what ways they’d think is the most painful—very “what if x,y and s happened” or “what do you think would be the most gruesome way to draw out death”. Most of the time he’d try out their methods or critique their process/tell them if it would work or not and why.) He’d love it if they wanted to learn all about torture and how someone could break.

Would love someone who’d love mysteries.

Would love it if they were terrified of thrillers and horror so he can laugh at them all while making fun of them. He also secretly loves it when you cling to him.

Totally wants a touchy s/o. Not heavily pda with others around but when they’re alone it’s all on.

If in public he likes to hold your waist, hand or pinky’s.

He prefers cute over sexy.

Loves freckles. He’s not sure why but that added with a bit of innocence and blonde hair, he’s a goner.

Would secretly melt if his s/o could do puppy dog eyes. Wouldn’t change his mind but he’d think it was cute and funny tactic.

Totally tease and prank each other. Sometimes he goes to far or you do. No matter who messed up he will come to you when he’s ready to communicate.

Communication is hard at times. If you really make him mad he will tell you he had a call for a mission or needs some space and will leave for a while before he does something reckless that he’s gonna regret.

I don’t see his s/o being a true fighter. Feitan likes to be dominant to much for that. However, he would teach you basic self defense and would be willing to mess around with you sword fighting.

His s/o would definitely need to be submissive but not afraid to test the waters and be a bit bratty at times as well. ;)

He would never seriously fight you because he knows he most likely would go to far and kill you. He’d rather avoid his chances.

Would love it if you picked a date to celebrate his birthday. He’s never had one and it would be something special and you might even see a tear.

The best present he ever received from his s/o was a homemade cake. It doesn’t matter if it’s good or not, he has never had anyone show that kind of love and care before so it would be so meaningful to him.

He would like it if you learned his native language. He’d also like if you read to him in yours.

He normally only cuddles at night. Prefers to do it in the dark so you can’t see his face.

Would totally make blanket forts with you.

If he had to leave before you were awake he’d leave you coffee the way you like it, and a little silly note next to your nightstand and kiss your forehead before leaving.

Since he has insomnia he normally just likes watching you sleep and contemplating how he got to this point and if he truly deserves happiness. Also, he loves taking pics of you sleeping. Such a sweet sight, they’re all in a hidden folder on his phone. He often looks at pics of you (generally unflattering) when he’s by himself.

Doesn’t text you much when he’s gone but he generally does say morning and night when he can. Or sends you a photo of something from a different trip he went on.

He totally has an album of photos to send you whenever he has a “thinking of you” or a “I’m alive and should text something” kinda moment.

While he’s not totally happy (and probably never be) he is content with your life together and that’s a win.

Not super materialistic so whatever is his, money, jewelry, goods, etc is yours. He doesn’t expect you to share back though.

Would never hurt you intentionally.

He would never let his s/o watch him or listen to him torture someone. It’s one thing talking about it but when you actually witness it, even if you swear it won’t, Feitan knows it will change their opinion of him. He never wants them to see him as the true monster he is. Not totally. He thinks there’s a time and place where naivety and innocence is acceptable and that’s with his partner.

He wouldn’t punish or torture his partner. There’s just something so much more intimate about torture with his s/o. He doesn’t know or understand why but seeing them hurt isn’t something that pleases him as it usually does. He would want to use knives on his partner but only as a reward and would want them to see it that way as well.

He has his own set of personal knives dedicated only to you. He got you your own set as well to teach you how to properly cut. If his s/o was terrible he’d totally make fun of them.

He would eventually let you cut him as practice. He sees it as mastery in the process. A beautiful work of art because it was done by you.

His “I’m sorry” is never vocal. Normally it’s a hug with a kiss on the forehead and their favorite food or beverage.

I think his s/o would work in the art field. Either an artist, illustrator, writer, coder, or baker. These are jobs where Feitan doesn’t need a true knowledge of English/Japanese but instead can trust his sense of sight and emotions to guide the communication. In addition he sees torture as a form of art so he feels like you’d be able to understand the beauty of different artistry in a way most people couldn’t.

He’d love an inquisitive s/o but one who also knows the time and place. He would love one whose more empathetic and in tune with his emotions, someone who could read him since he’s not the best at communicating his needs.

Love language would probably be acts of service, touch and quality time.

He loves you blow drying and playing with his hair. Honestly he likes to be taken care of but it’s hard for him to show that type of vulnerability most of the time. So for now he’ll stick to his hair being fluffed.

Loves getting you any trinkets that he reminds him of you. Jewelry, a book, clothing, sweets, literally anything that he can carry back for you he would. A habit for every trip. He even brought you sand one time both because he thought it’d be funny and because it was the only thing at the destination.

He wouldn’t keep who he was a secret from his partner. He would be upfront and answer any questions they had. If they had gotten to this point he trusts them with his and his troupes life.

He would warn them areas to stay out of if he knew the troupe or mafia would be around to avoid her getting hurt.

I see him having an s/o that’s independent and dependent. Can do their own thing but loves being around him. A best friend kinda s/o. Probably an s/o with a few friends (2-3) that drops off the face of the earth for long periods of time when communicating with them.

Part of the reason he can never tell the troupe about his partner is because they’d be the one thing he couldn’t lose. Couldn’t kill. Even if she betrayed him he still could not bring himself to kill his s/o.

If his s/o died or was murdered. Feitan would never let another person in again. He would be colder, crueler, more disinterested. To be honest if he could he’d probably just disappear from everyone and everything even the troupe and become a hermit somewhere no one would ever find him.

Feitan would have a list of everything you have ever said you’d wanted to do before you’d die and he would do for you by himself. When he’d complete the list is the only time he let himself cry over you. Feeling only more alone, angrier and emptier than before. A true sense of loss. He thought it would make him feel better and near you. It didn’t.

Regardless if his s/o is dead or alive, He’d have a lock of your hair incased in a ring in the shape of a skull on a chain. Similar to a Victorian mourning jewelry.

You dying would be the only time in Feitan’s life that he would pray to any god willing to hear him. He would do anything to keep you with him and will barter his life or anything else to get there.

He would not let go of your body for days after your demise. He’d be silent. Letting his rage out unexpectedly and wildly. Not caring who dies in the crossfires or the damage done. He honestly doesn’t care if he dies too. However, he vows to keep living because that’s what you would’ve wanted so he refuses to end it all knowing you would be disappointed.

You’re the only person he’s ever even let his mind wander about having kids for just because he thinks your mini me would be the cutest. He’d also have fun teaching the ways of torture so be warned, haha!

He doesn’t understand his emotions a lot of times but he knows that there’s something about you that makes him intoxicated, softer, gentler, protective and loving. He’ll never understand if it’s actually love since he never had felt this before but he figures why stop a good thing that he’s curious to see where it goes.

Loves quirky and authentic.

[justplainwhump]

Making Angel

Masterpost

In a skiing resort for the wealthy, a rich young bastard man hits it off with a confident young woman - and gets told no.

Almost half a year later, that young woman ends up at a secret WRU facility, along with a decent advance payment and clear instructions never to let her say no again.

That's where this story begins...

Contains: BBU, lady whump / box babe, facility whump, whumper POVs, bad people with mundane problems, conditioning, guilt, overtones of noncon (mostly due to the setting, sometimes explicit). Each piece will be tagged individually, too.

Please mind that I'd like to keep my writing 18+, including the pieces that aren't marked nsfw.

(Special shout out to Vee, @for-the-love-of-nsfwhump , who created this AU/spin off with me and is a constant source of inspiration, and to @ashintheairlikesnow for all the rich worldbuilding that I could draw on while building my own part of the BBU sandbox.)

Characters

002238 / "Angel" (she/her) - WRU romantic trainee. Did not sign up for this, but has always been good at pretending.

Handler Alan Nguyen (he/him) - One of WRU's best romantic handlers. Doesn't believe in physical violence in training. Finds beauty in creating devotion. Very arrogant, very successful.

Handler Tyler Parker (he/him) - Junior handler on one of his first assignments. As much of a himbo as one can be when earning money as a professional torturer. Has his own spinoff, [here].

Thane Barlow (he/him) - @for-the-love-of-nsfwhump s character. Mean bastard man. Prospective owner of 238.

Alex Nadler (they/he/she) - Client Relations officer at WRU, specialised in involuntary acquisitions. Would do anything for client satisfaction.

Writing (chronological, sadly that is not the order of posting because I'm a mess // will be updated regularly) * means new

Dany (before)

No (Thane and Dany's first meeting)

Deal (ask reply, before 238)

Big sister (written by Vee)

Over * (abduction pt 1)

Red * (abduction pt 2)

Arrival * (abduction pt 3)

238 (facility)

Truth

Assignment

Match 

Not fair

Dimple

Good Girl

Finishing touch

Sound

>>> [Tyler’s spin-off] * starts here

Season's Greetings *

~

Angel (with her owner)

Good / Unboxing *

Rule one *

Deserved *

Left Behind *

The Driver (explicit noncon)

Hot tub (written by Vee)

~

Angelina (with a predatory and gaslighting "boyfriend", this arc is big on the domestic abuse vibes)

Stalker

Want

Angelina

Brownstone

Impressions

Barcode

Good girl (drabble; Sloane at Angelina and Tim's wedding)

[in progress]

~

Angel (in freedom)

No. * (Angel meeting Tyler again)

Comfort * (with Lourdes)

Headaches (drabble; free!Angel facing her past)

Cemetery *

Knowing (drabble; free!Angel talking about her fate)

~

Angelina (with pet lib) -- probably not canon any longer

Not products

Circles -- definitely not canon

~

Other scenes (drabbles and 'before')

Intake Papers

Before and After

Why (written by Vee)

Jingles (Sloane and Rosa) >> that family led to a whole distant spin-off, Pet Safety, following Rosa's fate

Documentary (a bit of a meta thing - the beginning of the documentary Tara will do about the case)

~

Free!Angel with Lourdes (created with @wildfae-afterdark ; Lourdes is their OC from this BBU story)

Grateful (explicit dubcon, written by Vic)

Waiting Up (angsty fluff, written by Vic)

Comfort * (also canon, see above)

Acting *

Bad Pets *

Freckles * (just a snippet)

Bath (written by Vic) *

Shifting *

[shakysniffles]

Drabble Challenge by @inconvenient-sneezes

Prompt Number Two: Weeds (769 words)

Tags: female, allergies (pollen), self-induced, masturbation (cis female)

please be kind bc this is the single most explicit thing I've ever written and I'm still blushing like anything

---

The front door slammed shut on a thousand chattering voices as her well-meaning friends and family left the quiet country house that would grow into Elsie’s new home

Silence rang in her ears and she leaned against the wall in a heady rush.

There were stacks of boxes arranged haphazardly around the place, boxes of books, of kitchen utensils, of linen and towels and blankets, all seeming the glow in the late afternoon sun.

This place was hers and only hers.

Short, sharp breaths accompanied the giddy smile and she couldn’t help herself, squealing as she spun in the narrow entranceway, light, summer dress flowing around her.

She really should begin putting the place in order, Elsie knew that, but she had been impatiently waiting for her chance to christen her home since she’d first wandered out into the back garden.

Green hedges rose high, bordering the overgrown lawn and lovingly planted ornamental flowers that were creeping out of their beds like wild creatures in the night.

But the real draw to the country cottage had been the weeds.

The air was still and lazy about her as she lay down among the grasses. The disturbance flung pollen in the air and she hitched slightly, sly smile already spreading on her lips as she reached up to gently pluck her instrument of choice.

A long, thin trail of amaranth fell from her fingers, hovering over her twitching nose in a manner reminiscent of a Roman goddess holding grapes aloft.

She had no intentions to rush, one hand tracing her skin, her sundress flipped up across her chest and fingers dipping lower and lower with every pass. The other hand brought the feathery flower closer and closer until small specks of pollen collected across her nose like freckles.

Her hands shook slightly as she drew her fingers across her panties, toying with the lacy edge. The soft yellow dripped beneath her nose and she gasped, nostrils widening as she breathed in the allergen.

hheh…eHH..hehh-ehSHIEWW

The sneeze made her fingers jump and she moaned around her next sneeze, feeling the wetness between her legs begin to grow. She wasn’t ready for direct stimulation, wanted this first time to last, and so she forced her lingering hand north, kneading at her breasts with an almost savage pressure to alleviate her self-induced denial.

heh-ehh-hheh-eHH… she hitched endlessly, the tickle strong enough for play, to tempt her and torture her, but also to leave her frustrated and trembling at the mercy of a flower.

She knew what she needed and reached down, tugging at her panties and moaning slightly as the fresh breeze brushed against her shining cunt.

Elsie dropped the amaranth on her chest, barely taking the time to admire the way it nestled between her breasts, and plucked a second flower, one which had been working its way inside her all day.

The effect was immediate.

hehH-SSSHIEWW ehp-SHiueww hHEH-SHIEWW

She sneezed viciously, her nose and cunt responding in kind. Her left hand worked furiously, spurred on by the spraying mess that fell cool against her hot skin, with no thought of taking her time now. Her fingers flew across her clit and she moaned as she dipped inside herself to collect more juices to smear around the sensitive nub.

Her nose didn’t let up and her hands jerked with every sneeze, helpless agony, the sudden motion beautiful in every way. Heat coiled deep in her stomach and she gasped, abandoning the flower in favour of more pressure, more touch, more sensation where her body demanded it, massaging her breasts, scratching up her thighs, and finally, finally, thrusting deep between her folds.

She turned her head to the side, groaning and spraying into the grassy lawn, the small blades pinpricks against her nostrils, teary eyes squeezed shut against all sense except touch and Elsie gasped, reaching for air and the final ascension and…

Her orgasm overtook her, cunt clenching around her fingers as she moaned, heedless of the mess running across her lip.

The long shadows crept over her as she lay still, sweat cooling on her skin as she savoured the final throes of pleasure.

A stray sneeze escaped her and she sighed happily, cunt twitching with an automatic, exhausted kind of interest.

She reached out and wiped her hands on the grass, smiling dreamily as she sat up. Her sundress fell down across her hips and she fumbled for her panties, not bothering to put them back on.

She had half a mind to christen every room in her new house.

And there was, after all, plenty of pollen at hand.

---

Fair to say I saw a photo of amaranth and immediately had a vision so here have a stolen picture if you've never seen it before.