#also tried to be a little looser and see if that made me any less stressed about it

[babykittenteach]

👗🪟

[animeomegas]

Omega!Neji x Alpha!Reader - Yours.

Congratulations to Neji as the winner of my first poll! (Also shout out to the literal two other people that voted for Kankuro with me XD) As promised, here is a Neji x reader wedding drabble. Enjoy~

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and both reader and Neji having consumed some. Suggestive content but nothing explicit.

It was almost 01:30 when the last of your guests stumbled off home, and 02:00 before you and Neji were able to start the short journey from the centre of your clan’s small compound where the wedding had been held, to the northern edge where your house resided.

As the cool air caressed your heated cheeks, you were grateful that the walk would be short; the alcohol, euphoria and exhaustion was mixing in a way that made you want to sit down. Even Neji, arguably the most graceful person you knew, was stumbling a little as he walked, leaning heavily on the arm you had linked with his.

Neji. Your husband. Yours. Just thinking that had a giddy laugh bubbling up.

“What are you laughing about?” Neji asked, his voice sounding a little breathless.

You slowed down and turned to face him properly, enchanted by the way the moonlight seemed to seep into his skin. The elaborate bun that his hair was styled in was looser than it had been this (technically yesterday) morning, with more strands than intended framing his face. A part of Tenten’s speech automatically came to mind.

“Neji insisted he wasn’t nervous, and that the date would probably be mediocre, but no one spends three hours and uses two hair masks before meeting up with someone they don’t care about,” Tenten had said, recounting the morning before yours and Neji’s first date.

“How beautiful you are,” you said, clumsily pecking him on the cheek. “Did I tell you how much I love your hair?”

“Once or twice,” he snorted, pulling on your linked arms to encourage you to start moving again.

“And the way you wore my clan’s traditional wedding kimono, I wasn’t expecting that,” you said. Honestly, you had almost cried and got a bit too horny at the same time which had been a unique experience. “I feel bad for every other clan marriage in the near future, because none of the omegas will be able to pull it off like you did. You look like an ethereal spirit in pastel green.”

“Personally, I feel sorry for the alphas; they will never be able to compete with you, to look as striking, to say better vows, to kiss their omegas the way you kissed me,” Neji’s voice trailed off quietly as he spoke, perhaps remembering the kiss.

“I know they will be happy forever,” Lee had said with a startling amount of sincerity during his speech. “Because I have never met any pair whose passion has burned as brightly! My rival and I have competed many times, but in matters of love, I will have to concede for the moment, because he has truly chosen a special alpha.”

The conversation fell silent for a moment. You tried to commit as much of this to memory as you could, focusing on the sound of the leaves rustling on the trees, the sight of the empty compound at night, the warmth and weight of Neji by your side. Perhaps slightly less romantic, you also noticed the way your feet ached, heard a few drunken mumblings from your guests also making their ways home, and spotted a wine stain on your top.

“We all saw how smitten y/n was during the vows, but what you didn’t see was all the terribly awkward pining that happened to get here,” Sakura had grinned at you during her speech, seemingly more than happy to horrifically embarrass you. “Like the time at Ichiraku’s ramen stand when I said Neji’s name and they smiled automatically, dribbling broth into their lap.”

Less romantic perhaps, but not imperfections, at least not to you; these were all signs that your day had been fun, and that was more important than anything. As your front door came into view, you were proud to say that you didn’t regret a single moment of your wedding day, and you told Neji as much.

“Surely it’s not over yet,” he replied, pulling your house key from kami knows where and unlocking the door. “There’s still so much we could do to make the last moments of the night… perfect.”

Your mouth dried up at the look he was giving you and you swallowed heavily. His lips were still stained slightly pink and you couldn’t draw your eyes away from them. How could one person be so beautiful?

“I’ll never forget the advice y/n gave to me before my fight with Neji at the chunin exams,” Naruto had said in his speech, winking at you when you had mouthed a violent threat because of what he was about to reveal. “They said ‘Try to aim for that stupidly beautiful face, pretty boys hate that’.”

“The things you do to me,” you muttered as Neji shut the front door and stepped right up until his chest was pressed against yours. It was common knowledge that Hyuuga had especially intoxicating scents, but the way Neji’s floral scent was filling your brain and clinging to your skin shouldn’t be possible.

“I’m more interested in the things you’ll be doing to me,” Neji’s whispered, his lips hovering about a centimetre away from yours.

There was so much pressure between you that you felt like it was burning you. It was building and building, and you didn’t know who would be the one to pop it first.

“But first,” Neji breathed, eyes fluttering closed.

Yours closed automatically, a heavy anticipation pressing on your chest.

“We both need a shower.”

Of course.

BONUS:

You had never showered so fast in your life, desperate to keep the whole endeavour less than ten minutes at all costs. Neji had showered first and taken much longer, but he had been disadvantaged in having to take off the elaborate wedding kimono, something you had done while he was showering.

Body? Done.

Hair? Done.

Teeth? Done.

Towel dry? Eh, good enough.

Eagerly, you wrapped the towel around you and stepped out into the hall, padding along the corridor until you reached your bedroom. A flash of excitement twisted in your stomach as you pushed open the door.

The sight that greeted you took a few moments to comprehend.

It was Neji, wearing only his short, silk dressing gown, the royal blue one that you loved so much, and laying on your bed. In many ways, it was a better sight than the one you had been using to motivate yourself in the shower. But it was also different.

Because Neji was asleep.

You crept over to him, arousal dropping into something fonder. Yep, he was asleep. His chest was rising and falling softly, lips ever so slightly parted and hair fanned out behind him like a dark halo. The sight of your new husband sleeping so peacefully suddenly filled you with so much emotion that it was difficult to bear. You gently brushed a stand of hair out of his face.

No matter, you decided, dropping the towel and changing into pyjamas, you had two weeks of honeymoon starting tomorrow and you would more than make up for tonight.

Once you were changed, you slid Neji under the covers before joining him, and with one final glance at the clock that proudly proclaimed it to be 03:37, you turned off the light and let all the positive feelings, new memories and the presence of your new husband lead you to sleep.

[hilarychuff]

All the Best People See You (All the Best People Know), Chapter 8

hello guess who's back so soon here is another installment in my pre-season 4 robin/chrissy inadvertant desert hearts movie date au!!! it is no longer so pre-season 4!!! exciting!!

Robin says Chrissy’s the one with the magic, but Chrissy’s pretty sure it’s the other way around. Something about wearing Robin’s blazer yesterday had made her feel brave, safe, like she could talk about exactly the sort of things she’d practiced avoiding with Miss Kelly last week. Today, Robin’s jacket is black denim instead of a blazer, scattered pins and patches decorating the material, but when she loans it to Chrissy, it feels just the same.

read it on ao3 here

Chrissy hesitates while getting dressed Thursday morning. She’s got her uniform on, her cheer cardigan too, but when she looks at herself in the mirror, she half wants to shrug the sweater off. Hang it back up in her closet. She won’t be swapping it out for Jason’s letterman after first period today. What would happen if she just… left it at home?

Maybe, if she gets cold, someone else will let her borrow their jacket for the day.

She wonders if Jason would offer. Would he insist?

Can’t have my girl looking cold, Chris, she imagines in his voice. I know it’s game day, but here, you should take it.

Maybe it wouldn’t be like that, though. Maybe it would be the opposite.

Baby, how am I supposed to feel you cheering me on all day long if I don’t have my jacket? Plus, you know all the guys are wearing theirs. It’s good for team unity, and I have to set the right example as captain. I thought you girls were wearing your sweaters today.

She half entertains the idea of sneaking into her father’s room to borrow one of his sport coats. What would Robin think if she showed up in a blazer of her own? Or could Chrissy maybe not pull it off the same as Robin does? Robin always looks so cool and effortless in her outfits, like putting them together comes as naturally to her as breathing. Her style is so — her own compared to most of the other girls at Hawkins High. Maybe if Chrissy tried to copy it, she’d just look exactly like she would be: a little girl playing dress up in her father’s closet.

Maybe she could squeeze into one of PJ’s. His size probably isn’t so different from hers. As long as he has something that fits over her shoulders, it wouldn’t matter too much if the arms were a little short. She could roll the sleeves to her elbows the same way Robin usually does.

Chrissy doesn’t typically wear anything tight, though. Her own sense of style tends to favor a looser fit, her closet full of long cardigans and pleated pants, structured jumpsuits and billowy dresses that can be belted in at the waist. Her mom would call those sorts of items forgiving. Things that can change with or hide her fluctuating weight. It also tends to mean it’s less noticeable when her mother buys her clothes a size too large or decides she’s gained another few pounds and takes it upon herself to let out all the seams.

Oh.

Her mother.

Her mother would never let her leave the house in something like that. Not ladylike enough. Of course, it’s one thing to wear her boyfriend’s jacket at school, but it’s another to include men’s clothing as part of her regular wardrobe. And it’s not like she’d be able to hide it from her parents. Even if she managed to sneak into someone else’s closet without being discovered, she couldn’t just stuff a blazer into her backpack and pull it out later. Not if she also wanted to fit any of her books in there.

She’s pretty sure there isn’t a world where her mother would be swayed by any claims that it’s some sort of new trend either. Laura Cunningham always insists that truly well-dressed women always look timeless. Classic. They don’t chase trends that will look silly in pictures they’ll be showing their children one day.

There’s no use, really, in trying to prepare for a conversation she’ll just lose. She keeps the cardigan on.

keep reading

[zomb21z]

my favourite pete wentz petekey livejournal entries

Q: peter, would you ever date someone 13 years younger then you? or at least be friends with them? p.s you are hot and i love you

A: i don’t want to go to jail. im little and i think i would get passed around like a pack of cigarettes. but thank you that is really sweet. i don’t really want to do pushups in a drag…

that one isn't really related to petekey and it's not a lj entry but it's funny and makes me feel less devastated and depresed about the whole petekey thing

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Amazing new mexico sunset. I’m hanging on a bridge with my friend mikey way from my chem. Its all orange and pink above us. We went to another waterpark again. I love high fives again. Totally back in love. Saw the most amazing movie… I think its called spirited away. Watch it.

Peterpan

obviously this is one of my top favs everytime i see the word "mexico", "sunset" or the mention of mikey way i immediately think of this one lj entry

July 19, 2005

wrote you a goodbye note (you just wrote me off) on your arm when you passed out. bestfriends, exfriends- better off as lovers not the other way around. racing through the city in the back of yellow checkered cars. the takeoffs are the worst but the skin from your shoulder to your ear makes it all worth it. and im sorry the way my moods flicker on and off like old light on your porch, but i know you wouldn’t have it any other way. sneaking in your window instead of out. the way you hold a cigarette cause you don’t know what to do with your hands when we are sitting this close. the way the waists of pants feel better at the ankles. the way you always were my best excuse for calling in sick on everyone else. i miss you.

petey

SO HEARTBREAKING also i lovelovelove bang the doldrums even though it makes me super sad

July 26, 2005

lately i’ve been into believing fictional stories like the ones about me and you being happy. they’ve gotta be science fiction cause how else can you have a monster fall in love with a boy with no heart? actually i’m pretty sure you have a heart, but i’m just as certain it’ll never be mine. i can tell you���re willing to be loved somewhere on the inside but that doesn’t do me any good when i’m still seeing things through thick curtains over windows and padlocked doors on the outside. bitter regrets, predictable forfeits. we lit a fire that was nothing but smoke and hot air. ashes. my hands are empty and you hold all the cards, kind of funny how you don’t even want them/me. the final nail in my coffin stabbed me in the heart - from my back. you once made my heart skip a beat, now you make it want to skip this. you’ve got salty mails ripping my wounds open that you’re telling me to let heal. love is a mirage, you only think it’s there for so long..til you either wise up or die of hydration. love is the way to blow your brains out minus the gun, i swear. it’s the stupidest form of suicide cause you don’t die. and whatever doesn’t kill you only laughs at you for coming close enough to. sorry, it’s just the bitterness talking. ignore it/me. i’m just loose words hanging on the ends of your lips, even looser when i’m anywhere near your hips. poetry written from blistered fingertips and sleep deprived eyes that was better before the ink dried. he said, "i should have stayed with her,” and i should have stayed away. held together by paperclips and lies, a part of me is still trying to pretend i was (mis)hearing things but even the voices in my head aren’t that mean to me. and them “i’m sorry,” too late, i’m a better (re)actor than the one you’re being to convince me. i’m just convinced that telemarketers are the only people with more hangups than me. you called this before you knew the number, and hung up before you got a responce. tell me any of this will get me somewhere worth being without being left behind. i tried, i gave it/you my all, but all i can do is give up. i don’t tell you my insecurities so you can use them against me, but help me get over them. instead you said and did the worst thing you could do. worse than cheating to me, i hope you know. but whatever i don’t even know, i guess sometimes it takes losing what you had to see what you didn’t.

the parts in italics r my fav this one truly is the most heartbreaking one out of all of pete's petekey entries it's so poetic emotional I CANT DESCRIBE ITTT

next one isn't an entry i js really like it

December 2nd, 2005

[…]

i love how i thought this was all over and i have to face the same two months replayed for the rest of my life.

my head and heart are beating the shit out of me trying to see what hurts worse.

kinda like us.

yep.

summer wasn’t hot enough but i had hope winter was gonna be the coolest.

i obviously thought wrong.

you and me are the last hot day in summer. we’re just fading before the fall.

if you listen really closely to whatever's around you you can hear me crying. again, italics r my fav

November 23rd, 2005

[…]

i wrote you a letter a few hours ago that i never intended to give you in the first place and then ripped it up and threw it away cause it’s much too personal to say on paper. even over a phone. the words i said in it i need to say to you in person. i guess it felt better to write it all out. it’s easy to say “i only need 5 seconds with you than a lifetime with someone else” than it is to live it. to be honest, i’m dying from it. “kiss me electric” vs “kiss me at all.” and when you do it’s just a kiss off.

this isn't the full entry its js that this half had more emotional impact on me

friends that lay together

forgive me for not showing more remorse

apologies were never really my thing- outside of feeling sorry for myself. the last nail in your coffin got stuck in the mail. youre gonna have to wait. until then focus on love below the waist. they say your head can be a prison- consider this a conjugal visit.

Monday, June 05, 2006

Stick around long enough and everyone becomes parody of themselves (see also: if it could happen to the egyptians if could happen to you).

[…]

you dont hate me, you hate the part of you that is like me. i cant sit here and ride my flaws until the end because the truth is i live the charmed life because of you and them. we are a gang. maybe its time to disband. im not sure i am thinking clearly but i just want you to know that i waited on you guys calls all night- they never came. i just wanted to say i miss you or im sorry or you know something that would have meant something to you. i would have made it poetic and memorable or at least something you could laugh at while drifting off to sleep. always trying to relive the glory days.

i dont care how poorly these sentences were constructed or how in the light of day i will wish i had not written them- right now i can only curse the fucking light off of this stupid western city because it wont ever get dark enough for sleep but otherwise how could you guide your way back here?

my head always feels warm right before i pass out, i always worry that there is something wrong and i wont wake up or you know i will. promise me that you wont take anything i ever say too seriously.

***

Friday, July 07, 2006

im so sorry, but not really. ('straighten up and die right’)

i said i want to be rebuilt like a frank lloyd wright only without all of the water damage. or painted over like a monet only less blurry. she said “no, youre something different”. like what? “something better”. it gave me the rush of warm blood like you see in cartoon dogs right before their eyes pop out and all of the bells go off. my head is spinning like a car off of an icy guardrail. show me what you are made of. your eyes were always rolling but youd tilt your head so they were somehow always still stuck on me (have your cake and eat it too). i feel safe but not like a bet more like the way mothers feel when the lock the car doors in bad neighborhoods. i am blue waves across the red rootlike veins in the bodies drawn flat in medical books. i wonder at the way that someone can write thousands and thousands of pages about my insides. when i met you i gave you a name- not your own- but in my head so i wouldnt ever mix you up with anyone so ordinary- i cant tell you- but to me it meant salvation. you only wanted reaction. but i cant be bothered. not anymore. ill see you in the spring. first pew on the left. wear your white veil and dont forget the words. warped tour. sun drenched days. bestfriends. new roads. so long salvation. dont worry your pretty little heads. i am sleeping safe tonight.

okay tbh this is js a bunch of petekey stuff thatre my favs but i put the title heading thing as livejournal entries cause it's more aesthetic 😞

these next ones r js tweets

ALSOOO HE GREEN TEA KITKATS OETE THING IS SO CUTE ITS MY 2ND FAV NEXT TO THE NEW MEXICO SUNSET ONE and that's all i think

[amystoreyart]

longer post this time- Oils!

Since my last post, I have made the switch from acrylic paints to Oils. Throughout my artistic life, I have tended to favour acrylics, as for me, they seemed to be much simpler medium, as well as being well within my comfort zone. I presume there was an element of ‘safety’ involved with acrylics, as I have a greater understanding of the medium and its properties. However, wanting to try out something new, I have picked up oils. Now, this is not the first time I’ve tried oil paints, but I have only painted a handful of pieces in this way up until now. For the last few weeks I have been experimenting with oil paints. I have been using a mixture of Windsor and Newton, and Dayler Rowney branded paints. 

So, why did I decide to make the switch? For me Acrylics dry too fast for me to blend them I the way I would like, as sometimes I need more time to consider my next steps once the paint has been applied to the surface. In my experimentation, I have been using a little Linseed oil to extend the drying time where needed, and odourless thinner to clean off my brushes. This seems to be successful so far!

The immediate differences I have noticed, are that my oils seem to be more pigmented and the colours more lightfast. Perhaps this is due to the grade of the paints I'm using, as different brands will obviously offer better quality pigments. I have also noticed that my application has changed. I seem to be using less layers than before- perhaps due to the drying times- and I seem to be looser in approach. To keep myself and my skin safe, I also have opted to wear gloves when handling any paints and spirits and take regular breaks when painting, as I'm aware that pigments and spirits can be harmful to breathe in an be in exposure to. Skin problems like contact dermatitis can occur with frequent exposure. This was not a problem that I really had to think out when I was using acrylics, however overtime it becomes less of an inconvenience to wear gloves. 

In the long run, I hope to see my technique and application improve with experience. I have been thoroughly enjoying getting used to oil paints an excited to see where it takes my art!!

9/11/23

[mangosimoothie]

46, 52, 53, 88 for Aja and Ryan, please!

Thank you, Morri! ☀️

46. Does your oc lie a lot, or is the truth very important to them? What is their reaction to other people lying to them?

Honesty is a BIG thing for Aja; she doesn't even like white lies for the sake of being polite. And even if she tried, she's a terrible liar, it makes her feel terrible, and it really hurts her if she finds out someone lied to her, even if it was just a "little" lie. Ryan's morals are a liiiittle looser than Aja's lmao. He doesn't lie a LOT but it's easy for him and doesn't eat him up inside at all to get away with a lie. If it benefits you and doesn't hurt anyone he doesn't see any issue with a little lie to get ahead. He also has one of those voices where his tone sounds exactly the same whether he's serious, joking, being sarcastic, being sincere, being honest, lying, so...he could cheat a lie detector test just about.

52. In what ways does your oc cope with anger? How easily angered are they? Do they lash out?

Aja isn't a very hot-headed person but she does get frustrated and she cries when she's frustrated which is annoying and embarrassing for her lmao. But when she's legitimately pissed at someone she's actually pretty collected about it. She's a quiet angry, which can be kinda scary but it gives her the control to be able to say "you're pissing me off right now" and walk away. Ryan is definitely hot-headed but he's not one to lash out anymore. He used to get in a lotttt of fights and trouble when he was younger, but he reeled it in. When he's at his restaurant he'll definitely go into The Bear mode and rip someone a new one though 😅 Ryan's always been kinda prickly - his baseline is annoyed. Getting turned made it WAY worse for awhile like mf was angry ALL the time but then it calmed back down and he's actually much more level headed than before. Still an angry boy, but less likely to blow his lid.

53. If your oc was to host a podcast or TV show, what would it be about? Would your oc actually be good at it? What sorts of guests would appear?

Aja had a whole career as a social media personality so this is definitely something she's thought about extensively. It would've been an extension of her travel account and she'd talk to locals or people she met on her travels about the real hidden gems in their area. She always hated the "Top 10 things you NEED to do in Sulani!!" format of most travel stuff, and just wanted something that felt like telling your besties about this cute spot you just happened to stop by and omg should we get brunch there tomorrow?? Something organic and unsponsored and fun. She would've been really really good at it, but her priorities shifted away from social media after the Bachelorette. After Dragula, Ryan got MANY offers to appear on chef shows. Guest judging, hosting, competing - told them all to fuck off. That siad, the Bachelorette and one episode of Dragula were the only TV Ryan ever wants to do and he barely wanted to do either of those anyway. And people who have podcasts annoy him. So, yeah, that's a no on this one for him.

88. Does your oc hold grudges? For how long? Does your oc have any rivals?

Aja sees the good in people; she's a believer in second chances. But not like, tenth chances - she's not an idiot. She believes everyone has the capacity to grow. Ryan's a Scorpio. Hard to gain his trust, VERY easy to lose it, and IMPOSSIBLE to get it back after losing it the first time. He would take a grudge to the grave...and now that he's a vampire that means he'll hold that shit for ETERNITY.

Prompt: 100 OC questions!

[forever-rogue]

His + Hers

Summary | You didn’t want a bodyguard and certainly didn’t need one. Bucky didn’t want the job. But as soon as the two of you meet, all bets are off.

Pairing | Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 4.2k

Warnings | language (including light degradation, possessive!Bucky, smut (oral - f receiving, piv) - minors dni or you will be blocked

Masterlists | Bucky, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I don’t need anyone to watch over me,” rolled eyes and loudly snapped gum. Crossed legs and an anxiously jiggling foot. The aging clock ticked loudly as your gaze burned into the giant dual monitors that shielded the man on the other side. He had just oh so casually dropped some horrible news to you. 

What was his name? Jeff? Jeffrey? Jefferson? It didn’t matter. Funny. For a man that you’d seen more often than your father in recent years, you’d think you might have remembered his name. Despite all that you still hadn’t seen him more than four, save five, times.

“Those are your father’s wishes.”

“Then why isn’t he here telling me this?”

“He’s a very busy man.”

“A man too busy to see own daughter, his own child, always work, work, working,” you spat, “what he could be doing that’s so important that he couldn’t even spare me fifteen minutes of his time?”

“He’s-”

“It was a rhetorical question,” you stood up and grabbed your bag, “sometimes it still shocks me that a man that claims he loves me so much he barely speaks to me, sees me. I don’t want this bodyguard - if you send them to me I will simply send them away. Don’t waste my time or theirs.”

“Your father is going to send someone regardless of your wishes, you must know this by now.”

“Tell him if he’s so insistent upon me being chaperoned like a puppy that he can come and talk to me himself,” you threw your shoulders back as you tried to chase away emotions or feelings. This was not the time or place for them, “see you in another six months for so.”

“Miss -”

You slammed the door shut before he could say anything else. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“This is fuckin’ ridiculous,” Bucky’s groan was heavy - irritated - as he trudged up the stairs to the ninth freaking floor. Of course you couldn’t live somewhere near the bottom. Of course the elevator was broken, “I’m gonna murder you, Wilson.”

Inhaling and exhaling slowly, he calmed himself with every single step. Left foot, right foot, and repeat. Before he knew it, he arrived on your floor, less angry but still annoyed. 

Bucky looked around for your apartment number, finding it quickly but wishing he hadn't. It was supposed to be a simple job - hang around you for a little while until things calmed down around your father. There was never any huge threat to you, but you were to be kept safe anyway. Typical rich people, he practically rolled his eyes. Complete idiot, he sighed at himself. He could have walked away from the gig easily, but things had been quiet after everything in New York and he needed something fresh. Naturally he’d say yes to this when Sam mentioned the job to him. 

Once he found your apartment he slowly trudged through the hall, his mind all but made up about you already. You were going to be nothing more than a spoiled little brat. He looked at the golden number above your door and sighed heavily before knocking loudly. 

For a few moments, nothing but silence met his ears before he finally heard what he was sure was annoyed grumbling inside accompanied by soft footsteps. The door was whipped open and Bucky came face to face with you. 

Your brows knitted together as you studied him before crossing your arms over your chest, “can I help you?”

“James Barnes,” his name practically came out as a sigh. You raised your eyebrows at him but remained silent.

“And?” you asked as you moved to close the door, “I’m in the middle of my fifth zoom meeting of the day and annoyed and hungry. Thanks for wasting my time. Have a fantastic day.”

Before you could slam the door in his face, Bucky stuck his foot in the doorway and prevented you from closing it. A huff escaped your lips as you glared at him through the crack, “your father sent me. I’m supposed to look after you.”

“Ahh yes,” you rolled your eyes and frowned, “the baby-sitter my father hired. I told him and his assistant that I don’t want - or need - anything to watch me. I’m fine. So if you don’t mind you can leave. I’m busy and don’t have time to deal with you.”

“You don’t pay me sweetheart,” he scoffed lightly as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. You wanted a challenge? He’d give you one, “and as long as that’s the case, I stay.”

“I’ll double whatever he paid you.”

“Oh honey, I doubt you could ever afford that.”

“What can I do to get you to leave?”

“Nothing.”

“It really doesn’t seem like you want to be here either so why don’t we both do ourselves a favor and cut the shit?”

“Not until your father tells me it’s okay to leave,” he smirked, “I don’t take orders from little girls, sweetheart. Nor do you pay my bills.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re a bitch,” your mouth opened into a little pout as you attempted to shut the door on his foot, “you can shut the door, it won’t hurt me. I’ll just tear it down if I have to.”

“Are you serious?!”

“Want to find out?” he asked as you threw your head back and sighed at the ceiling. Yes and no. You wanted to push his buttons and see how far you could press. But you also didn’t have the energy to deal with it. Instead you slowly, ever so reluctantly opened the door, refusing to move but motioning for him to come in. He practically sauntered in with a victorious little smirk on his lips, “good girl.”

You were to let him have it when he turned around to face you and finally got the chance to study him. And your jaw almost hit the floor. Fuck. 

He was handsome - dark hair and the bluest eyes you’d ever seen with a five o’clock shadow. He was dressed in very well fitting jeans, along with a henley and leather jacket. So casual but he managed to make it look so good. For a moment you thought he looked familiar but you couldn’t quite place. Maybe you’d seen him around somewhere. 

Well, this presented a whole new predicament. This would have been so much easier if he hadn’t been one of the most gorgeous men you’d laid eyes on.

“Like what you see?” 

“I’m not into old men,” you cocked your head to the side and watched him with a smirk. Bucky almost tripped up and let an emotion slip but instead he remained pointedly neutral as he looked you up and down. 

It would have been easier to dislike and hate you entirely if you weren’t so damn cute. You were dressed in a comfy, oversized sweater and joggers and big fuzzy socks - casual and cute but effortlessly so. It was a challenge not to stare. 

“Whatever you say,” he held up his hands in mock defeat as you became momentarily placated, “what’s the plan for today?”

“I have a job and things to do,” you huffed as you pushed past him, “so just do something or whatever and stay out of my way. If you insist on being here.”

“I do.”

“This is going to be fucking hell, isn’t it?”

“It can be whatever you want, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart!”

“Sure thing, doll.”

"I hate you already.”

“The feelings’ mutual, honey.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hating Bucky was a full time job. Bucky having to chaperone you through all of your shenanigans was a full time job. Both of you were incredibly stubborn and damn near made the job impossible. 

You'd be lying if it said he wasn't attractive and that you hadn't thought about him. Especially late at night. Alone in bed. But you'd rather die than admit that to him. 

Bucky had a feeling he'd break you down eventually; not that he expected anything to come of it. He enjoyed flirting with you and watching you get frazzled and nervous. But you weren't his type. Nuh uh - Bucky Barnes wasn't into pretty little spoiled brats. Even if they weren't attractive and smart and genuinely kind underneath it all. 

That wasn't part of the job. Which was why he never let it go past anything that could be deemed as flirtatious.

Just as he vowed to break you down and just admit you liked him, you might have had a little goal of your own…

"Come on," Bucky sighed as he paced around your living room, waiting for you to come out of the bedroom so you could pizza and watch movies. It had become somewhat of a Friday night tradition, reluctantly so. It was hard to get out and have a lot of fun when you had a silent, intimidating brooding man following you around, "how long does it take to change?"

"Shut up," you rolled your eyes as you opened your bedroom door and stepped out, slipping on your heels, "I'm ready."

Bucky's eyes widened as he looked you over. You were wearing a little black dress and fuck me heels along with ruby red lips and a full face of makeup. He fought back a little growl as you smirked at him, "what the fuck are you wearing?"

"Its called a dress, genius."

"To get pizza so we can come back and watch movies?"

"That's not the plan," you straightened up and walked past him, grabbing your purse and jacket.

"You said-"

"I lied," you stated the obvious, "I'm going out to finally have some fun. Without you."

"I'm coming with you," he crossed his arms over his broad chest as you tried not to stare, "that's the job, sweetheart."

"And I'd like to actually have fun and get laid," you threw your hands up, "its hard to do that with you breathing down my neck constantly! If you insist, can you at least like stay ten feet away. Give me a fucking break."

His breath had hitched in his throat as soon as he heard the words get laid and he worked to keep it together. He sighed as he forced himself not to imagine you underneath, naked and begging for more. 

"Fine," he agreed reluctantly, "ten feet only."

"Thank fuck."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

One drink had turned into two which easily turned into three and after that you’d both lost count. Bucky had been sitting at the bar, a singular, but arbitrary drink in his hand as he watched you get progressively looser as the evening wore on. His steely gaze almost never left yours as he watched you chat up people around you. You were naturally extroverted, and definitely a flirt - but then again maybe that was the alcohol - and it wore Bucky out trying to keep an eye on you. He wasn’t terribly concerned about what was going on, but still, he was a man that took his job seriously.

It wasn’t until he decided that it was fine to let you out of his sight for a few moments only to turn back and found you missing. A growl bubbled up in his throat as he scanned the tightly packed pace and found you in the middle of the dance floor. You were pressed against a man that had been eyeing you up since you’d gotten there, mouths smashed together as you kissed him like your life depended on it. Your arms were wrapped around his neck and his hands were on your ass the entire time.  

As soon as you ground up against him, something in Bucky snapped. He threw back the rest of his drink and quickly made his way over to you. The people in his path parted like the seas when they noticed the predatory expression in his eyes. Before you could even realize what had happened, you felt a hand tightly squeeze your shoulder. A gasp left your lips as Bucky pulled you away from your newfound friend.

“What the fuck!” you glared at him as the man that just had his hands all over you grew visibly nervous. Bucky grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him close, “Bucky!”

“Keep your filthy fuckin’ hands off of her, you understand?” he growled at the man as he just nodded, “I ever see you near her again and you’re dead. You leave my girl alone.”

Bucky shoved him away and the man practically skittered across the bar and out the door without so much as a single glance back. Breathing angrily, he turned around to find you staring at him in awe, arms over your chest. You were suddenly incredibly sober, “what the hell was that? I’m not your fucking girl, Bucky.”

“We’re going home. Now,” he reached for your hand and held your wrist in a tight grip as he dragged you without another word. You wanted to argue with him and fight back, but there was something about his possessive nature that had sent a shiver down your spine and a rush of warmth to your core as you let him pull you along like a ragdoll. 

Maybe your dangerous little plan was finally going to turn into reality.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Are you going to finally tell me what’s going on?” you asked as you walked back into your apartment, trailing after Bucky and slamming the door shut, “you chased off my only chance of-”

Before you could say anything else, Bucky’s hands found your waist and he crashed his lips onto yours in a bruising tangle of tongue and teeth. You responded with a surprised moan as he backed you up against the wall, making sure you didn’t hit your head. 

“He’s a fuckin’ boy,” he insisted as he lightly gripped your throat, causing you to part your lips as you fought back a moan, “he wouldn’t have made you cum. Probably doesn’t even know where your pretty little clit is.”

“And you would?” you challenged, already knowing exactly where this was leading. Something in your mind told you that this was wrong and you should have stopped it, but the larger part of you really just wanted him. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about it for weeks and weeks now, touching yourself late at night to the thought of him. Bucky smiled at you - a dangerous, toothy, wicked thing causing you to swallow thickly, “I don’t think you could. You’re all talk, Bucky. Probably haven’t even been laid since the 40s.”

“Don’t act like you don’t want this too, sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear before trailing kisses along your jaw and down your neck, nipping and sucking at the delicate skin, making it a point to mark you up. That way everyone would know you were his. He rutted his lips lightly against yours, and you could already feel how hard he was, “I see the way you look at me - I know you’ve thought about me. Probably touched that pretty pussy of yours and wished it was my cock, huh little girl?”

“Bucky,” his name was nothing more than a whimper of your lips as you tried to reach down and touch yourself. He was quick to grab your hand and pull it away. You whimpered as he just chuckled darkly. Oh, how easily he could break you down with just a few words, “please. Need you.”

“I’ll give you what you need,” he swore as he watched you with hungry eyes. He shimmied up your dress and moved to touch you. His smirk only grew when he noticed you’d forgone panties, “look at you, such a little slut. You didn’t even put on panties? You really wanted this, didn’t you? Were you just hoping I’d touch you? I bet you had this whole thing planned out - just wanted me to fuck you, didn’t you?”

You looked at him with wide doe eyes but remained silent as you tried to play coy. But he was having none of it, and grabbing your jaw, “answer me.”

“Mhmm..,just want you,” you admitted as he slowly let go before grabbing both of your wrists in his vibranium hand and pinning them above your head, “just touch me.”

And he did - slowly, he dragged his fingers through your folds, smirking at how wet you already were, “oh honey, you’re practically dripping. So wet already, and I’ve barely even touched you. Such a good little slut.”

Your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of him circling your clit slowly before feeling your soaked folds and sliding a thick finger inside. A small sound of surprise reached his ears as you almost rutted into his hand and he easily slid another finger in. The stretch from his fingers was enough to spark the warmth in your belly as you bit your lip to keep from whining. 

“Look at you, such a needy little thing,” you could hear the smirk in his voice as he fucked with his fingers, “but you’re not going to cum on my fingers. I’m going to see if you taste as sweet as you look. Gonna make ruin that pussy for anyone else. You’re mine - you understand?”

“‘m yours,” you whimpered as he let go of your hands and slowly sank to his knees in front of you. His large hands, a contrast of warm and cool, splayed on your thighs before slowly traveling up to your hips and grabbing them in a bruising grasp. This man was really working to make sure he would remain all over you. He pressed a few kisses to your thighs before stopping at your mound, and you could feel his warm breath fanning across on your pussy, “please.”

“That’s right, you can be a good girl,” he didn’t even hesitate for a moment before diving in and licking a stripe up your folds, causing sparks to shoot throughout your spine. You could feel him smirking against you at the immediate effect he had as he ate you out like a man starving. 

Bucky Barnes was not a shy man when it came to eating pussy. He licked and suckled on your clit as he let two of his cool vibranium fingers slide into your pussy. He crooked them just right, effortlessly finding your g-spot as your knees threatened to buckle. No one man had ever made you feel this good before, nor so easily. 

“F-fuck,” you hissed as he pulled back and look at the blissed out expression on your face, “more please.”

“Look at you pretty little thing,” he grinned as he pressed a few wet, sloppy kisses to your mound. He pulled his fingers from you before reaching up and practically ripping your dress off. If you’d hadn’t been so close to cumming, you would have yelled at him, but in the moment you didn’t care. Especially not as his hands found your breasts and massaged them before he played with your pert nipples, causing you to arch into his touch, “not wearing a bra either. You are bad.”

“‘m so close,” you whined as he just smirked at you. Before you could say anything else he slapped your pussy, causing you to jump slightly before you keened into his touch, silently asking for more. 

“You like that, honey?” he teased as you nodded with closed eyes, your mouth forming a small o. He repeated the motion before he grabbed your ass and buried his face back into your pussy. You moaned into his touch, bucking your hips against his mouth as he made all the most sinful noises as he ate you out like his life depended it on. He worked pure magic with only his tongue and he soon had you seeing stars as your legs started to shake around him. He anchored you to him and kept you from falling down as he brought on your orgasm, “that’s it honey. You’re going to cum all over my face, going to taste all that pretty pussy has to offer.” 

“F-f-fuck,” you reached down and carded a hand through his dark hair as you held him against you, “jesus.”

“Cum for me,” he commanded and you did just as you were told, crying out his name like a prayer as you felt your release wash over you. Bucky stayed between your legs as you came all over him, cleaning up every little bit you had, not stopping until you were begging him to stop from the over stimulation, “tastes like fuckin’ candy. Best pussy I ever tasted.” 

“Jesus,” your chest was heaving as he kissed his way up your body. He stopped at your lips and offered you a victorious little smirk, “you’re an asshole but at least you know how to eat pussy.”

He grabbed your chin in his hand and forced you to look at him, “you’re mine - this pussy is mine and no one else’s, you understand, little brat?”

“Ruin me then,” you raised your eyebrows before you kissed him again, trying to beat him at his own little game. But it was no use - he was easily more dominant and held control over you, “make me yours.”

“Turn around,” he growled as he flipped you in his arms and pressed you against the wall. You moaned as his hands mapped out every curve of your body before you felt the sharp sting of his hand on your ass. Just to spur him on a little more, you bounced your ass and he slapped you a few more times before massaging your skin to soothe the pain, “you like it when it hurts. God, you’re perfect. My little slut.”

“Please fuck me. Need you so bad,” you practically whined but quickly grinned when you heard him undo his belt and pants before he pulled his cock out.  He groaned in your ear as you heard him stroke himself a few times.

“‘m so fucking hard, baby,” he ran the tip of his cock through your folds and you could already feel how big he was, “got me leakin’ already. Thought about you and that smart little mouth so many times. Always cum so hard when I think about you. Can’t wait to see how good this pussy feels squeezing my cock. You’re going to take all of me, little thing.”

He coated his length with your arousal - you were already so wet again - before slapping his cock against your ass. You tried to reach around so you could touch him but he slapped your hand out of the way. 

“Put your cock in me,” you practically begged and before you could say anything else, he plunged into you, causing you to practically scream in surprise. He didn’t stop until he was fully sheathed inside of you, feeling like he was practically splitting you apart. The burn quickly faded away as you moaned and clenched your walls around him, “fuck, you’re so big.”

“Did you expect anything else, pretty baby?” he whispered in your ear before grabbing your hips again. He slowly pulled out almost all the way before thrusting back into you with no warning. You clawed at the wall as he set a brutal pace, slamming his hips into yours over and over again, letting you have almost no room to breath. The only sounds that left your lips were small whimpers and mewls he fucked you to an inch of your life. 

You felt the coolness of the vibranium snake around your body before he found your clit. You let him press you against the wall as he pounded into you, and you quickly left your second orgasm start to bubble up in your tummy. 

“Taking my cock so well,” he praised as he slowly played with your clit. He was not shy about being loud and moaning, all while murmuring filthy praise into your ear, “so tight - so perfect. This pussy was made for me.”

“More,” you begged in between breaths, “harder, please.”

“You want it harder, pretty baby? You’re not gonna be walkin’ after this,” he smirked before he picked the pace and fucked you even harder than before, which you hadn’t even thought possible, “good girl. Good fuckin’ girl. Gonna cum all over my cock?”

“Mhmm,” you agreed with a wistful smile, a fucked out expression on your face as you felt his cock twitch inside of you as your walls started to clench around him, “please, please, please.”

“Gonna fill you up,” he said through gritted teeth as he slowed his thrusts, making them slower and deeper than before, “gonna make sure you know who you belong to.”

It was a few more thrusts before you came again, crying out as the pleasure rippled through your body. Bucky came quickly after, grunting as he came inside of you, filling you up with hot ropes of his cum. He fucked you through it all, not stopping until you were feeling boneless and he had filled you with every last drop. 

He easily caught you just as you were about to collapse in his arms and pulled you against his chest as he pressed a few kisses to your shoulder. You reached behind you and carded a hand through his arm, scratched at his scalp as he continued to kiss your neck and shoulder.

“Fuck, Bucky,” you said as you tried to catch your breath, “that was incredible.”

“I told you I’d ruin every other man for you,” he slowly pulled out and turned you around so you were facing him. You put a hand under your chin and turned your face up to his, “you’re mine.”

“I’m your girl,” it was like music to his ears as you reached between your thighs and swiped his cum mixed with your arousal up and sucked it clean off your finger, “my pussy is yours and your cock is mine.”

“Good girl, “ he praised with a wicked smile, “now get on your knees and put that pretty mouth to use.”

“Yes sir.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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[frosted-night]

Jack Frost Designs Review

Yes it’s finally his time. This is going to include his book designs including previous incarnations in said books. There are more movie concept designs than book so, let’s dig in shall we?

This was in fact the first ever Jack Joyce designed while he came up with The Guardians Of Childhood. He even comes with his own backstory! (Which was cut. Sorry Joyce posts walls of text so it’s a girthy read.)

So instead of a young mischievous trickster, we got a much more depressing story of Jack. (Jack by default is sad obviously) but this one... It kind of hits differently and almost reminds me of the story he crafted for Pitch. A dad who tried to defend his family but through tragic events was ripped from them and changed completely. Design wise, he’s a lot more tree than snow. There doesn’t exist a colored version of this so we’ll never know if he sported winter and dull dead leaf colors rather than grassy greens.This Jack has a weird presence to him, I can’t put my finger on it. Rating: 6/10 He’s really neat! Just a little too Autumn feeling rather than a blend of both Autumn and Winter.

Nightlight feels like the baby evolution if Jack was a pokemon and that's what I’m gonna stick with. Below is a more recent version of him colored.

In all honesty that one is easier on the eyes proportion wise because sometimes Joyce has ‘interesting’ anatomy choices but we aint going into that today. It’s interesting how his hair somehow looks shorter and longer than Jack’s at the same time. Could be because the longer strands float seamlessly but star boy hair physics what can ya do. It’s a little hard to tell what is his skin and what is his armor, so that is a casuality in making a character only have one or two colors in their color scheme. I love other artist’s depictions of Nightlight but the canon one feels a little weak color wise. Rating: 5/10 Sorry, get some better LEDs and then come back.

Here we have a book Jack but I can’t entirely recall if this was used in the books or not. I digress. This design looks like him still wearing very Nightlight-esque armor/clothing and slowly growing into his new persona as Jack Frost. The intricacies are hard to make out but we’ll work with it. This one is very interesting to me because he very much looks like an older teen close to young adult. His hair looks very fluffy too. Not many complaints about this one but not much praise either.

Rating: 6/10 Not great but doesn’t stand out that much.

Remember when I said Joyce had ‘interesting’ anatomy decisions? Jack looks like he has half a head here and it bothers me GREATLY. This is the adult Jack design he went with. Supposedly he likes the opera and he sure looks it. This! Exists!! Kind of wish it didn’t. The outfit is nice but it just doesn’t fit Jack as a whole. This just screams to me that it’s someone else with a similar-ish hairstyle.

Rating: 3/10 Guess he’d be the...Phantom Of The Opera. (I’ll go home and so should he.)

And finally the final Jack. This is the one that almost exactly resembles the Jack we got in the movies(Probably because it was made after the movie but w/e) but just add a cape on him. I can’t really tell if hes got a hoodie and a cape, or just a cloak+hood on top of a sweatshirt. It isn’t too important because my thoughts on this one are obvious. Rating: 10/10 Edna Mode would have a field day with you boy.

MOVIE DESIGN TIME

Joyce claims this is a design he drafted when Leonardo DiCaprio was considered to voice Jack and I can kind of see that with how his face is drawn here. This Jack looks a lot more like a warrior and less of that trickster look. I can’t say I’m a fan of the weird antenna his hood has but his sword is really cool looking.

Rating: 4/10 Nice bow and sword but it can’t save your fashion choices.

This looks like a lanky 11-13 year old who would put rocks or slugs in my shoes and relish in my disgust. He has the exact look of a snot nose kid and I’m unsure how to feel about it.

His various hairstyles drafted here sort of make him softer looking or just more of a snot nose, no in between. Maybe even an Anime Protagonist.

The top right one almost looks like Hiccup from How To Train Your Dragon if you squint. It’ll be a little hard to rate them all as one individual but why not.

Rating: 5/10 I don’t hate them but they aren’t my cup of tea.

AH- IS THAT A FUCKIN GREMLIN?

Oh wait no it isn’t he looks like a 10 year old. Whatever don’t feed him after midnight. The staff’s design of not being shaped like a G is an interesting tidbit but the whole design looks like he’s really young or like a troll etc. This Jack looks like he thinks girls have cooties uses outdated slang.

Rating: 4/10 This is me being generous.

It honestly looks like he hiked his pants up all the way to his chest. A late teen with horrid fashion choices once again. Not many other thoughts here.

Rating: 2/10 Get a sweater on or something.

This is one is very interesting looking to me. His clothes looked a lot more leather based and very human-like. The tatters, tears and frays all make him look like he was a victim of an accident that never changed his clothes. It makes me wonder if this Jack had the same death as the final movie Jack or something else entirely. Either way, this one looks like hes a mid to late teen which really adds to my intrigue.

This was another image that greatly resembled the design so I included it here. It almost looks like his skin is blue here which is pretty neat to me at least. He’s also got leaf motifs here, which from the first Jack design Joyce made, we can see a pattern here.

Rating: 8 /10 I was originally weirded out by his head but now its not so bad.

This Jack is definitely dressed more like a nature boy rather than him having human influenced fashion and it’s an appealing touch. The tiny leaf sprouting from his staff is also kind of cute since the designers seemed to want to put leafs somewhere on his designs. His hairstyle is also very cute but it reminds me of Sasuke Uchiha in a sense. (Not a setback for me at least)

Rating: 7/10 13 year old Jack is going thru a phase.

I thought this Jack didn’t show up again in story boards but I was wrong!

They look a little different from each other but just similar enough to pair together, so bare with me. The first one obviously has looser pants, slightly longer sleeves and got his leaf motif going. This second Jack is a VERY green. It gives the impression that this Jack made his clothes out of plants and natural materials. Again I’m not wholly sure if greens fit his color scheme but they sure went for it for a while. I can’t say I’m a fan of it because it heavily reminds me of Peter Pan.

However a very similar looking Jack could be found in this storyboard. It doesn’t look as green as the other storyboards made it out to be and looks more like dead grass. Which is a pretty nice touch.

Rating: 5/10 I don’t hate it but it just doesn’t vibe yknow.

Speaking of a vibe...hoo this certainly has one.  This Jack isn’t old but certainly doesn’t look very young, maybe in the 20-30 range, thats just me. He has facial features that remind me of Pitch but resembles the Jack Frost of Santa Clause 3

That being said, I wondered if him looking similar to Pitch was in the storyline of them being brothers.(Which was a scrapped thing, who knew.) He’s a bit more menacing in this design but certainly seems like he relishes in his work.

Rating: 4/10 I’d make it a lower score but I gotta give it props

NOW THIS JACK IS KINDA INTERESTING. This one looks like he’s 16 and going through a grunge phase. He’s gonna play Nirvana loudly and not turn it down even if you tell him too. His staff itself has mini icicles hanging off of it and leafs look stuck to his shirt. Did you glue or staple those on Jack? His hair also looks much longer than his other designs and I kind of dig it( Shut up I’m bias.) I’m not wholly sure why else this design has stuck with me but it just has something about it that I just love. I wish there was a full body drawing of it.

(He also kinda has the same hair as the Jack Frost in Runescape but I wont go on about that hoo hoo)

Rating: 9/10 *Bad Boy by Cascada plays in the distance*

This one definitely feels like middleschooler trying to be in a band. His sticks just resemble drumsticks to me what can I say. I’m a big fan of his shoes and his color scheme screams a hibernating tree in winter. His hair also looks like it’s covered in frost rather than it being wholly white, which is very neat!! He looks like he wants to fight but has slight hesitance. Overall a very balanced Jack.

Rating: 8/10 He’s ready for band practice

Not many thoughts here, I just found these tiny Jack designs cute. His hoodie being a jacket instead just adds to the charm of this one.

No talk to him he angy.

Rating: 6/10 fun sized boi

Now this Jack resembles the one earlier that dressed entirely in leather brown colors, however he clearly is different than that one. I’m gonna say it, he looks like a zombie or undead in this design and its pretty fucking gnarly. I don’t know whats going on with his hair but I’m gonna assume it’s just the wind making it look like that. He just has the vibe that he was once human but was turned into something else entirely. It isnt in uncanny territory but borders that. This version of Jack meeting Pitch and the others would have been *very* interesting. Rating: 7/10 Eat a twinkie Jack you’ll feel better.

The final design! I can’t complain much about this one. The way his staff subtly has a G shape and a hexagon(his signature shape) is a wonderful touch. Additionally, the way the frost is gathered mostly where his hand is such an intricate detail. His signature hoodie is iconic at this point so I can’t bad mouth that either.(I can’t anyway because there's no complaints from me here.) Although, I never understood the leather straps that his pants had or their functions. I couldn’t find any colonial outfits that resembled Jack’s pants so its a total mystery to me at least.

And I can’t go on about this design until I mention the snowflake pattern in his eyes

Pure beauty. It’s at a hue of blue that almost looks impossible to have, combined with the electric blue color of the snowflake in his eyes. The amount of detail in this movie amazes me to this day. Rating: One Great Blizzard <3/10

[screechthemighty]

@parhelics: what if. moon knight grocery shopping fic where they have to pick for for each other.

Me: say no more

Also, I tried to make it clear in-fic whose handwriting was whose, but to clarify in advance: bold is Marc, italics is Steven, and bold-italics is Jake. I don’t know him at all in the show and I don’t know him very well from the comics (I’ve only read like. Nine and a half issues???) so his characterization is all vague conjecture. We’ll see if I’m right. And don’t ask me where this takes place in relation to the show, this is just for funsies. (Additional edit after getting some input: the grocery list was supposed to be written over multiple days but I forgot to clarify that. Added a line to help, and will def keep that in mind in the future!)

The notebook was Steven’s idea. A less stressful way to convey large amounts of information. So far, it only had two things written in it. Steven’s lengthy plea to Marc to take better care of himself...and the grocery list, written in multiple hands across the week whenever there was a quiet moment.

Marc’s handwriting was careful, but almost too careful, slowly devolving the longer he wrote and the more distracted he became with the list.

- Water bottles

- Gauze

- Marshmallows

Steven’s was considerably looser—not an unreadable scrawl, but a bit cramped in the space next to the list from the size of the letters.

Vegan pls - They’re for Layla - 2 bags marshmallow then

- Coffee

And as for the third one...

Why do you drink so much coffee? Sleep some, Spector.

Jake’s handwriting was perfect. Could’ve been a font. It added a bit of extra intrigue to the one who had made a habit of showing up, ending whatever fight had been started, and leaving again. The grocery list was the first active attempt he’d made to communicate.

Silent stabbies don’t get to criticize! What Steven said

- Bagels (This entry earned several smiley faces, presumably from Jake)

- Tylenol

- Bread

- Cheese

If you guys want anything add it we’re going Friday

Tea - What kind – Black pls whatever you can get I’ll make do

Turmeric

Lentils – Still trying to figure out that soup? – Yeah :(

Bird feed for Khonshu

Frozen mixed veg

Tofu (WE STILL HAVE SAUCES NO COMPLAINING)

> Ripple chips

> Knee brace (Thanks Marc!) – Fuck you that was an accident

> Bird Food for Khonshu :) :) :) He can read this you know

The next line was written in Hieratic—confident, if a bit clumsy handwriting, text enough to technically be two lines. Steven provided the English translation underneath.

He says he doesn’t need to eat but he prefers worms. I think he meant Jake. (That is a joke. I know he meant me. Also Layla needs more leave-in conditioner)

.

“Same brand as always?”

Layla glanced up from her purse. “Yeah. You all right? I know Khonshu was irritated after the bird feed thing.”

“He just moved my hand around a bit. He’s done worse.” Marc shut the notebook. “At least it gave Steven something to do.” Layla thought she saw him smile, just for a second. “And it was a little funny.”

It was good to see him find some humor in the situation. His hands had been steady after the brief semi-possession, but it had been difficult to tell if the look in his eyes was resigned in a normal way or a worrying way. She’d been scared he might go away for longer than usual. Not that she minded Steven’s company, but it was hard to see Marc go through that.

But he was there, occasionally checking the communal shopping list. Still a bit tense, but more relaxed than she’d seen in a while.

It was normal. Maybe not the normal most people knew, but a normal they could have.

She’d take that any day.

[plant-flwrs]

hi! i absolutely love your writing!! can i request a pureblood slytherin (kinda mysterious?) reader x george? muggle-borns call her the child of the cheshire cat bc her mischievous smile says it all. so when the twins escape the professor, she answers in riddles to not blow their cover. you can add on to that, thank you!! 🧡🧡

mischief // george weasley

masterlist!

a/n: i love your request so much!! i’m sleep deprived rn so i apologize if none of this is coherent or good, but my tiny brain did it’s best. hope u like it!!

summary: George falls for the mischievous pureblood Slytherin who couldn’t care less about blood status.

(3.1k)

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“You’ve never seen Alice in Wonderland?”

“No,” Ron groaned, annoyed with Hermione’s better-than tone.

“When would he have seen Alice in Wonderland, Hermione?” Harry asked, also annoyed with the two’s constant bickering.

“It is a book too, you know, he could have picked it up and read it any time he liked,” Hermione defended, sticking her little nose into the air with purpose.

“Will you just tell me what it means?” Ron pressed.

“It’s a reference. The Cheshire Cat is a mischievously annoying animal. It would mislead and annoy Alice,” Hermione explained, trying to simplify the characterization for Ron.

“So why do they call her that?”

“Because she gives us the creeps, she’s evil looking,” Harry answered, shuddering his shoulders slightly. 

“She’s actually quite interesting,” Hermione said, “if you gave her a chance.”

Harry rolled his eyes, having little sympathy for any pureblood Slytherin. Ron’s face showed him to be in deep thought, and Hermione returned to her Divination work.

You were perched in a shadowed corner of the library, twisting the ends of your hair in your fingers. Pansy sat across from you, reading her Potions textbook with great concentration. You hummed to yourself, a dull smile on your lips.

“Y/n,” Pansy spoke slowly, tearing her eyes away from the textbook and showing it to you, “do you know what this means?”

You looked intently into the notebook, your head nodding slowly as you read the page.

“Yeah, it’s applying the absorbing properties in lizard scales to the enlarging properties of ogre’s root. All the other stuff is there to make sure you don’t die, probably,” you said, handing Pansy the textbook back.

She made an “oh” noise, finally understanding the potion.

“I don’t think this school could be any more boring if it tried,” you groaned.

Pansy gave you an entertained smile and returned to her book.

Your gaze had drifted to look out of the window when you heard a loud crash.

Your head snapped to where it came from and your legs were moving before you had realized where they were going.

You came to stand right in front of three crashed bookshelves, little Cornish Pixies rolling around in all the books that lay on the floor.

You watched two red-headed boys doubled over trying to catch the Pixies in their outstretched hands.

“What happened here, boys?” you drawled, leaning against a book shelf that still stood upright.

“Shit!” one of them shouted, clutching his chest with this hand, “Scared us.”

“You gonna stand there, or help us?” the other said, not lifting his eyes from the Pixie he just managed to shove in his pocket.

“I think I’ll watch for now,” you quipped, a smirk reaching your mouth.

You watched them attempt to gather all the Pixies, until all three of your heads shot up at the heavy footsteps of McGonagall. 

“What on earth?” she started, and you watched the twins duck behind some standing bookshelves a few feet away.

“Did you see who did this?” she asked you, her suspicious eye trained on you.

“Did what?”

“This!” she shouted, her hands flailing towards the fallen shelves and books littering the ground

“What about this?” you asked, feigning innocence and confusion.

“Why are there shelves knocked down and books everywhere?” 

“Are they not supposed to be like this?” you nearly broke your act, a smile threatening your lips, but managed to keep a straight face. McGonagall looked infuriated.

“Did you see where they went?”

“Where who went?”

“The people who did this! Unless it was you?”

“I didn’t do it.”

“Then who did?”

“Who did what?”

“This!” she repeated, her face turning red.

“Oh! I think they went that way,” you pointed over your shoulder, the opposite way the twins went.

“She’s brilliant,” George whispered to his brother from behind the shelves.

“You can say that again, Georgie,” Fred answered, watching you in awe as you waved off McGonagall.

They crept form behind their hiding places, stepping cautiously around the fallen books. 

“How did you do that?” George asked, looking at you in awe.

“Do what?”

Fred smiled at you, quite entertained. George just stared, his mouth hanging open in amazement. 

You sauntered off, sitting back down with Pansy.

“Jaw up, George, you’re drooling,” Fred taunted his brother, bumping into George’s shoulder.

The two left the library, sneaking past Madam Pince. George watched you smooth down your green tie with your delicate touch, your eyes locking with his. He admired the mischievous grin on your lips, and he gulped when you winked at him. He just met The Child of The Cheshire Cat. And he was in love with her.

The two boys peered around the corner, Fred crouched below George. They watched you carefully taking a bobby pin to Snape’s door, your fingers jutting back and forth against the pressure you applied.

George watched you pull your lips between your teeth. He watched the curve of your body as you stood on the tips of your toes, bent at the knees and leaning close to the door. Your skirt itched dangerously up, exposing more and more of your thighs.

Fred’s eyes were trained on your mischievous actions, but all George could focus on was you. He tried to stop thinking about you, but ever since that day in the library he couldn’t get you out of his head. It became even harder when Fred insisted you join them in their pranks from now on.

You stood suddenly, your skirt falling back into place, much to George’s dismay. You turned towards the boys, smirking at them. Fred sprang from his place behind the wall. George stumbled to follow after his brother.

You bent the bobby pin back into place and George watched you tuck it seamlessly into your hair. 

“All in a day’s work, boys,” you said, breaking the silence that had formed around the three of you while they stared at you in awe.

“You’re brilliant,” Fred mumbled, gripping your shoulders and kissing your cheek briskly.

You laughed, rolling your eyes. George debated if he should copy his brother’s actions, take advantage of the situation to make an excuse to be that close to you. Before he could, he realized he had been staring at you for far too long. He coughed awkwardly and casted his gaze to the ground. You quirked an eyebrow at him in suspicion, and followed Fred into the potions class.

“What are we looking for, exactly?” you whispered into the dark room.

“We need more Ashwinder eggs for our products,” you heard Fred whisper back to you a few feet away, “running low on our supplies.”

“So you thought Snape wouldn’t mind letting you borrow some of his?” you teased, and heard Fred snort from where he was.

“Of course not,” George said from behind you, “as you may know, he’s a very generous man.”

“Always been supportive of us,” Fred joined, the smirk very loud in his voice.

George was close to you in the dark, you could tell. He must have been inches away from you, waiting for Fred to gather what he needed. You could hear his breathing, not that it was labored, and felt his presence.

“Fred, will you hurry it up?” George snapped at Fred.  You turned to where his voice came from, the deepness in his whisper surprising you.

“Scared?” you teased.

You heard George’s low chuckle, and suddenly two hands snaked their way onto your sides. George’s long fingers gripped your sides, making your entire body jolt. You jumped at the sudden touch, and heard George chuckle even more.

“Scared?” he murmured, his hands still on your sides but his fingers considerably looser.

You met his hands with yours, putting them on top of his for some reassurance that you weren’t imagining it. Your touch was featherlight over his rough hands, and you realized how small your hands were next to his. You felt the veins on the top of his hands and traced over them before you knew what you were doing. George’s chuckle stopped at the touch, and the only noise in the room was the occasional clink of two glass bottles bumping into each other as Fred looked for the eggs.

The two of you stood in silence, George’s body inching closer to yours from behind you. Soon, your back was against his chest, and he trapped you in his arms. Your arms leaned against his, hands still atop his hands. You felt safe in George’s arms. You didn’t care if Snape came in at that minute, you just wanted George to hold you.

“Got ‘em!” Fred called out, a few clinking noises heard.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice closer to you now.

George started to turn, turning you with him. He gave you one last squeeze, moving his hands a little lower on your hips before releasing you completely. You let your hands fall from his, and moved from your spot against his chest.

The moment of intimacy in the dark had caused a blush to spread across your cheeks, and George saw it the second you three reached the dimly lit hallway. You avoided his eyes, looking at Fred and the three glass bottles he was slipping in his pockets.

“What are you going to use those for?” you whispered, following them down the hallway.

“Our luck and love potions,” Fred answered, his hand ghosting over the eggs in his pocket.

You nodded approvingly, taking a glance over your shoulder to make sure you were still in the clear. The three of you stopped at the bottom of the stairs, well you stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“Aren’t you coming?” Fred asked, looking down at you from a few steps above you.

They both towered over you, but the look in George’s eyes made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

“My common room is down here,” you lifted your hand to point your thumb over your shoulder.

“Oh right,” Fred said, smiling, “sometimes you’re so much fun we forget you’re a Slytherin.”

“Shut up,” you said, laughing. 

The boys watched you walk away. Fred smiled at the memory of the successful night they had, and George smiled at the way your skirt moved across your hips and swayed side to side.

“And where were you?” Draco Malfoy’s sneer was on you immediately after you crept into the common room. He was lounging on the couch, face illuminated by the dwindling fire on front of him.

“Where was who?” you smirked, starting your usual act.

Draco smirked back at you, aware of your reputation.

“Off with the Weasleys? You’ve been spending a lot of time with them recently. If anyone had some sense they might begin to question you aligning yourself with blood traitors,” Draco drawled.

You furrowed your brows, feeling incapable of deflecting that like you usually would. You were never one to focus on your blood status, but you figured you didn’t have to since you were a pureblood. Draco was obsessed with his blood status, you knew that, everyone knew that. Why was he so concerned with yours all of a sudden?

“Why do you care, Draco?”

Draco’s cold laugh echoed off the walls of the dungeon.

“I try to look out for my housemates,” he said, “especially the incredibly attractive ones.”

Your face twisted with disgust before you could help it. You walked past him and up the stairs, hearing his laugh continue from behind you.

Up in your room, you reflected on your night. You couldn’t help but lift your hands to where George’s had been earlier. You closed your eyes, imagining him still there with you, his chest a hard presence behind you. You breathed in deep, feeling the familiar tightness in your chest. A smile was on your lips before you knew it, and you realized you wanted George to hold you more often.

The next day at breakfast, you had filled your plate with food and talked with Pansy.

“So,” she started, glancing at you over her Charms textbook, “where were you off to last night?”

You smiled at her, looking down at your plate. When you looked back up at her, you noticed Draco watching you a few seats down. You gave him a glare, and he smirked at you.

“I was with Fred and George,” you turned your attention back to Pansy.

“The Weasleys? Why were you with the Weasleys?” Pansy tried to hide the repulsion in her voice, and barely managed to.

“They’re my friends,” you defended, furrowing your brow at her.

“Since when?”

You didn’t answer her, feeling that whatever said wouldn’t matter much to her.

Pansy gave you a suspicious look and returned to her textbook and breakfast.

You looked down at your plate, not daring a glance at Pansy or an accidental look at Draco. You felt isolated, the green tie around your neck becoming too suffocating all of a sudden.

You stood from the table, leaving breakfast early. You walked to the empty hallway and felt a little better in the quiet.

“Y/n?” you heard a voice call for you.

When you turned in the direction of the Great Hall, you saw George. He was walking cautiously towards you, concern etched on his face.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound normal.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

George had closed the distance between you, coming to stand right in front of you. You turned from him, leaning against the wall. He did too, and you felt his arm against yours.

“Fred and I were going to talk to you after breakfast,” he said, “but since you’re already here.”

“More late night sneaking around?”

“You could say that,” he smiled down at you.

You turned your head to look at him, and he was already looking at you. You felt your heart stop beating, the air stuck in your throat. Your eyes danced all over his face, focusing on the strength of his cheekbones, the sharpness of his nose, the smile lines marked on his cheeks, the look in his eyes. 

He didn’t know what was happening. You turned towards him, leaning closer. You closed the distance and your hands were in his hair. He barely had time to close his eyes before you pulled away. You leaned back against the wall for a second, shook your head, and started to walk away.

You felt like an idiot. You had no idea why you just kissed George, probably ruining the only genuine friendship you had made at Hogwarts. You walked away from him, hoping that the sooner you left, the easier he would forget it happened.

You were only a few feet away before his hand was wrapped around your wrist.

“George, I’m sorr-”

He cut you off with his lips, his hands cupping your face.

He pulled you back to the wall, pushing you against it. The force nearly made your legs tremble from under you, but you forced them to stay still. 

His hands ran down your body, moving from your face and down to their spot on your hips. He squeezed them like he did last night. You couldn’t help the reaction it caused, lurching your hips into his at the touch. He groaned into your mouth, pushing his face harder against yours. His nose pressed against your cheek, your chins bumping as you passionately moved against each other. 

“Well, this is awfully disappointing.” You barely registered the voice, and George certainly didn’t.

You opened your eyes, still kissing George and glanced to the sound. Draco stood there, an evil smirk on his mouth. You slowly pulled away from George, and he trailed after you, trying to continue the kiss. It wasn’t until you turned your head to look at Draco that George even realized he was there.

“Get out of here Malfoy,” George said, his voice gruff and annoyed.

He moved back towards you, expecting Draco to scurry off. Draco stayed put, and you pulled back from George.

“What do you want, Draco?” you said, still pushed against the wall with George leaning on you.

You didn’t even bother to fix your messy hair, adjust your skirt, or tuck your shirt back in. All of which were messed up by George’s roaming hands.

“Just wanted to make sure my eyes didn’t deceive me,” he snarled, “Saw a Weasel chasing after you, but I didn’t think it would have been this bad.”

“What are you on about?” George said, and you could feel his body tensing with anger.

“Well I have to report this to the Sacred 28,” he explained, casting a fake innocent look over his evil features, “they’ll have to know that the Y/l/n family are now blood traitors.”

“Malfoy, you’re the only one who still cares about that,” you sneered.

You would have felt a bit intimated by Malfoy if it weren’t for George. You knew Malfoy was one of the smartest students in his year and had no doubt he knew some dark spells that you couldn’t have dreamed of. But George made you feel safe. When George was there you didn’t even think about the danger Malfoy threatened.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he started to saunter over to the two of you, “your father still seems to care.”

George moved you from the wall, putting himself between you and Draco. 

Draco was right about your father. He cared a great deal about his status and the power it held. He had grown to accept your disobedience, but you had never strayed this far from his ideals.

“You’re pathetic, Malfoy,” George spat from in front of you. You squeezed his arm warningly, and he glanced down at you. The second he saw your scared expression, his gaze softened.

“Shove off,” you managed, your voice nearly sounding afraid.

“Alright,” Draco said in a sing-song voice, holding his hands up in mock defeat, “fine, be that way.”

He walked back into the hall, and George turned to you with concern on his face.

“Why did you do that?” 

“I don’t care about what my father thinks,” you admitted, furrowing your brow.

“Are you sure?” George asked you.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, looking up at George’s brown eyes, “You mean more to me than any useless blood status.”

George softened. He literally felt himself melt at your words. He took a few large steps, a goofy smile plastered in his face, and backed you against the wall again.

“That was adorable,” he said, sounding giddy.

You laughed, moving closer to his face. Your smiles connected, quickly changing to a heated kiss once again.

[mintjamsblog]

Does Alfie ever demand that Tommy calls him Sir?

Okay, this is so late, (I'm sorry, I have sat on this answer for literally weeks). It also answers another ask I seem to have lost/deleted, which simply said 'sub-drop?' So, here you go, it turned into 1600 words of smut, I'm afraid. (Set in my Mistakes AU, but can be read without that background).

Subdrop

"How many fingers Tommy?"

Tommy lifts his head but it drops back immediately.

"Tommy, love, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Ten," Tommy says, without even looking. "Everyone has ten."

"Alright, love, up we come."

It's no wonder, really, Alfie has toyed with him mercilessly for — he checks his watch — fuck, well over two hours, has brought him to the brink of orgasm over and over again, watched his face flush and his thighs tremble and his stomach contract in anticipation of the release he's repeatedly been denied.

Tommy's so fucking pretty when he lets himself go (when he's made to let go) and Alfie, well, he's always been a sucker for pretty things, ain't he? Beautiful things.

Tommy finds it so hard to relax that once Alfie gets him loose, persuades him into handcuffs or a spreader-bar or, immobilises him somehow, his inclination is to make the most of the situation, to wring him out like a wet towel, count every last drop of resistance as it splashes onto the floor — a puddle to be licked up and savoured (metaphorically speaking, of course, there's no way Tommy's licking anything off any floors with his arms and legs fastened securely to the straps of a leather sling).

The silly boy still approaches these scenes as if they're a test of his fortitude rather than a willing exchange of power and trust. And that's fine, mostly. A click of his fingers or a safeword could end it all, but Tommy'd far rather grit his teeth and pretend he don't want this at all. Alfie can allow that for a while, can give him something to bite down on until he's too far gone to care about giving a voice to his plight.

Usually it takes some impact to get Tommy to give up his sounds. He needs to be pushed past some physical threshold. A firm hand, a paddle, a whip — they each make him sing different notes, eventually, but always the same fuckin' undertone. Anger. Whether Tommy's angry at Alfie (likely) or at himself for needing this (even more likely) is neither here nor there. Tommy has plenty to be angry at; the world ain't always been kind to him and he's even less kind to himself.

But anger, well, it's corrosive innit? Useful when controlled, maybe, when mastered effectively and released into the world in small bursts that serve a purpose; to warn or threaten or reinforce the hierarchy. But not when it seethes in your blood, pumps through your heart and into each artery like slow-acting poison that seeps through veins and capillaries, reaches the tip of every extremity, hides beneath every thought. That sort of anger, the sort Tommy lives with, that anger needs to be let. Like blood.

Not that Alfie's some antiquated physician restoring balance to the humors. Nah, he fancies his particular form of therapy's far more effective, even if his tools are barely less crude than the old-timers' scalpels and leeches. Alfie prefers to mix things up, to intersperse the blows of a bullwhip with the soft, wet heat of his tongue; to lash Tommy with a folded belt, then hold his cock like a delicate creature he's trying to stroke back to life. He'll pinch and tease and whip and probe until Tommy rails and rages, fists balled, teeth bared, every muscle pulled taut as tension wire. Eventually he'll scream at Alfie, at himself, at the universe, then let the breath shudder out in increasingly shaky increments, like he's tumbling down the stairs.

The journey to that point is best travelled slow. Given time, Tommy's tight grunts and growls always soften into something looser, gentler, pain still evident in the pitch of his voice, but threaded through with desire and resignation and something else entirely ... an underlying need to give up or give in. To please, Alfie flatters himself.

That medley of sounds, the unwinding trajectory of 'em, awakens some possessive creature in Alfie. He can feel it uncoiling inside him, muscles sliding and flexing as he drives Tommy towards an apex neither of 'em can see — a pinnacle of endurance or restraint beyond which Tommy simply is. Or maybe isn't. Beyond which he is merely a consciousness, untethered from any worldly woes and oblivious to the sensations of his own flesh. Or perhaps oblivious to anything but the sensations of his own flesh. Either way, Alfie knows to watch when the sounds turn animalistic, when the groans are so low and feral that they peter out into breaths. Into nothing. Into rolled-back eyes and gaping mouth and climaxes so molten they look more like pain than pleasure.

"Come on love, that's it, down we come."

It's a struggle getting Tommy out of the sling, he's too exhausted to cooperate, to untangle his own limbs from the leather, so Alfie releases the two lower straps and pours him out like water. Like water he slips through Alfie's waiting arms and pools at his feet on the floor.

"Up you get," Alfie says, hoisting him under the arms, and up Tommy comes, unsteady but obedient in his altered state of mind.  Alfie braces him for a moment, waits for Tommy's body to harden, for a flicker of conceit to return to those down-cast eyes. Now is when Tommy should swipe a hand down his face, curse under his breath and huff an almost laugh, a poor disguise for self-consciousness, but a sign he's aware at least.

But Tommy offers no such reassurance, regains none of the control that usually washes back as soon as he's up on his feet. He's deep, Alfie realises. Deeper than usual.

He whispers into Tommy's ear, small praises that have no place in any moment other than one such as this. His fingers run down Tommy's back, tracing small paths through sweat that's turned cold, an attempt to distract and reassure, but already he knows it's too late. He's left it too late. He can feel the distant vibrations and knows they'll soon take Tommy's legs.

By the time Alfie gets him onto the bed, onto his side, the trembling has tipped into shivering, a violent reflex that even the finest goose-down duvet fails to subdue. Alfie curses himself for missing the cues, for pushing Tommy too hard. "S'okay," he whispers, "you were beautiful."

But Tommy is straining against the hold, against Alfie's leg wrapped over his own. "I need ... I'm gonna be sick," he says, and throws himself into a sitting position with a violent retching sound. The purge that follows isn't from his stomach, it pours down his face in scalding tears that drench Alfie's waiting hands. Tommy throws his arm up and buries his eyes in the crook of his elbow, taking frightening gasps after every few breaths.

"Come on, now," Alfie says, entirely at a loss. Sure, he pushed Tommy hard tonight, but it seemed like what they both wanted. Needed. "Please, don't," he whispers, hands searching beneath Tommy's forearm to thumb away some of the tears. He wants to tell Tommy he doesn't mind, he can cry as much as he likes. Alfie don't see this as victory; Alfie's not him. But he says nothing, afraid of dredging up ghosts as he coaxes Tommy back down to the mattress, runs fingers through his hair, holds him tight against his chest and lets him cry himself out till the tap runs mercifully dry.

"Why?" Tommy says, eventually.

Fucks sake, why what? Why anything? Why do they do what they do to each other? Why does Tommy allow it? Allow Alfie to pull the meat from his preverbial bones? Alfie's asked himself the same question often enough. Not why does he do this, exactly, he's well past shame over that, but why did he get this lucky? Why does he get to do this with Tommy? To see what no one else sees?  Why did he push him so hard tonight? Why did he think Tommy could take it?

"Why did you spend so long ... you know ..." Tommy sniffs, "when there's nothing in it for you?"

Alfie pulls Tommy out from his chest enough to look him in the eye. "Nothing in it for me? Are you fucking kidding me, Tommy?"

"You didn't even come," Tommy says.

At that, Alfie grabs Tommy's arm, fumbling to open the top button of his jeans and force Tommy's hand inside. "There," he says, in his sternest voice. "Nothing in it for me, hmm?"

"Oh!" Tommy says in surprise.

"Yeah, oh, you blithering idiot. Twice. No fuckin' hands."

He watches Tommy swallow, feels fingers flex through the undeniable evidence soaked right through Alfie's boxers.

"Why?" Tommy asks again.

"Why what Tommy? Why does God allow famine and pestilence? Why do good people die? Why didn't I meet you ten years ago, hmm?"

"Why did you fucking come?"

"Because you’re sexy as all burning hell, aren't you? Turn me on like a switch."

Tommy curls into him tighter, buries his face again, and it dawns on Alfie that he really and truly doesn't get it, does he?

"The first time, right, you wouldn't lay back." He keeps his voice low, strokes Tommy's perfect little ear. "I'd fingered you till you were leaking all over your stomach, all over the marks I'd left with the flogger. You should've been way past defiance by then, but you just kept trying to sit up ... your mouth hanging open, like you were trying to fuckin' kiss me." Tommy burrows further still. "So I slapped you," Alfie continues. Maybe that was a bit cruel. "And you only tried even harder. Lay your sinful tongue on your lower lip and strained up out of the sling." Alfie's hardening again at the recollection, at the way he'd thought Tommy was acting, playing the little minx, struggling to reach forward with his wrists and ankles bound to the straps above him. Only Tommy'd never appear so needy, not in his rightful mind, wouldn't chase Alfie's mouth like a newborn pup seeking out its mother's teet. And he'd gazed at Alfie through half-lidded eyes, in that way he had no right to do, like Alfie was the only face he knew in the entire unholy world, like Alfie could fuckin' save him, reach inside his body and take all the pain away, maybe, or make it ten times worse. Like whichever option Alfie chose Tommy'd fucking let 'im.

"And?" Tommy says, when Alfie falls silent. God, he really doesn’t remember, does he?

"And I leant down and kissed you, you silly boy. And I came in my pants, like a teenager."

Tommy makes a wet sound that could be a huff, or could just as easily be more tears.

"Weren't my fault," Alfie adds, defensively. "Your mouth was so fuckin' soft, despite what I'd done to you. And you. You mewled like a Siamese kitten..."

Tommy squeezes him, through his pants, seemingly soothed by the hard line he's holding, proof, perhaps, that Alfie is part of this.

"And the second time ... the second time ... fucking hell. Right at the very end. The last time you came. You looked so fucking fucked-out, love," Alfie's hands are roaming now, sliding over the marks he's left all over Tommy's skin. He seeks out the curve of Tommy's throat, presses kisses there. "All the fight gone out of you. Covered in sweat and welts and come, so exhausted you were trembling ... and please, you kept saying please." He cups the back of Tommy’s head, pulls him closer still. "And I didn't know what for. And I kept asking you, please, what, Tom? but you wouldn't answer. Couldn't, maybe. Too far gone to know." He bites gently on Tommy's ear, at the little crease where it joins his jaw, the tiniest sign of age on his otherwise youthful face.

Tommy's hand is working now, struggling to find its way beneath the fabric of Alfie's underwear. "Then what?" he breathes into Alfie's ear.

"And then you said please, Sir."

Tommy's hand stops dead at that.

"I ... I didn't--"

"S'alright, love, you were under, weren’t you? Too fuckin' deep to know." And there might be a tiny part of Alfie that wishes that weren't the case, that would like to hear that word on Tommy's lips again, but not at the risk of a drop. Hurts too much to see Tommy so upset.

He removes Tommy's hand from his trousers and laces their fingers together, pulls them up high enough he can kiss every sticky knuckle.

"You want me to clean you up, love? Tommy barely shakes his head; his fingers clench around Alfie's hip. "Okay, in a little while then."

Ain't right to feel so tender about being stuck to someone with come. To like the smell of their sweat so much you don't wanna wash it off. Hell, he'd sleep like this all night, in jeans and boots an'all, if it gives Tommy the reassurance he'll so surely claim he don't need.

[delimeful]

neither calm nor quiet

BTHB: Trapped In A Net

warnings: miscommunication, past familial and domestic abuse mentions, injury, violence, terrible decision making skills

-

When Virgil finally decided to brave shallower waters, it had already been nearly half a moon cycle since Logan had vanished.

He’d made excuses at first, telling himself that the dread he felt was just his normal brand of overwrought paranoia. For the first few days, he was half-convinced that his curiosity-prone friend would appear at any moment, probably lugging some sort of stray litter or ‘interesting human artifact’ along with him to explain why he’d been late.

Things would be normal again. Virgil would find some rocks for them to sun on and Logan would ramble on about the potential uses of his find, and maybe Virgil would teasingly suggest some outlandish way the trash was secretly a violent human weapon, just to hear Logan thoroughly refute it.

After another three days passed with no sign of the other selkie, Virgil was forced to let that fantasy fade. Logan had never been this late before, not even that time he’d managed to carry an entire minifridge along with him for Virgil to identify.

Something had to have happened to him.

He’d spent the next week scouring the currents for any sign of his missing friend, even approaching other pods and asking around, requesting that they keep an eye out for any signs of Logan. He didn’t expect much from that; the two of them didn’t socialize with other selkies often enough to make any friends, and their two-person pod was too small to spare any food during winter, so there was nothing for the other pods to gain by helping them.

Virgil knew better than most how selfish pod politics could be.

Every few days, he would return to their meeting spot and catch a few hours of sleep to keep himself from crashing, always naively hoping that Logan would be there when he woke. He never was.

In the end, he had to face what he’d already known from the beginning: either Logan was dead, or he’d gone onland and gotten himself bound by a human.

He didn’t want to believe Logan had decided to brave the human world even after Virgil’s many, many warnings against it, but believing the alternative was even worse. So, he steeled himself to do the one thing he’d sworn to never do again, and headed for the cold, rocky shores of the nearest human settlement.

Naturally, he spent so long swimming back and forth between different stretches of beach, trying to force himself to take those literal first steps, that he didn’t notice the woven fibers dancing in the water until he’d plowed right into them.

A fishing net, dyed skillfully to blend in with the water, and large enough that when he tried to twist out of it, he only became further entangled.

Panic set in, then, clouding his mind and leaving him thrashing ineffectively like a simple animal. He couldn’t help it-- he couldn’t breathe underwater in either form, had no gills to keep him steady as he was dragged along by the current. He couldn’t untangle himself while adrift, couldn’t find solid ground while tangled. He would drown.

Between one blink and the next, he found himself in open air, gritty sand pressed against his face. Waves crested gently around him, a sharp contrast to the headache pounding around in his skull.

He never thought he’d be relieved about blacking out and beaching himself, but then, he’d never been worried about drowning in his own element before.

Okay. There weren’t any humans around to see the stupid idiot seal stuck on the beach. This was still salvageable.

Taking a deep breath, he attempted to bite through the netting with his incisors, and got a mouthful of sore gums for his trouble. The dyed fibers seemed to be woven around a base net of fishing wire, because of course they were. He let his head thunk back to the sandy ground, groaning at the new surge of pain the motion caused.

Sun-warmed saltwater continued to wash over his tail, and he blinked slowly, measuring his breaths. He could figure this out. He wouldn’t dry out. He just needed a moment to put himself back together. He could… He…

His eyelids grew heavy, and everything went dark.

-

Roman thought the guy was a pile of garbage at first, to be quite honest.

Not on purpose, of course! But, come on, when one sees a mound of mystery washed up on shore, it generally ends up being a bunch of tangled old fishing nets wrapped around half-rotted driftwood, not a bunch of tangled old fishing nets wrapped around beautiful strangers wearing expensive-looking fur coats!

His next thought, once he’d gotten closer, was that the beautiful stranger wearing the expensive-looking fur coat was dead, and that a body had washed up on his little strip of shoreline. Pallid skin, blue lips, and deep shadows under their eyes-- the beautiful stranger wasn’t exactly giving off an aura of vim and vigor.

He’d spent a few moments staring at his contact list, trying to figure out what in the world he was supposed to do about a body. Should he call 911? … Should he call Remus?

Before he could make a decision either way, he finally picked up on the shallow rise and fall of the beautiful stranger’s chest, and realized that they were still alive! Potentially not for much longer, laying out in the cold all soggy like that, but Roman could work with mostly alive!

And so, he found himself here, carefully carrying the small but surprisingly dense stranger up to his home by the cliffs, and risking looking like a total serial killer doing it.

He couldn’t help but theorize as he walked. A beautiful stranger in expensive clothing, tangled in nets with what appeared to be a head wound… It read like an old unsolved case in a detective novel, where the mysterious stranger in question got in too deep with some dangerous people and ended up clubbed over the head and dumped into a river to tie up loose ends.

“Except you managed to survive, obviously,” Roman said to them, mostly to reassure himself. He really had to stop eavesdropping on Remus’s true crime podcasts. “And you made your way to me! Excellent choice, I’m great at nursing people back to health. Probably. I don’t have much practical experience, but, you know, I’ve read extensively about this exact thing. In romance novels. As one does.”

The beautiful and mysterious stranger continued to be unconscious. Roman was starting to feel grateful for it.

His house was empty, thankfully, since his brother had work to attend to today. He fumbled with the keys for a moment before pushing the door open and carrying the stranger inside, sighing with relief at the warm air.

“That’s got to feel much better, hm?”

He sat the stranger down in the foyer, removing his shoes to go grab some scissors from the kitchen.

“First order of business,” he announced in his best announcer voice, “getting all that netting off of you. While I’m sure you could rock fishnet leggings, fish nets on their own just don’t have the same je ne sais quoi, you know? Also, they look very uncomfortable. You’re great at staying still, so just keep that up.”

He carefully cut his way through the looser parts of netting, pulling it off piece by piece until all that was left were the abrasions where they’d formerly cut into skin. Roman had no idea how they’d even managed to get that tangled up, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. It couldn’t have been pretty.

In the process of removing the net, however, he’d noticed another rather pressing matter.

Going by the flash of thigh he’d accidentally witnessed while shifting the net around, the stranger definitely wasn't wearing anything under that fur coat of theirs. Like, nothing.

(Exactly what kind of situation had the stranger been in before this?!)

Even so, leaving them in a sodden coat couldn’t be good for their constitution. Or his poor couch’s upholstery.

Roman spent a few moments puzzling the situation out before coming up with a brilliant solution. He retrieved the fluffy gold comforter from his bed and draped it over the stranger, covering their front half with it. Then, he carefully worked their arms out of the coat’s sleeves, very pointedly not focusing on the adorable freckled shoulders this operation revealed. Finally, he tugged the entire coat out from behind them, wincing at the slight furrow that appeared in their brow.

“Sorry, sorry, I know the cold floor can’t be comfortable…”

Soggy coat removed, he was free to continue bundling the rest of the comforter around the stranger’s back, therefore making it easy for him to pick them up in a neat little bundle of blanket and deposit them on the couch. No nudity awkwardness required!

Pleased with his solution, he draped a fluffy towel over the stranger’s head and carefully dried some of the dampness from their hair. Next, he wasted no time in stoking the fire higher in his hearth, sending waves of warmth into the room and making it so the stranger’s skin didn’t look quite so clammy.

Once he’d cleaned up the mess left in the foyer and grabbed the first aid kit from under his sink, he planted himself in a chair next to the couch, feeling ready to handle anything.

“Okay, Google. How do I treat a head wound?”

-

Virgil felt as though he’d woken to a nightmare.

He was in the wrong body, surrounded on all sides by heavy fabric and warm air, and his coat was missing. That list of facts alone was just about as bad as any night terror he’d had.

The humming was unusual, though.

A soft tune, occasionally broken up by a half-muttered lyric or two, carried through the air, voice completely at ease. His mother had never sung to him in front of others, and it sure as hell wasn’t his father.

He tried to remember where he’d been last. The back of his head stung… he’d ended up on a beach? The tide had been turning, from high to low… He must have dried out up there, changed into his less durable form. And now he was warm and dry.

He clenched his fists weakly and grit his teeth, knowing that a human had found him and stolen him away. Just like his mother. He’d come to find Logan and lost himself before ever even starting. Typical.

“Are you with us, Sleeping Beauty?” a bright voice asked.

The humming had broken off while he was absorbed in his thoughts, and now he could hear the shift and rustle of movement next to him. He opened his eyes, already aiming the coldest possible glare at his captor.

He was sort of surprised to find that the human sitting at his side wasn’t holding his coat. His father used to make a point of handling his mother’s coat at any opportunity. He’d liked to watch his mother stare at it, resting assured that so long as he held it in his possession, she could do him no harm.

This human was much younger than his father had been, probably around as old as Virgil was now. He had dark skin and soft eyes that reflected the firelight, and he was smiling hopefully at Virgil.

“Hello there! It’s excellent to see you looking a little more lively! I was starting to think about actually calling the hospital, heh.”

Wordlessly, Virgil slowly shifted to sit up, shoving the thick blanket out and shaking the cloth from his head. He looked down, confirming what he already knew. No coat. The human hadn’t even bothered to dress him up in human trappings to ‘make up’ for the absence.

“Ah, yeah... I sort of basically pulled you out of the ocean and what little you were wearing was completely soaked.” The human rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “I figured it’d be less of an invasion of privacy to just let you get dressed yourself once you woke up?”

Oh, the human was worried about his privacy? What a joke.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, truly!” the human continued, oblivious to Virgil’s rising ire. He gave a mocking little bow, pretending to respect the one he’d abducted. “My sincerest apologies.”

He was done playing along with mind games like these. Better to let the human know where they stood right off the bat.

“I’m going to kill you,” Virgil promised, and then lunged for the human’s jugular.

To his genuine surprise, he actually made contact, hands clamping onto the junction between collar and throat. The human let out a high-pitched yelp as his chair toppled over, taking both of them with it.

Virgil landed knee-first on the human’s sternum, and paused to blink down at the wheezing stranger, who apparently had been so confident in the weakness of his victim that he hadn’t bothered to bind Virgil from harming him in advance.

Unless.

His grip loosened slightly, just in time for the human’s fist to catch him squarely in the mouth. He threw himself backwards, rolling with the force of the motion to get some distance and hunkering in a crouch. It had been too long since he’d been active in this form, his sense of balance was in shambles.

The human scrambled to his feet, and grabbed the back of the chair, eyes wild. He thrust it out between them like a barrier, as though it could prevent any more strangulation attempts.

“What is wrong with you?!” he shrieked, voice cracking as his gaze flickered back and forth between Virgil and some far off point. “I tenderly nursed you back to health, and your response is to try and murder me? Unfair! Cruel! Rude!”

“Where is my coat?” Virgil replied, voice hoarse and split lip stinging. A test, because humans were tricky and loved to lie.

“Your— your coat?” The human pulled up short, head tilting slightly in a bewildered manner. A convincing actor, if nothing else. “Is that what all this is about? I put it on the coat hanger to dry! I know better than to try and wash someone’s fancy fur coat without permission, yeesh.”

A low warning growl in the back of his throat, Virgil turned his gaze from the current threat and followed the gesture the human had made.

Sure enough, there it was. His freedom, draped on a peg in the open with all the rest of the human’s fabric outer layers like some common garment.

“Do you… want me to get it— eep!” The human lifted the chair back up in paltry defense as Virgil snarled at him. He rose up and crossed the distance to his pelt in five wobbly strides, before the human could try and return it to him and lock them both into a loveless marriage.

Some of the tension eased from his shoulders as he quickly wrapped his second skin around him, that grounding weight settling back where it belonged. He still couldn’t shift back, not here, but the ocean was close enough to taste in the air.

The human was still huddled defensively by the fireplace, looking indignantly bewildered and not at all like he knew he’d just given up the perfect opportunity to control Virgil.

Which meant that-- barring some incredibly convoluted scheme-- he really had no idea. And Virgil had tried to strangle him, even if under false pretenses. He drew the edges of his pelt closer around him, rolling the beginnings of an apology around in his mind.

-

The mysterious stranger was still glaring at Roman like they were contemplating continuing to try and strangle him to death at any moment.

He’d brought a half-drowned stranger into his home and tenderly treated their injuries, and what had he received in return for his efforts? A murder attempt, which now that he thought about it was maybe an outcome he should have considered earlier. Remus would never let him live this down.

Assuming he lived long enough for his brother to give him shit about it, that was.

The stranger seemed to at least be a little calmer now that their reclaimed coat was thoroughly wrapped around them, rendering them more lump-shaped than person. Roman felt much more secure in glaring back, too.

He set his impromptu shield/chair down firmly on the floor. “I have no idea what your problem is, Gloomy B. Jones, but where I’m from, the response to someone saving you from dying of hypothermia is ‘thank you’, not a strangulation attempt!”

The murderglare intensified. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“Yes,” Roman said, disbelieving, “because you were too busy being unconscious. On the beach. In 40-below temperatures!”

“That’s my problem, not yours,” the stranger responded snappishly.

Roman threw his hands in the air, but his impending frustrated rant was impeded by the sight of a stifled flinch running through the stranger. Feeling a stab of guilt, he lowered his arms slowly before continuing.

“It seems I made it my problem when I dragged your soggy self all the way to my house, so--”

“Great news for you, then: I’m leaving.” Baring their teeth in a distinctly unfriendly manner, the stranger turned to do just that.

“Hold it!” Roman called, alarmed. “You’re going into town like that?! People will think you’re a flasher!” Even his brother wouldn’t go out dressed in nothing but an oversized coat. ... Probably.

The stranger paused, squinting at him warily. Roman took it as a cue to continue.

“Look, clearly we got off on the wrong foot here. Several wrong feet. Let’s try again. I’m Roman Faroe, I work for the local newspaper, and you are…?”

“None of your business,” replied the stranger, with all the stubborn petulance of a toddler digging their heels in and refusing to move whilst smack dab in the middle of an overcrowded supermarket.

“Would you like me to call you ‘Almost-Corpse-I-Dragged-Off-The-Beach?’ Perhaps make up a thematic nickname or two for you? Because let me tell you, this is exactly how you get called--,”

“Hold on,” the stranger cut him off, a realization seeming to dawn on him, “did you say you worked for the news?”

“Yes, I mean, the newspaper not the news. Although I’m sure I’d make an excellent anchor,” Roman gestured to all of himself for effect, “my true passion lies in my carefully curated romantic advice column!”

“So, you get all the information in town,” continued the stranger, who had a strange glint in their eye.

“I mean, if you want to be a nerd about it.”

“How about this.” The stranger stepped forward, straightening out of their defensive slouch for the explicit purpose of being just tall enough to loom over Roman. “You want to know my name? I’ll tell you, if you help me track down something important that I lost.”

An investigative quest for a mysterious MacGuffin? Roman swallowed, feeling his heart flutter wildly with what felt less like intimidation and more like excitement. He could totally keep his cool, he just had to open his mouth and say something suave.

“I also want to know your origin story,” he opened his mouth and babbled instead.

The stranger narrowed their eyes for a moment, and Roman belatedly remembered the near-strangulation. Perhaps he shouldn't be agitating a femme fatale type, what with all the emphasis on the fatale.

To his surprise, it only took a moment before they capitulated, sticking a hand out. “Fine. After my thing gets done.”

Roman shook gladly, trying not to shiver at the cool touch. Had they checked to make sure the stranger wasn’t hypothermic yet? “It’s a deal, then.”

“Great.” They twisted on their heel, stalking to the door. “Let’s get this over with, already.”

“Hold on there, Surly Temple.” Roman called, hand on his hip. “I hate to break it to you, but if you go into town mostly naked, the only news we’ll be hearing about will be your immediate arrest.”

The stranger glanced down at his attire, and then released the door handle with a low sigh. “... Pants first?”

“Pants first.”

[still-a-morosexual-help]

OBEY ME! LESSON 53 DETAILED SUMMARY + THEORIES

Some time seems to have passed between the end of the last lesson and the beginning of this one. Levi’s tired after pulling an all-nighter with Diavolo to finish a game and Mammon’s laughing at all the pictures Luke is sending him of all the desserts his making and the step by step process he’s following. Beel happily notes that Mammon & Luke have been chatting a lot lately. Mammon red in the face but smiling happily says it’s like he’s got a new minion who’s also fun to mess with, Asmo says it looks more like Mammon’s got a tiny little brother with the way Mammon’s being fawning over him (my heart this is so cute I need to write more fics with them interacting), Mammon denies it but Asmo says it holds no ground when Mammon can’t seem to stop smiling so happily. Lucifer has found an art book that Satan’s being looking everywhere desperately for and invites Satan to come take a look at it together, Satan postures a bit but agrees. Belphie says there’s a lot of strange friendships popping up lately, though Beel’s happy that Satan & Lucifer have been getting along better, Asmo thinks the way Satan’s being acting around Lucifer recently is strange and Belphie says it’s a sign of Armageddon. Asmo asks MC if they knew any reason behind the sudden change and they just say the two discovered new sides of each other which makes the other 3 more confused, with Asmo particularly lusting for the gossip. Belphie wonders if this means the anti-lucifer league would disband and Satan who hears this says that’s dumb cause he can take the chance to pull a prank of Lucifer when he goes to his room to check out the book. MC says they thought him and Lucifer were finally friends but satan says even the thought makes him sick, Asmo asks if he’s sure since the two seem like the best of friends recently. Satan quotes Sun Tzu saying “If you know your enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles”. A door bell rings and Lucifer tells MC to go get it. It’s Solomon & Barbatos and MC asks them what they’re doing here together. Solomon reveal’s it’s time for their sorcerer’s preliminary exams. (Did MC get all 7 stars already? Or 6 I guess if this exam gives the last star)

Ok so MC has 4 stars the preliminary is for the 5th star and final is for the 7th. Asmo has apparently filled the others on what’s gonna happen. Mammon asks for compensation, Beel wishes MC good luck, Lucifer tells them they should actually fill MC in, Asmo says Solomon had contacted him asking the brothers to help with the exam, MC says “cool what do I gotta do”, Solomon says they have to win a game of Tail Thieves and gets Barbatos to explain, Barbatos complains how Solomon always makes him explain things to people and I completely forgot that Solomon has a pact with Barbatos meaning they must be pretty close, meaning Asmo & Barbatos must be pretty close too and I need to see the dynamic between these 3 more. Solomon is going to use magic to give everyone animal tails and MC has to be the last one standing, if they lose their tail they fail the exam. (AND AHHHHHHHHHHHHH I’d love to see the animal event costumes being used in the main storyline and MC getting a tail? It’s have to be a sheep right?) To motivate the brothers to steal MC’s tail, stealing someone’s tail means they’re cursed to obey one command from you and sure that’s not gonna end in disaster. MC’S A SHEEP!!!!!! I’ve had this idea of what their costume would look like for a while ahhhh Also Barbatos is a bat? Do bat’s have tails? I feel like I should know this… (it apparently depends on the species of bat, given his colour lets just say Barbatos is a devildom bat). MC goes hey so this is 1 vs 8???? And Solomon says he’s giving them Asmo & Barbatos. Mammon brings up the fact that MC can just command them and Solomon says that’ll be against the rules. Barbatos asks if MC can use his or Asmo’s powers and Solomon says it’s fine as long as it’s a direct order from MC meaning they can’t use their powers themselves. MC brings up the fact that since they don’t have a pact with Barbatos they can’t use his powers and to make up for it Solomon gives MC Barbatos’ grimoire which will give the bearer full control over the demon who it belongs to even without a pact. MC has a flashback to the tomb under the HoL and the brothers’ grimoire, remembering that a command powered through a grimoire can overpower a command from a pact & that everything about a demon rides on their grimoire meaning they can never let it be stolen. Levi is absolutely stunned that Solomon has something so personal and precious and Barbatos reveals that he entrusted it to Solomon on his own free will and holy shit Barbatos & Solomon must be way closer than I realised… which even Levi says. Lucifer says if they steal MC’s tail and command them to hand over the grimoire they would be able to read it and Barbatos laughs and says that they’d find out everything about him and suddenly the whole game has become about reading Barbatos’ grimoire (even Asmo seems interested), which Solomon seems pleased about since it’s given all the brothers a more solid goal. Solomon starts the game.

The brothers all scatter to hide leaving MC, Asmo and Barbatos in the living room. Barbatos says the brother’s have probably left to find a place they can use to their advantage and that if they are able to figure out what that place would be for each brother they could make strategies to counteract them. Asmo swoons about how Barbatos is the whole package by being handsome and intelligent. Asmo says this makes him more interested in finding out more about Barbatos and he asks MC if he can take a teensy peek at the grimoire and they immediately shut him down. Barbatos thanks them for being a decent person (honestly the lowest bar to clear) and says because Solomon thought it was the best decision to give MC the grimoire he won’t object but also “we don’t really know each other at all so pls don’t use that it literally contains a record of my entire past” MC readily agrees because “the only conversations we’ve ever had is about tea we’re definitely not ready for any deep therapy sessions”. He’s grateful but emphasizes on it again and MC promises they won’t use it. Asmo complains about this, saying it’ll be impossible to beat the others while only using Asmo’s powers. Mammon hears that MC won’t be using the grimoire and reveals himself, Asmo says he was stupid for not finding a place where he’d have the advantage and MC says maybe this is that place for him, Asmo says that maybe cause this is where Lucifer always ties him up he thinks of this as his home turf. Mammon gets ready to fight Asmo & MC, Barbatos says “lol lemme take care of this and prove to you that I’m dangerous even without my powers”.

Barbatos manages to defeat Mammon and hang him from the ceiling using only hand to hand combat. Asmo tells Mammon if he can’t beat someone using only hand-to-hand combat MC might end up firing him, Mammon gets freaked out MC nods along and asks if they’re serious and they tell him not to worry cause they aren’t, he’s happy and calls MC the best, Asmo just sadly calls MC a simp. Asmo says that Barbatos has tied the ropes looser and that Lucifer ties them in a tight artful style. Whether MC pulls the tale off in one swift movement or gently it’ll tickle. He returns to normal and immediately starts yelling at MC to hurry up an give him an order and Asmo realises how scary Solomon’s curse really is. Asmo says even when Mammon is not cursed MC can get him to do pretty much anything by asking the right way cause Mammon’s whipped, so really they won’t be getting anything new or special. Barbatos provides a solution for this by telling them they can get him to admit something he usually wouldn’t. MC asks him; 1.) who his favourite brother is –  he says, “That’s easy! It’s Lucifer, of course. I’ve always loved him and I always will.” I like to think MC knew exactly what he was going to say and took out their phone to record it to later show Lucifer. 2.) If there’s a brother he’s keeping a secret from – He took clothes and shoes from Asmo’s cupboard and sold them. Asmo swears to kill Mammon once all this is over. 3.) If there’s anything he loves more than money – MC. He says there’s nothing and no one more important to him. He says he loves them and that he’d take them over money any day. Asmo who’s honestly MC and Mammon’s #1 shipper (remember the beach event, and the parfait devilgram and the chat where he got excited when MC smelt like Mammon) laughs and says “I knew it!”. For all 3 Mammon realises what he’s said and tries to take it back. They are later unable to find Lucifer – who would be the hardest to beat according to Barbatos - in the music room, Barbatos recalls Simeon telling him how Satan and Lucifer have started getting along and Asmo says he’s suddenly got a bad feeling.

they don’t find anyone in either Satan or Lucifer’s rooms, Asmo suggests MC using the grimoire to locate Lucifer, MC shuts it down and Barbatos thanks them and tells Asmo to drop it. Asmo asks MC why they have to be so serious despite him loving that part of them. Asmo asks MC if they know what Barbatos can do, how powerful he really is, they say he can see through time and Barbatos agrees with it but Asmo asks him to give MC a more detailed description of his powers since he anyway made them promise not to use his grimoire. He then says he has the power to create a portal to anywhere, including through time but creating portals through time has much more limitations than creating a normal portal to just a different place and that his control also becomes less stable. Asmo asks if that’s why Barbatos doesn’t let him go to the past or future no matter how much he begs. Barbatos says, “no that’s cause ik if I did you’d either fuck some powerful historical figure and mess up the entire timeline or you’d try to fuck yourself and the entire universe would implode”. Asmo calls him mean and Barbatos laughs but does say that since his control through time is not the best a person may end up skipping either backwards or forwards through time each time they pass through a doorway after they travel through his portal to the new time. He says that’s all he’s willing to tell MC. Asmo asks MC where they would go if they could go anywhere. If they say past Barbatos asks if there’s something they want to change or if there’s someone who’s past they want to spy on. If they say future Asmo says he’d love to go to the future to see how much more beautiful he’s become and to see how his and MC’s relationship has progressed. MC asks Barbatos where he’d like to go and he says nowhere, cause his place is by Diavolo’s side. MC asks him why he serves Diavolo and what he did before it – he says he’s not gonna answer cause he isn’t sure if it’s a good idea to trust MC the same way he trusts Solomon. Asmo giggles about how cold Barbatos is but says that’s one of the things he loves about him. Barbatos asks Asmo if he might know where Satan is and he says he has an idea.

They go to the home theatre where one of Satan’s favourite movies – about a deadly monster shark – is playing until suddenly everything goes dark. Someone wraps their arms around Asmo and he squeals telling MC they’re so naughty for wanting to do something here in the dark when Barbatos was with them, Satan tells him that he’s restraining Asmo not embracing him. The lights are off cause despite being brothers Asmo could charm them by looking into their eyes. Asmo complains but also loves the “roleplay” they’re doing and how Satan snuck up behind him and restrained him and now he needs a moment to get his boner down, Satan’s understandably very upset by this. Lucifer ends up sneaking behind MC and restraining them (despite it being dark Barbatos is able to see him coming and tries to warm MC), he’s impressed that they were able to recognise him but says they shouldn’t have left their back open. Barbatos asks why they left him free and Lucifer says he knows MC won’t use the grimoire, even if it’s their last option, cause it would upset Barbatos. Lucifer goes to remove MC’s tail but MC signals Barbatos with their eyes and he sees the remote next to him and grabs it & throws it to MC (so I guess this establishes that Barbatos can see in the dark). MC catches it and presses a quick combination of buttons that plays a movie about three cats going on a journey together. Satan obviously starts gushing about the cats and lets Asmo go, Lucifer calls him an idiot and MC commands Asmo. Satan initially doesn’t even notice Asmo cause of the cats which pisses him off but in the end the roleplay made him excited which made his charm more appealing. Lucifer had used every ounce of his willpower and just managed to escape but they take Satan’s tail.

In the twins’ room Asmo laughs about the face Satan made at whatever his order was and Barbatos says Satan making such a face could signify the end times and Asmo says it’s no joke if Barbatos is saying that. Belphie’s fast asleep in his bed and MC leaves him for later cause it wouldn’t be fair to take the tail now. Asmo wonders why Solomon made this MC’s exam when their final exam won’t give a shit if they’re good at tail thieves or not. MC says maybe he thought it’d be funny to see Barbatos disagrees with thar but Asmo says it’s natural to jump to their own conclusions when Solomon never answers questions and that Solomon hasn’t changed in that way since they first made their pact. MC asks for the story behind it Asmo says Solomon knew exactly what to say to get what he wanted from Asmo but could also dodge questions without making it obvious he was doing so. On the first night he’d met Solomon Asmo had been really depressed cause he’d spotted a cute human but the other people who were hanging around her had stated calling him “evil and wicked and other horrible things” and he couldn’t get close to her (so last yr someone told me the actual biblical story behind this and it’s FUCKED UP and I like to imagine that’s what actually happened in OM! too but Asmo is heavily censoring it for MC. Remember the pretty graphic description Asmo gave to MC about how he’d kill them in S1? Yeah I 100% believe he’s lying to MC about how things went down here). He’d been sitting in a tavern sulking when Solomon had started talking to him. He had listened to Asmo and had been so warm and caring Asmo had accidentally let it slip that he was Lucifer’s brother, they’d drunk the night away and when Asmo woke up the next day he had somehow made a pact with Solomon and HOLY SHIT this is so shady Solomon wtf. Barbatos says it probably wasn’t a coincidence he ran into Solomon and Solomon would have known who he was from the beginning (imagine how pissed off Lucifer must have been when Asmo came back with a pact). Asmo says Solomon and Barbatos meeting wasn’t a coincidence either and Barbatos agrees but says it happened long before Solomon and Asmo made a pact. Solomon had summoned Barbatos using a special incantation that he’d created himself and Asmo’s shocked that doing all that and summoning a demon as powerful as Barbatos hadn’t killed him. Barbatos said that Solomon had actually been on the verge of death when Barbatos arrived. MC asked why he’d risk it to summon Barbatos, Barbatos said that even back then there was something Solomon wanted even more than his own life and that the encounter made Barbatos curious and he wanted to learn more about Solomon and eventually this would lead to him forming a pact with Solomon (given how Barbatos is I’d imagine it took time for Solomon to form a pact with him because Barbatos would need to be able to trust him first). He says that though it’s hard to say what Solomon’s plans are he thinks highly of him enough to trust him with his grimoire. He says whether his decision is good or bad is up to them to judge but that their teacher is a genius unlike anyone else in the 3 worlds. Saying their break’s being long enough they head to the kitchen.

They find Beel eating and Asmo scolds him for using the ice cream maker without permission after Lucifer banned him cause last time he ate so much he got sick. Asmo uses this to blackmail Beel into giving up his tail. Removing it tickles a lot and as he’s handing it over Beel blushes and apologises for “the weird little shriek” he made at the end. Barbatos wonders why the fuck the seven of them are considered to be among the mot powerful demons in the Devildom when this is what they’re actually alike and Asmo says Barbatos should be disappointed in Beel and not the both of them. Asmo says that this whole exam seems pointless when this is what it’s like but when Beel starts begging for orders he tells MC to give one. They ask him what they would like for their final meal ever (the other two options are ‘let’s get romantic’ and for him to feed something to Barbatos) He says one of Simeon’s BLTs but then starts listing food from both the human world and Devildom before ending with apple pie….and isn’t apple pie the answer Beel’s VA gave for this same question? That’s really sweet that they added it.  Asmo says by the time he finished all that he’d have passed his death. Beel’s still begging for orders and they realise the curse is to follow the orders of the person who pulled the tail off and not MC. Asmo gets waaay to excited for this and Beel freaks out and uses puppy dog eyes to start pleading with MC for help, MC tells Asmo to cool it but Asmo says he’ll never get a chance like this again and Beel despairs. And that’s it. Beel’s doomed to his fate and we have no idea what happens.

[stardustedangel]

Matchmaker

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pairing || steve rogers x fem!reader

word count || 2.5k

summary || ever since bucky met you at your cafe he knew you would be perfect for steve. after telling the both of you about eachother for a few weeks, he decides it’s finally time for you both to meet.

warnings || a few curse words

author’s note || hii this is my first fic so I hope you enjoy reading it :) reblogs and comments are appreciated <3 ; do not repost my work

*gif does not belong to me*

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The ring of the door’s bell alerted you that someone had entered your cafe. You set your piping bag down and tried to unfurrow the deep crease that was set between your brows from concentration. You wiped your hands off on your apron and quickly hurried to the front counter to take the customer’s order. When you saw who was at the counter as you approached, a smile graced your face seeing it was your favorite customer.

“Bucky! I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away from our coffee for too long,” you teased Bucky.

“Doll, the stuff you guys make here is too addicting. And I thought you would want to hear more about Stevie.”

You laughed at this and playfully rolled your eyes. Ever since Bucky first came into your cafe he decided it would be a great time to not only start a coffee addiction, but also attempt to set you up with his friend “Steve”. Have you seen this Steve? No. Did Bucky bringing him up bother you? Of course not. Were you interested in finally meeting Steve after all Bucky has said? Definitely. A big, definite yes.

“Ah, are there any more details of the perfect “Steve” that I need to be aware of,” you said brightly as you wrote his order on a cup and passed it to another barista.

“Well, I’ve told you pretty much all that could be said by me, so I thought that he could finally tell you about him yourself.”

“So this is the second step of your master plan I suppose,” you laughed and mirrored him by moving to the side counter where he would wait for his drink, “well you know I’m game Mr. Barnes.”

“Well you’ll see him soon and that’s all I’m saying about that,” Bucky shot you a smug grin and attempted to grab his coffee before you smacked his hand away.

“Ow- what?”

“I don’t like when you speak all cryptic.”

“You act like I do it a lot,” he scoffed playfully.

“Touché Bucky, touché”

Your eyes were narrowed at him as you turned around and went to the back taking his coffee with you. You grabbed a quick sharpie and wrote something on his cup and grabbed a few of the cupcakes you previously iced, placing them into a box. You went back out, smirking at Bucky’s confused face. You handed him both his drink and the box.

Bucky looked at the cup and laughed at what you had written.

Fuck you.

He opened the box you gave him and laughed.

“How are you gonna give me this cup that says “Fuck you” but then give me these?”

“I’m giving you them so you're indebted to me, meaning you won’t do anything sneaky,” you batted your eyelashes, “and you like those the last time you had them, so there! Now leave. In a non cryptic, non-secretive manner.”

Bucky ignored what you had said and instead started to plan his next move. Getting his best pal and best girl together was going to be the greatest gift he could give either of them. And boy would the ego boost be good when you both thanked him later on. With those thoughts he gave you a boyish grin before stalking over to the front door.

“I’ll see you later Y/N.”

“Bucky! Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Can’t promise you that,” he turned back with a wink before finally going out the door.

Well fuck.

It only took Bucky 10 minutes to get back to the tower since your cafe was only a few blocks away. He went to the kitchen setting the box of cupcakes down before grabbing himself one. He couldn’t hear the sound of steps approaching him over his moaning as the delicious chocolate taste coated his mouth.

“I feel like you’re enjoying that a little too much, Buck.”

Bucky turned to his right seeing a sweaty Steve reach into the fridge pulling out an ice cold water bottle. He downed it in a few seconds and approached Bucky. He looked into the box of chocolate cupcakes before pulling one out.

“Where did you get these from?” Steve inspected the cupcake before taking a big bite out of one. His eyes widened at how good the cupcake was.

“I can see why you moaned now.”

Bucky smirked before replying, “A very, very special gal made those. I bet you can guess who.”

The thought made Steve smile. Of course he knew you made them. After hearing about not only how talented you are, but also how sweet and funny you seemed, Steve quickly became enamored. He’s been wanting Bucky to drag him to your cafe so you two could finally meet, or maybe he’d even go there by himself and try to save himself from Bucky’s “I told you so”, but he’s either been too nervous or the timing was never right. But god, the thought of you made heat rise to his face and stomach do flips. He hasn’t felt this way in a long time and he liked the feeling.

“So Y/N made these, huh? How is she by the way? Just asking cause you know, I can.”

The way that Steve was awkwardly trying to get Bucky to talk about you made Bucky smirk at Steve. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes playfully at Steve.

“What? You talk about her all the time and you expect me to just not ask about her,” Steve asked exasperated as he annoyingly grabbed another cupcake shoving it in his mouth.

“Well speaking of Y/N, we’re going to her cafe tomorrow so you should be up bright and early,” Bucky said as he clasped his hand on Steve’s shoulder slightly shaking him.

Steve’s eyes widened and he cleared his throat, “Tomorrow? As in Saturday tomorrow? Does she even know.”

“Well what she doesn’t know won’t kill her. Are you saying you don’t want to meet her,” Bucky asked though he already knew the answer.

“Of course not! I’ve been dying to meet her since you brought her up. So you can,” Steve paused for a second seeing Bucky’s smirk on his face growing wider and even more smug, “You can wipe that smug look off your face and I’ll see you later.”

“Aw you don’t want to braid each other's hair and talk all about Y/N,” Bucky teased Steve as Steve walked away from the kitchen heading towards his room.

“Bye Buck,” Steve waved over his shoulder.

Steve had more important things to do today. Such as letting Y/N consume his every thought until he got to finally see her tomorrow.

Saturday.

A day that Steve couldn’t have been more excited for, for obvious reasons, and a day that you always dreaded.

Because you didn’t know that you would be seeing Steve, you trudged your way to your cafe, saying a hello to the other workers before setting your stuff down and getting ready for a day of hell.

Saturday’s weren’t only busy customer wise, but also because you baked every hour of the day. You only took a few breaks for lunch and so your hand wouldn’t end up falling off.

With the help of a few other co-workers, you guys got started on making batter while others tended to customers at the front. You wished this day could be over as quick as possible.

Steve on the other hand was feeling nervous. A good kind of nervous. If that was a thing. Though Bucky wasn’t making him feel any less nervous with his constant pestering like a worried mother.

“Are you sure you want to wear that,” Bucky questioned leaning against Steve’s door frame.

Steve looked down at his outfit: he decided on just wearing some jeans, a white t-shirt, and a jacket over it. He held his arms out in a confused fashion as his eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you expect me to wear then?”

“I think you look great pal, I was just making sure you thought you looked great. Since this is a pretty important day.”

Important wouldn’t even begin to describe how both Steve and Bucky felt about this day. They were both happy that Steve was finally meeting someone that they both thought could be good for him. Sure everything Steve has heard has been word of mouth, but his hopes were high and he knew they wouldn’t be crushed. Bucky knew this too. Exactly why he was so excited.

Bucky came up behind Steve, clasping him on his shoulder, “You ready to go Stevie?”

He nodded his head and grabbed his phone and wallet before he left his room behind Bucky.

As ready as he’ll ever be.

You had pieces of hair falling around and framing your face as your ponytail was getting looser and looser as the morning went on. You had some flour on your cheek and apron showing how the first few hours of the day have been treating you.

You were taking a couple of cake pans out the oven and setting them on the baking rack to cool off before you can ice them. Right when you were taking off your oven mitts, a worker walked into the back addressing you.

“Hey Y/N, there’s a guy in the front who says he’s looking for you,” they gestured towards the front and went back to the counter.

You furrowed your brows in confusion and thought of who could be looking for you. You could only think of Bucky and with that you carelessly took yourself out the back, looking a mess. It was just Bucky though right?

Wrong. You were very wrong. You first noticed Bucky and because you were tired, your focus was only on him for the time.

“Bucky! You usually don’t come in on Saturdays,” you rounded the counter to come face to face with him.

“Yeah I know, but I thought it would be a great time for you to meet Stevie,” Bucky said with a shit-eating grin.

You could barely process what he said as he grabbed the tall, blonde man behind him and placed him in front of you. Your eyes widened when you realized just who was in front of you.

Steve. The Steve. The Steve that you were thinking about daily. His piercing blue eyes started back at yours. You found yourself wondering his face in the one second that seemed to feel like an hour. He had rose pink lips that looked a little swollen on the bottom. Maybe a nervous habit he had? His face and build reminded you of a Greek god statue. He had blonde hair that shined slightly with the help from the light piercing through the windows. And he was tall. Taller than any man you’ve ever met that to fully look him in the eye, you needed to tilt your head up at him. You didn’t think you could ever get tired of looking at him.

“Hello,” he said so kindly and he gave you a smile that made you weak in your knees.

You were thinking about how good he looked and how good he sounded that you didn’t even think about how you looked. That was until that one stretched out second ended.

You slapped your hands over your face attempting to hide how bad you looked. You heard Bucky snicker at your antics and Steve laughed lightly. You couldn’t believe Bucky. He just had to bring in Steve when you looked your worst. You felt so embarrassed that the first time you were meeting Steve you looked like a mess. Your voice came out muffled from beneath your hands as you spoke.

“I’m so sorry you have to see me like this. I look a mess and I really didn’t want you to see me like this. It’s just that it’s Saturday which is baking day, but everyday is baking day but it’s just so hectic and I’m just-”.

Steve cut your rambling off when he pulled your hands away from your face. You looked up at him with big doe eyes and a pout on your lips that Steve wanted to kiss away. He felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. Here you finally were standing in front of him. In all your gorgeous glory. And frankly, you were even more gorgeous than Bucky described. Your eyes seemed to sparkle and you almost glowed. It was like he was seeing an angel for the first time.

Steve put your arms down and brought his right hand to wipe some flour off of your left cheek. He then pushed some of your flyaways out of your face so he could see even more of you. His eyes were roaming your face until he made direct eye contact.

“You’re gorgeous, Y/N. Seriously.” Steve’s hands left your face when he took a small step back to put his hand out.

“I’m Steve. You already know that though,” Steve laughed and you giggled taking his hand.

“I’m Y/N.”

You and Steve just stared at each other with stupid love sick smiles on your face while slowly shaking each other’s hands. Bucky cleared his throat loudly, gaining the attention of the both of you. You narrowed your eyes a little at him and an angry pout found its way to your lips.

“You should’ve told me yesterday you were coming in today, traitor. Look at me,” you gestured to the Saturday mess that was you.

“Sorry, doll. But this was the perfect time to see you. And now you both can thank me so c’mon. Shower me with love.”

You and Steve just looked at him blankly before Steve turned to you. When your gaze met his, your face instantly lit up like a Christmas tree.

“If you’re free for lunch, I’d love to get to know you more,” Steve asked with a charming smile on his face.

“I can take my break right now so I’ll be all yours.” You saw from the corner of your eye that Bucky was smirking at the both of you.

“And you sir, can leave,” you grabbed Bucky’s sleeve dragging him towards the door. A few customers and workers were looking at this and laughing to themselves. Bucky looked at Steve over his shoulder and winked. Steve replied with a thankful smile.

“You know you’re happy that this happened,” Bucky teased as you leaned against the door frame narrowing your eyes playfully at him.

You pushed him out, but not before giving him the bright, grateful smile. You mouthed a “thank you” to him and Bucky smiled back and you returned back inside to Steve wanting to make your thirty minute break the best one it could be. Maybe you couldn’t hate Saturday’s as much as you did before, in fact, maybe they would become your favorite day of the week.

You and Steve grabbed a table. What you both didn’t know is that Bucky watched you guys for the first few minutes from outside and what he could see was better than what he was expecting. Steve was making you double over in laughter and the first couple of seconds and the smile that was on Steve’s face was the biggest that Bucky had ever seen in a long time. He was happy that he got two of the best people that he knew together. Who knew Bucky Barnes would end up being matchmaker of the century?

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[rory-for-short]

New Crossings New Horizons: Part 3

TELL ME WHY I DECIED TO MAKE PART THREE THE START OF A SLOW BURN PLOT WITH NOOK AND THE READER I HATE MYSELF BUT ALSO IM HAVING FUN. 

So the plan is to make a community out of this island over the span of one summer and a fall semester. Nook had explained that there were more generators arriving in the nest few days. It was up to you all to figure out how housing would work. The list went on and on from pod homes, tiny houses, campers, and prefab homes. Tiny homes won. With a stipulation. We would start with them, then upgrade to prefabs later on. It would be easier to run tiny homes with the starting generators until we could figure out an electricity grid, and work on a plumbing/ well system for now. Nook seemed happy with this decision, and in the meantime, you and Cherry went out to collect wood and supplies while Apollo and Bob offered to find food.

“Hey imma trap some bears maybe there will be a zoo eventually,” announced Timmy jokingly.

“You and what bear trap,” Tommy snickered.

“I have several yards of rope, that's all I need,” Timmy smirked, uncoiling some thick rope from a knot.

“You kids be careful and stay close to camp. Me and Y/N are going south to find some wood,” Cherry informed.

You had already gotten some rope and packs yourself so that you could tie up logs into a bunch for easier carrying.

“Me and Bob are setting up snares to the west. All for small game but still, watch your footing if you are going up our way,” Apollo warned before everyone parted ways. You and Cherry managed to not only find wood, but also collected a tote of wild strawberries. Soon evening was upon you. Cherry mentioned heading back now before it got too dark, so the two of you started heading back. You were walking in front of Cherry leading your way back to camp when you lost your footing and found yourself stepping in a snare. Apollo and Bob must have really covered their ground, because you two were nowhere near the west of camp. Yet here you were, dangling and suspended ten feet off the ground from a tree.

“Y?N! Are you alright?” Cherry exclaimed as she ran for you dropping strawberry filled tote and running towards your dangling form.

“Yeah, I think I’m good...Just hanging around,” you smirked half expecting a rim shot. “It looks like the guys had covered more area than we thought,” you reasoned. Your current position was impressive, and uncomfortable. There was currently a rope around your arms and torso that made moving your arms impossible. At least you weren’t hanging by the neck. You could deal with some rope across your chest and restraining your arms as long as you could breath. You counted that as a blessing.

“Do you see a place to cut me down?” you called to her. Cherry began to scurry around the base of the trunk and nearby trees.

“I don't see any rope down here. It’s like it's on you and the branch and just nothing. There should be some rope down here for easy release right?,” the small girl panicked as she darted to and fro, hurriedly searching for the end of the rope to cut you down. Yet nothing was found. Great. You sighed in frustration. As cool of a trap as it was, you could feel your arms being construed and knew you’d have bruising from the rough rope.

“Go get the guys at camp. They can get me down, they set the trap afterall. But be quick it's getting dark,” you warned. Cherry nodded and sped towards camp. Hopefully she could get to them fast and not leave you dangling all night. Not five minutes after she disappeared, you began hearing rustling in bushes. The hairs on your neck stood up.

“ah-Apollo? That you?” you asked meekly. No reply. To be fair it was a bit windy, and you reasoned that you being alone at night with visibility getting lower, you were starting to be on edge. However, that didn't keep your eyes from darting to every little sound. Ten minutes in and your arms really started to hurt. Not to mention it was getting dark-dark, not just late-evening-dark. Just then, you saw a flashlight coming from the direction of camp moving steadily towards you

“Y/N! Kid! Where are you?” called the voice of none other than Tom Nook. Well thank you for the backup, Cherry, but what luck would Nook have at figuring out an Apollo snare?

“Over here Mr. Nook!” you call meekly from the tree severely doubting Cherry’s judgment at the moment. His flashlight beam landed on you and you squinted at the sudden change of light.

“Oh thank god! I'll have you down in a minute kid, don't you worry,” he said voice dripping with concern. You weren’t really worried about being stuck up here all night, except for the fact you had no idea where the rope release was.

“Cherry couldn’t find the release. I doubt you'll have much luck in the dark Mr. Nook” you reasoned.

“Who do you think taught Timmy to set a trap? Don't worry, the end of the rope should be about shoulder height on one of these trees behind you.” he explained as he disappeared into the shadows behind you.

“Timmy?! I thought this had to be Apollo’s handy work,” you were slightly impressed and it was notable in your tone..

“Don’t tell Timmy that. I’ll go straight to his head. Okay Y/N, get ready and brace yourself,”

“Do wha-” and at that you were crashing down ten feet to the ground. You landed awkwardly on your heel at an angle and yelped a bit in both pain and surprise. Tom Nook was beside you in a blink.

A look of worry stained his features as he knelt near you. You were trying to shrug off the now significantly looser rope. Red marks and bruises were already forming on your upper arms and forearms.Pain surged through your foot. A look of horror washed over your face as you feared it might be sprained, rolled, or worse, broken.

“Sorry that landing sounded rough. Here, let me help you up. Your arms aren't looking too good either,” he noted as he scanned your bruised arms. He extended his hand to help you on your feet when pain shot through your leg, calf and foot. You winced and your step faltered. Tom noticed and held your arm a little tighter.

“You landed bad didn’t you? You think you can make it back to camp on that ankle?”

You hesitated a moment before answering.

“Uh, ye-yes I’ll be fine,” you said through gritted teeth as you tried to adjust your steps to be less painful. However, your attempted step caused another shrug of pain all the way from the heel of your foot up your calf. You suppressed a yelp. Your eyes, now watering from the injured muscles that betrayed you, met Nooks and you could tell he knew you weren’t actually all that fine.. You sheepishly looked down and away.

“You can’t walk back, can you?” he sighed. It was more of a statement than a question. A beat of silence fell between you and he finally resolved.

“Alright, I’m too old for bridal style so you’ll have to get on behind me,” he reasoned.

“What? No,- come on we can try walking-” but the ankle was already starting to swell and Nook gave you that Dadtm look that stopped you dead in the middle of your sentence.  A look he probably mastered by practicing it on Timmy and Tommy. The kind that said ‘I’m not arguing kid, do as I say’. You sighed as he crouched in front of you. You reached your arms around his shoulders and despite claiming to be an old man, he lifted you pretty effortlessly. Which should have taken more effort, you were a full grown woman after all. You, at this point, were red in the face and you knew it. It was a pretty embarrassing predicament, having the decider of your future employment carry you on his back through the woods like some kid that scraped their knee. How were you gonna hide the red face at camp? You didn’t know, but hoped everyone would be in bed already.

“Sorry Mr. Nook, I should have been more careful,” you muttered into his shoulder. You felt his chuckle resonate through his back and into your chest.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I was the one who dropped you too suddenly after all… and everyone calls me Nook or Tom. You don't have to call me ‘mister nook’ you know,” he answered softly.

You nodded into his shoulder and you both approached the camp. You saw everyone waiting on the two of you sitting around the fire with cooked fish and rabbit.

“Oh great. Looks like he managed to break her further,” Timmy laughed, elbowing Tommy. Nook shot Timmy a glare.

“I got her out of the “bear trap” YOU set. Really Timmy, if you are going to set snares, annonce them to the general populace so no one gets hurt,” Nook scolded with you still on his back, as he walked over to where everyone was sitting and eating. Red face was a go, but you could probably blame it on the injury and fire light. Nook helped you to sit on the log seating as Bob handed a plate your way. AT\t that moment you realize just how hungry you were.

“Catch of the day, besides you of course,” Bob snickered and you gave a light laugh.

“First I gotta splint up this ankle,” you explained.

“Ill get the first aid kit,” Cherry offered and scampered towards the main tent. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Nook a few inches from Timmys face, looking like he was hardcore chewing him ou in a hushed tonet. Now it was Timmy's turn to be embarrassed.

[whenisitenoughtrees]

to be honest, capable (of holding you) (part 2/3)

He walks forward, crouching over the snake, and when it doesn’t stir at all, he works up his courage and pokes it, just a little. Its scales are warm and smooth under his fingertip, and he resists the urge to stroke them. He doubts he could get away with that.

“Janus?” he asks, trying to keep the somewhat hysterical laughter from his voice. “That you?”

Thomas didn’t know that Janus could turn into an actual snake, but he’s glad to hang out with him regardless. More than glad; ecstatic, even, because he’s been trying to figure out how to befriend him for ages, and this seems like a good first step. What he can’t figure out is why human-Janus is being so weird about it.

(Alternatively: Janus doesn’t trust easily. He wishes he could stop trusting Thomas— it would be so much less terrifying.)

Chapter Warnings: blood and injury, Remus being mildly unsettling

Chapter Word Count: 5,074

Pairing: platonic Thomceit

(part 1) (part 3)

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

They don’t talk about it.

Thomas would very much like to talk about it. But whenever he goes to bring it up, Janus glares at him in a way that promises a world of trouble if he so much as breathes a word, and Thomas really does not want to set back any of the progress he’s already made with him, so he shuts up about it. He’s not entirely sure why Janus is so opposed to addressing it; it can’t be that he doesn’t want the others to know, after all, because all the others are literally parts of Thomas and as such are privy to the knowledge of everything that Thomas experiences.

As best as Thomas can tell, it’s some sort of embarrassment that holds Janus back, some sort of shame, and Thomas doesn’t get it. Surely he knows that Thomas doesn’t mind at all, that Thomas enjoys the time they spend together, even if their conversations are far more one-sided than he would like. Janus seems to be under the impression that coming to him at all is in some way unseemly, while Thomas just wants him to be comfortable enough to approach him as a human.

But as more time passes, that seems less and less likely. Thomas spends far more time with snake-Janus than with human-Janus, and Janus begins to come with him even when the sun shines bright and his spot by the window is available. Thomas becomes quite familiar with carrying a weight looped around his neck, and wishes he could puzzle out why Janus is acting this way.

The worst part is that with every passing day, he feels like he understands Janus less, not more. Because the way he acts during meetings and discussions, when he pops in to offer opinions and advice masked as sarcasm and cutting quips, is entirely different to the way he acts as a snake, when he and Thomas are alone together, when he leans into all the contact Thomas has to offer, seeking warmth, and, Thomas suspects, company. It’s almost as if he’s dealing with two entirely different people, each one unwilling or unable to discuss the other, and frankly, Thomas has no idea what to do about it.

Because he’s worried that if he pushes too hard, demands one answer too many, Janus will stop approaching him at all, in any form. And that is the last thing he wants.

So, he leaves it be, and resigns himself to the idea that human-Janus may just remain incomprehensible to him, and that snake-Janus is the closest he will get to making a friend out of him. And if that turns out to be the case, then gosh darn it, he will be the best friend to snake-Janus that he possibly can be.

This has the side effect of leading him to a snake-centric fact-finding mission, which Logan appreciates, at least, because “even if the information may not be applicable to most aspects of your life, at least you’re learning something, Thomas.” Which he supposes is fair. He learns a great many things about snakes over the course of a few days, most of it interesting, if not particularly relevant. He doesn’t know how much of this actually applies to Janus, since he’s not a real snake.

Though he does find out that snakes don’t have eyelids. That would explain the whole no-blinking thing.

Other than his impromptu investigations, they fall into an equilibrium fairly easily. Janus will seek him out at all hours of the day and wrap himself around his arm or neck, sometimes staying awake and aware and sometimes drifting off into sleep. And when he’s fed up with the company, he leaves, disappearing with neither warning nor fanfare. Thomas settles into this new routine with little effort, and decides that if this is all he’s going to get from Janus, he’ll take it.

He gets used to it, so much so that he stops looking every time he feels Janus curl around him. This turns out to be a mistake.

He’s procrastinating, as per usual. His deadline is a full week away, and even Virgil has been unable to provide the urgency that Thomas needs to push through and finish his latest project. He knows that this will only end badly, that he’s going to end up staying up until the early hours of the morning in a few days if he doesn’t get started now, but he simply doesn’t feel like it. So, he’s scrolling through Amazon instead, clicking through pages of items that he neither needs nor particularly wants.

He’s been looking at a lot of frogs, lately. Cute, decorative frogs, the kinds that sit on mantles and don’t do much of anything. And plushies, too, and those are actually tempting. He’s pretty sure that it’s Patton’s influence.

“What do you think?” he asks, holding up his arm so that Janus can see the screen. Janus hisses quietly, and he laughs. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” He doesn’t have the money to spend on a bunch of decorative frogs, even if he had a strong inclination toward doing so, but it’s fun to look. He’s seriously considering a stuffed animal, but he’s pretty sure that Logan intends to talk him down from that, so there’s no real need to be concerned about it. Even if he ends up buying one after all, he thinks it would be worth it.

He glances down at Janus, trying to figure out if he’s enjoying this at all, or if he’s just irritated. And that’s when he finally notices the blood.

He freezes up, his muscles tensing, and blinks hard, hoping that it’s a trick of the light, or that spending so many hours doing practically nothing has fried his brain at last. But no; Janus’ scales are dotted with rusty red, and Thomas traces the blood back to a long gash trailing down his side, sluggishly oozing, slowly dripping onto his arm. He stares for a long moment, his mind stalling, and he wonders if the scent of iron flooding his nose is real or imaginary. Or rather, real by a certain standard, since everything to do with his sides is technically imaginary, but oh god, why is he bleeding so much? He thought that his sides could wave off injuries, that nothing could truly affect them unless they wanted it to? Or is that just Logan? And then there’s the question of what did this to him in the first place, and how exactly he’s supposed to treat someone who’s a figment of his imagination, and whether or not any of the real medical supplies he has would work at all—

Focus, Thomas.

It’s like a whisper in his ear, gentle and firm. Logan’s voice. The world snaps into sharp clarity, mind and adrenaline working in tandem.

“Oh my god,” he says, and Janus’ head swivels to face him. The movement is slow, almost lethargic, as if he’s operating on a time delay. “You’re hurt. Okay. Well, not okay. But you’ll be okay.”

He has a first aid kit in the bathroom. He has no idea whether that will help or not, but he won’t know until he tries, as his logic helpfully points out. So the first order of business is to get to the bathroom. He stands, setting his laptop to the side, trying to jostle Janus as little as possible. Now that he’s paying attention, more and more details filter in; Janus’ grip on his arm is looser than usual, his eyes dull and glazed. His hat, usually so perfectly placed, is just slightly askew.

He makes it to the bathroom in short order, yanking the kit out from under the sink and nearly spilling its contents across the floor. He’ll need both hands for this, and he looks to Janus with no small amount of trepidation, wondering how well he’ll take being moved. He doesn’t want to cause him more pain than necessary, and he doesn’t know how aware he currently is, doesn’t know if he’ll lash out if he feels threatened. He gives him an experimental nudge, prodding at him with one finger, and Janus hisses, shifting his coils to hold on tighter.

“C’mon,” Thomas says. “You gotta let me help you, buddy.”

There is is again: buddy. He still doesn’t think it fits quite right, but it seems to slip out anyway, and now is hardly the time to worry about it, not when Janus still shows no sign of budging.

“Please, Janus,” he says, dangerously close to begging. “I promise, I’m not gonna let anything else happen to you, but you need to let me see where you’re hurt.”

Janus’ tongue flickers out, tasting the air, and his eyes seem to focus just a bit. One minute passes, and then another, and Thomas is about to try to remove him by force when finally, he lets go, slithering onto the counter, his motions hesitant and pained, softly hissing all the while. Blood begins to drip onto the sink, the sickening red smearing across the countertop.

“Thank you,” Thomas says, not bothering to hide his relief. “Okay, um, I’ve got bandages. And painkillers, if you want them… can snakes take painkillers?” He sets things out as he names them, slowing as he hits a snag. Not only does he not know if snakes can take painkillers, but he also doesn’t know if there are any other substances in here that would do more harm than good, or if there are any special steps he should take due to his scales, or the fact that he’s cold-blooded. In fact, he has absolutely no idea how to treat a snake, and the idea that he might end up making things worse is enough to send his anxiety ratcheting up a few notches.

Is he overthinking this? He might be overthinking this. But what if he’s not?

Try to remain calm. If you don’t know enough to work within this situation, change the situation.

Logan again, though he’s not sure how that’s supposed to help. He would change the situation if he could— heck, that’s what he’s trying to do— but if it were so simple as wishing this whole scenario away, he would have done it by now. He’s not sure how to—

Oh, wait. Change the situation, or change Janus’ situation?

He has absolutely no idea how to treat a snake. But Janus doesn’t have to be a snake.

He crouches down so that he’s on eye level with Janus, who is limp and unmoving on the sink counter, tracking his motions with clouded eyes. It’s not just the large gash, he realizes; that’s the worst of it, but there are several shallower cuts, all still open and bleeding, and he swallows hard.

“Okay, so, I don’t want to make things any worse,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Do you think you could turn back into a human for me? Just so that I know what I’m doing?”

Not that he knows much about treating humans either, but at least he’d know where to start. Perhaps if Janus’ injuries were less severe, he could work with them in this state, but that prominent gash looks deep and angry, probably about six inches long, wide and painful, rending scales apart and leaking dark blood and god, he is so afraid of making this worse—

Janus stares at him, and doesn’t react.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas says, because he is. He doesn’t know why Janus only initiates contact with him as a snake, doesn’t know why the very idea of deviating from that seems to disquiet him. Asking him to be human now, like this, almost seems wrong, like they’ll be breaking what understanding they do have between them, breaking the peace they’ve found with each other lately. But then, the peace is already broken, he thinks, has been broken since Janus showed up bleeding. “I know you probably don’t want to. But I want to make this better, and I don’t think I can if you’re uh, shaped like this. I… I guess I’m asking you to trust me.”

It’s a tall order, and he is well aware of that. Janus is Deceit, after all, and Deceit is practically the antithesis of trust. He’ll probably have to work with Janus as a snake after all, and he’s just resolving himself to do the best he can when Janus shifts in place, raising his head.

Thomas isn’t sure how to process what happens next. One part of his brain tells him that the change happens slowly, that Janus’ form stretches and morphs in impossible ways, scales fading away and features rearranging before his eyes. The other part of his brain insists that the shift is instantaneous, that it happens as quickly as blinking, that in one moment, there is a snake curled on the counter and in the next, there is a man, with no gradual transition between the two. But however it happens, Janus now sits in front of him, arms and legs all present, hunched in on himself and wheezing. One hand flies to his side, clutching at his shirt.

Thomas blinks. For a second, his mind fights with itself, trying to decide on what, exactly, he just watched. Then, he decides that it doesn’t matter, that he’ll have a crisis about it later, and that there are more important things to concentrate on.

He reaches out, placing a steadying hand on Janus’ shoulder. “Easy, easy,” he says, raising his voice to be audible over Janus’ gasps. “Are you okay?”

It takes a minute for Janus to get his breathing under control, and when he does, he looks up at Thomas, his expression pinched. “Just fine,” he rasps. “Absolutely perfect, can’t you tell?” His voice is strained, tension showing in the lines around his eyes and in the thin set of his mouth. “Really, Thomas, the fuss is hardly necessary. I—” He cuts off with a slight gasp, eyes squeezing shut, and Thomas feels his heart clench.

“Hm, yeah, no, I think I’ve got the right to fuss a little bit,” he says, hoping his voice stays level. He looks him up and down, searching for the injury, and finds nothing; his shirt appears immaculate, his whole outfit as perfectly assembled as usual, not a rip or tear in sight. If it weren’t for the pain on his face, the tremors wracking his frame, Thomas wouldn’t suspect that he was injured at all, and he frowns. “Can you, uh—” He gestures— “take off your shirt, maybe? So I can see where you’re hurt?”

Janus sighs heavily, as though the request has greatly burdened him. He waves one hand in the air, and his shirt and capelet vanish, revealing his bare torso. Under any other circumstance, Thomas might be fascinated by the scales that trail all along his chest and left arm, but right now, his attention centers on the gash bloodying his side, and the thinner scratches that cover him. They all look bigger than they were before, more serious, and he hopes that he didn’t make the wrong decision in requesting him to shift. If it had been a bad idea, he would have refused, right?

“God, Janus,” he says. “What happened?”

Janus sighs again, rolling his eyes. “A mishap in the Imagination,” he says. “Unfortunately, both Roman and Remus designed the place so that its effects stick around even after leaving.”

… Alright. That’s probably something to talk about later; he doesn’t particularly like the reminder that he has no idea how most of the mindscape works. “But I thought you could heal yourselves?” he can’t help but ask. He vividly remembers the day he met Remus, the way that none of his attacks seemed to affect Logan for more than a few seconds.

“We all can, to some degree,” Janus agrees. “It’s more difficult for some of us than it is for others.” He hesitates, and the next words come out slow and almost defensive. “I am capable of it, if I succeed in persuading myself that the problem doesn’t exist in the first place, but in order to do so, I need to sufficiently distance myself from any negative sensations that accompany the harm. I am… currently finding that difficult.” He glares. “I’ll mange perfectly well, given time. There is no need for any of this.” He waves an arm to punctuate the declaration, and it might have been somewhat convincing if it weren’t for the fact that he immediately curls in on himself, face paling, like he’s pulled something the wrong way.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Well, how about you let me help you anyway, just for my peace of mind?”

Janus stares at him for a long moment, face unreadable. Finally, he glances away. “Do what you wish,” he says. “If you want to waste time on this, be my guest.”

He hums noncommittally, already inspecting the wound. “I don’t think that taking care of you is a waste of time,” he says, fishing through the first aid kit. He comes up with a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol, looking up just in time to see what can only be an expression of shock fade from Janus’ face, and god, what must he be doing wrong if that is Janus’ reaction to being told that he cares about him? He can’t unpack that right now, or else he might cry, so he holds out the Tylenol instead. “Painkillers?”

Janus nods slightly, and takes two dry. From there, Thomas works in silence, cleaning the wounds as best he can and bandaging them. It takes longer than he expects, and he debates whether or not the long gash will need stitches. He decides not to make the attempt, trusting that what Janus says is true and that he will be able to heal before too long. So he wraps bandages around his torso, and Janus, for his part, remains perfectly still, staring straight ahead, an occasional soft hiss the only thing that betrays his discomfort.

“Okay,” he says quietly, inspecting his handiwork. “I think that’s the best I can do.”

Janus shoots him an unreadable look. “In that case,” he says, “I believe I’ll be going now.”

He hops down from the counter before Thomas can stop him, and his face crumples like a wet sheet of paper. Thomas catches him as his knees give out, hooking his hands under his arms. He is surprisingly light, his skin cool to the touch.

“How about we don’t do that, actually,” he says. “I’ll tell you what, let’s go to my room, and I can work and you can get some rest?”

Janus hisses, trying to jerk away. It’s not difficult to prevent him from doing so; he has all the strength of a floppy pool noodle. “Oh yes, because I’m in dire need of a babysitter,” he spits out, and perhaps Thomas should feel intimidated, but looking at him, at the way all the color has drained from his face, at the way his eyes have glazed over even as they dart around the bathroom, all Thomas can muster up is a deep worry.

“I’m not trying to babysit you,” he says. “Believe me, I know that you of all people don’t need babysitting. But if you try to sink out now, I’m just gonna be stressed out, so if you’d stick around for a little bit, I would really appreciate it.”

Janus stills. The silence stretches on.

“Fine,” Janus says. “Sure. Whatever.”

Thomas restrains himself from letting out a sigh of relief, instead adjusting his grip on Janus until he is only supporting part of his weight. From the look on his face, Janus wants very much to grumble about the indignity of the situation, but miraculously, he remains quiet all the way to Thomas’ room, though he begins to drag his feet when he sees what Thomas intends.

“If you want me to rest,” he says, “I am perfectly capable of doing so in my own room. There’s hardly a need for me to take up space in your bed.”

“Okay,” Thomas says, lowering him to sit on the bedsheets and doing his level best to ignore his glare, “but then I won’t know that you’re alright. Also, I don’t see what the big deal is? It’s not like we haven’t done this before. You were just, uh, snakier.”

He knows immediately that it is the wrong thing to say. Janus’ face sets into an impassive wall, and he looks away, refusing to make eye contact. Thomas can’t tell what he’s feeling, whether it’s anger or embarrassment or frustration or some stubborn combination of the three. But he settles himself against the headboard without further argument, seemingly determined not to carry on any further conversation, so Thomas resigns himself to the silent treatment and sets up with his laptop on the other side of the bed, several inches placed between them.

The atmosphere is awkward, heavy. They both know that Thomas wants to talk, and they both know that Janus will not reply, or if he does, it will be with sharp sarcasm or otherwise cutting words, an answer that will not answer anything at all. So Thomas doesn’t say anything, merely glances over every now and again to be sure that Janus is still there, is still fine, is still breathing. Every time, he is greeted with the same sight: Janus staring off into the empty space in front of him, face blank, a faint tightness around his eyes the only indication that he is still in pain. There is a wall between them, invisible yet insurmountable, and Thomas has no idea how to breach it.

Why does their relationship feel so off-kilter now? Why are things so natural between them when Janus is a snake, small and speechless and cuddly, and not when he is a human?

“I don’t mean to force you to stay,” he murmurs. “If you’re really that uncomfortable, it’s alright if you leave.”

He’s watching him out of the corner of his eye, and as such, he sees the wince, slight though it may be.

“It’s… not that,” Janus admits. “I am grateful for your concern, truly. I just… so love being in unfamiliar territory.” His voice is a quiet drawl, but laced with exhaustion, his words just shy of slurred together.

He takes a second to parse through the words, and then smiles. “Well, that makes two of us,” he says. “I’d be alright with muddling through together. And look, I know that most of the time, when we hang out, you’re a snake. And that’s fine! One hundred percent fine, if that’s what you’re most comfortable with! But uh, I really wouldn’t mind spending more time with you as, like, a person, too, if that makes sense. Not that you’re not a person when you’re a snake! Wait—” He furrows his brow, trying to untangle his words, and looks over, certain that Janus will at least be amused by his rambling.

He’s not. Because Janus is asleep, his chin resting against his chest and his hat about to fall into his lap. Thomas feels an inexorable sense of fondness sweep over him, and with a gentle movement, he reaches over to pluck the hat from Janus’ head, revealing brown hair that falls in springy waves. He places the hat on the nightstand, casting one last look at Janus before returning his attention to his laptop.

There is plenty of work to do, and he is content to do it here, sitting in bed with Janus napping by his side. So he does, his fingers clacking against the keys long into the night, and Janus sleeps on.

-----------

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. But he must, because he wakes, and slowly processes the fact that all is not as he left it. For one, the light is off, the room dark, and his laptop is resting on the nightstand, next to the shadow of Janus’ hat. For another, there is a heavy weight on top of his chest, pinning one of his arms against his side, and in the seconds before his eyes adjust sufficiently to the darkness, he fears the worst, fears that someone has broken into his apartment and… crawled into bed with him, and the irrationality of that idea is enough to dampen his panic. He squints, trying to will his vision into focus, and begins to make out what features he can see of the face pressed against his chest, features that very closely resemble his own, and that is when he remembers: Janus on his arm, Janus injured and bleeding, Janus on his bed, Janus asleep. Janus… still here.

Janus, snuggled up against him, his head resting on his chest, his body curled into his side, latched onto him with both… no, there’s more than two arms. At least four, maybe more; it’s difficult to determine without the light on, because all that Thomas can tell is that he is being very thoroughly hugged, and that it feels very nice.

This fact is distracting enough that it’s a full three minutes or so before he realizes that there is another figure perched on the edge of his bed. Panic roars up in him once again, his heart pounding and the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, but then he notices the details, notices the poof of the figure’s sleeves, the wildness of their hair silhouetted against the light that creeps around the edges of the doorframe, the unholy red gleam of their eyes. And he… well, he doesn’t relax, not exactly. But most of his fear sidesteps directly into annoyance.

“Remus,” he hisses, as quietly as he can manage. “What are you doing?”

Remus cocks his head, his eyes shining brighter. He’s crouched almost like a grotesque parody of a cat, ready to pounce. But the Duke himself is still and silent, and it’s very odd. Almost worrying. And when he finally speaks, it’s not at all what Thomas was expecting.

“DeeDee got hurt,” he says, voice a subdued whisper, and Thomas is taken aback, both by the seriousness of his tone and the evident consideration toward not waking Janus up.

“I— yeah,” Thomas replies, uncertain as to where this is going. “I, uh, patched him up as best I could. He said he’d heal soon.” A thought occurs to him, and if Janus weren’t keeping him flat on his back, he’d be sitting bolt upright, finger pointed in accusation. “Wait, he said he was hurt in the Imagination. Did you have something to do with that?”

“I can’t keep an eye on every part of La La Land at once, Thomas.” He shrugs. “It’s not my fault if Snake from Snake Farm wandered into something he shouldn’t have.” He giggles, high-pitched and a little manic, but Thomas wonders at his tone of voice. It’s as irreverent as always, but underneath that— can it be concern? He really didn’t think Remus did concern. “Snakes should know better than to let their guard down. Your mind is dark and full of terrors.” He smiles, several rows of pointed white teeth gleaming an unnatural white in the shadows.

“I don’t even watch—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, and then freezes as Janus makes a small sound. Seconds pass, and he waits with bated breath, but Janus doesn’t seem to wake. “Okay, then,” he continues, more quietly. “Is there a reason why you’re here?”

Remus blinks, and once again, Thomas is reminded of a cat. A terrible, eldritch horror of a cat, but a cat nonetheless. “DeeDee doesn’t like to be around people when he’s hurt,” he says, rocking back and forth in place. “He doesn’t like people knowing when he’s weak.” He sighs through his nose, his breath whistling more than is natural. “He holes up in his room and doesn’t come out for anything, usually. Not even when I bang on the door and put rats in his air vents.”

Thomas stares, trying to process that. “But he’s here with me,” he says dumbly. “He decided to stay here. He’s…” He trails off. He doesn’t need to describe what Janus is doing; surely, Remus can see it for himself, can see them engaging in what can only be labeled as cuddling. And it’s not as if this is the first time; it’s just the first time Janus has been human-shaped.

“Yes, he is,” Remus agrees, voice sharp, and he is definitely trying to convey something here, something that Thomas is missing. “Tommy-boy, Tommy-boy, Tommy-boy, you’re just not getting it, are you? Well, that’s fine. Just remember that the snakes on the plane die too, if the plane crashes.”

“Is the plane crashing?” Thomas asks, voice hoarse, hesitant, and once again, Remus smiles, wide and dangerous.

“Not now, maybe,” he says. “But it still could. It always can. That’s the fun thing about airplanes. I could help with that, if you wanted.”

“No thanks,” Thomas is quick to reply.

Remus shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says, and then pauses. “Janus doesn’t let just anyone this close, you know. So don’t fuck it up.”

It’s such an uncharacteristic statement that by the time Thomas has recovered enough to reply, Remus is gone, melting into the bedsheets in a grotesque puddle of goo, and then, even that disappears. Thomas is left in a dark, quiet room, and he has never felt more awake.

But Janus is still here, still asleep, is holding onto him for dear life and hiding his face against his chest. And it’s something precious, something intimate, something that Thomas feels privileged to see at all, and Remus’ voice rings loud in his head: Janus doesn’t let just anyone this close. Why, then, has he allowed him this? Why has he let Thomas see him at his most vulnerable, no matter how reluctant he was at the start? Why did he choose to stay, rather than leaving once Thomas nodded off?

Each question only leads to more questions, and it’s clear that he won’t receive any answers tonight. So he settles back in as best he can, though it is a long time before he manages to fall asleep again.

In the morning, Janus is gone. He wishes he could be more surprised.

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