#and he gets a sword bc i think that's hot

[ashes-of-twilight-art]

grips this man. pay rent if ur gonna live in my head, pretty boy

first image is for Chapter 1 of Bravery, go check it out if you like fics

[azu1as]

HI TINN ITS ME PITTY 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

i was wondering if youre still open for prompts… and if u are can you write about pbss somehow tranported to current mount hua, and everyone is confused af and just watches pbss and divine dragon interact (and maybe argue) with each other

PITTY HELLO ♥✨♥✨♥ yes i'm always open to prompts !!! im literally rotating rotmhs in my head 24/7

this first half was actually born from another prompt by mei on discord but I want to build on it, so dumping it here 👍 HAHAHA

»—————————–✄

The Plum Blossom Sword Saint lets out a ragged breath, his vision rapidly fading. His sword falls from his hand and soon after his body follows.

"...Mount Hua..." he mumbles, aware that the only thing left that awaited him was the cold claim of death.

He dies. And in the next second, he blinks up to a clear sky, the dead bodies that surrounded him gone.

%%%

Dawn had barely broken when an incessant banging against Mount Hua's gates and shouting started and broke the tranquil silence, rousing several disciples.

"OPEN UP!" Someone barks out from the other side. "Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Open this gate right now!!"

Un Am frowns at the lack of manners and respect being shown by the source of the shouting. He reaches the gate and pulls it open. It takes Un Am a bit of effort to ensure that his voice sounded cordial, "Hello, we aren't accepting any visitors this ear—"

Un Am cuts himself off as he takes note of the state of the man in front of him. The man's robes and face were crusted with dried blood despite a lack of any visible injury. That is, if one ignore his lack of an arm.

It still didn't explain the amount of blood he had on his body that was free from any wounds and visible scars.

The man's eyes were bloodshot and trembling. Un Am, even from afar, could tell that there was something deeply wrong with this man. He seemed unconscious of the way he emanated a manic aura; there was a charged sort of energy surrounded him that made an instinctive part of Un Am grip his sword handle in response.

The most notable and unexplainable part of the man, however, was the blood-stained plum blossom embroidered on his chest.

"Who...?" Un Am finds himself unable to react to the man's speed and freezes in place as the man grabs him by the lapels of his robe. He pulls Un Am towards himself and grits out,

"What. Happened. To. My Sect."

%%%

Baek Cheon was quickly ushered into the Sect Leader's residence the moment he returned with a few others from their last excursion to Xi'an.

"What's going on?" He asks.

Elder Un Geom, for a lack of a better word, looked harried. His face twists into a grimace. "It's a bit complicated..."

Baek Cheon doesn't know how he should feel about that response.

Surely, it couldn't be too terrible. After all, their sect was still standing and they did leave Chung Myung behind to stay on Mount Hua as he and the other chosen second-class disciples only had to deliver some goods and tokens to their subsect. Their youngest wouldn't let anything dangerous happen on his watch.

Baek Cheon tries to probe more information. "Before you pulled me away, Baek Sang mentioned something about a guest...?"

"We aren't quite sure of the specifics either, I'm afraid. But the man claims to be one of our ancestors from over a hundred years ago."

"An ancestor? Was he able to verify the claims?"

Un Geom nods. "I've never seen someone weild our plum blossom technique with as much power as he did."

If that was the case, then maybe their supposed ancestor could help them develop and improve their sword techniques even further by teaching them more about the skills that have been lost through time.

"Isn't that a good thing then?"

"It should be, but Chung Myung..."

Ah. Hearing those last three trailing words did not promise anything good.

When they finally opened the door to the Sect Leader's residence, they were greeted to the sight of a soulless Hyun Jong slumped against the wall, a freaked-out Yoon Jong who seemed to be torn between jumping into the fray and throwing himself out the window, and—

"WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO BEAT UP OUR ANCESTOR, YOU BRAT?!"

Their ancestor and Chung Myung pause in their positions as they both turned eerily similar pink gazes towards the two new entrants.

Chung Myung had the end of their ancestor's ponytail pulled towards him and scrunched up in his fists. His knee pressed against the older man's chest and neck while his jaw was unhinged as he was clearly attempting to bite the man's single arm.

Their ancestor in turn had his one hand closed around half of Chung Myung's face, trying to push him away. His legs were wrapped around Chung Myung's lower half in an inescapable hold and he seemed to have been gearing up for a headbutt before Baek Cheon and Un Geom interrupted them.

"You want me to call this brat my ancestor?!" Chung Myung shouts out as he renewed his attempts to bite the man by roughly grabbing onto the base of his ponytail.

"I'm one hundred years older than you!" Their ancestor grits out as he unashamedly bites Chung Myung's arm. "You disrespectful descendant! Back in my time—"

"'Back in my time', my ass!"

"You...!"

Off to the side, their current sect leader lets out a pitiful moan of mental pain. Baek Cheon would comfort him if he didn't feel the same amount of psychic damage as he watches his youngest sajil and ancestor continue their childish scuffle, rolling on the floor and uncaringly biting into each other like they were both five-year olds.

Later on, after tempers have cooled and everyone (read: Chung Myung and their ancestor) had managed to settle down into a tenuous truce, Hyun Jong turns a tired, but respectful nod towards the bruised man, "May we know this ancestor's identity?"

"Hm?" Said man absently rubs against the embroidered plum blossom on his new uniform. "Ah, I supposed you would know me as the Plum Blossom Sword Saint."

They would have expressed their shock and surpise, but they get easily distracted by Chung Myung's mocking scoff as he rolls his eyes in response.

[kaerinio]

my mind is buzzing with thoughts about the true significance of the house of the undying as not only a vehicle of prophecy and revelation . . . but as a huge figure of true foreshadowing (about the outcome of the upcoming long night).

[dragonsholygrail]

I know that dominating and intimidating monsters with a nice little sarcastic streak are hot and all, we love them and wanna fuck them, but can I also get some nerd monsters?

Like I just want a little nerd. I also want monsters who are just total dorks over their special interests and they share that with you in their own excitable ways.

Minotaur bf who’s a total dork over puzzles and games. You’ll come out into the living room at midnight, seeing the bed was empty, and you’ll find him sitting under the singular light of the dining table. Totally hunched over his almost finished puzzle that he started earlier that day. Then during game nights he’s an absolute best. You swear he’s the most competitive monster you’ve ever met. Winning round after round, chasing that high until he finally snaps and throws the board game off the table and you on it so he can celebrate his victory properly.

Orc bf who’s a fanatic about collecting weapons. He has all sorts of antique guns and swords. Many that you don’t even remember the name of and yet you can recite its entire history bc your bf will drone on and on about it. Whenever he gets a new weapon he gives you an entire tour of his collection room, showing you how he’s moved everything around to highlight his new weapon. You can’t help but find him painstakingly hot as he handles it and you make your interest known to him. His eyes darken, catching onto your meaning and suddenly you’ve replaced the weapon on the platform but he quickly returns it to its place as he fucks you with the handle, rambling about its many uses.

Dragon bf who’s hyperfixated on the quality of jewels and gold. He’s studied the art of jewelry making and blacksmithing. He can tell you the grade of a diamond just by glance, not even needing equipment to check. He loves to combine his two favorite things the most. You and the rest of his treasures. Adorning you with only his finest jewels and nothing else. Liking most how they barely cover anything up yet make your body shine like the angel you are. He almost can’t help himself as he throws you down onto his hoard and ruts into you, watching the jewels sway and bounce on your delectable body.

Werewolf bf who’s a complete gym bro and knows everything there is to know about fitness. He knows the perfect forms to every exercise you could think of, he’s memorized all the benefits to each individual piece of equipment, and he can tell you how best to maximize your time in the gym. Not that he ever would, respecting your level of interest or disinterest in the gym. He knows it’s more his thing and he’s happy you simply coming along with him to use the sauna for members only… and their guests. He loves the burn and the freedom of the run as he works out and releases that energy. But what he loves more is coming into the empty sauna after he’s done and making you both work up a real sweat as he takes you on the bench, the wet squelch of your joining bodies echoing off the walls.

[justaz]

arthur and all his knights know that merlin has magic (it’s a test leon sets up for each potential round table recruit, they follow merlin out while he’s doing magical things and leon falls behind for a bit to allow the potential recruit to find out merlin’s magic and then he rushes up all out of breath like “did i miss anything? :o” and if the potential recruit goes “nope! all good! he’s just gathering herbs :)” then leon tells arthur who allows them to sit at the round table) and arthur is secretly drafting a magic ban repeal along with all the laws of what kind of magic will be punishable by you know time in the dungeons, a fine, or banishment. merlin doesn’t know. the round table wants it to be a surprise.

anyway, some curse gets placed on camelot and they need a sorcerer and arthur + his knights watch gaius and merlin coming up with lies on the fly and cringing at how abysmal they are at lying and contemplating how they never found out sooner. gaius does the iconic line of “i have chosen a woman” as the sorcerer, or rather sorceress, to help them out. they have to hide their snickers at the look merlin sends him. uhh instead of the dolma this time tho, the potion turns him into a younger woman who merlin places the moniker of emrys upon.

merlin follows the knights out into the woods and starts his shenanigans. he conjures illusions of emrys to lead the knights all throughout the woods before transforming and meeting the illusion that led arthur astray. arthur is Staring bc hot damn is this sorceress hot- fuck its merlin…eh, merlin was always hot. it tracks he’d be hot as a woman. and she’s wearing purple! arthur always knew purple suited her. he expects emrys to be like dragoon or the dolma and be all sassy and witty but, well, she is witty! just…very, very flirtatious. arthur gets tongue tied at how touchy and seductive and alluring she is.

the other knights’ illusions lead them back together just without arthur and they’re chilling like “oh well, its merlin. he won’t hurt arthur”. emrys gives arthur the cure and brings him back to his knights who are surprised at the sudden appearance and draw their swords. emrys holds up her hands and smirks “i bring him unharmed,” then brings her fingers up to drag under arthur’s jaw, “can’t say much for being untouched.” she winks at arthur and waves her fingers at the knight, “see you around, arthur pendragon”

then she transforms back into merlin and appears behind the knights where lancelot gives him a Look to which he dutifully ignores. arthur asks where merlin is and the knights are like “he hasn’t returned” and merlin is like “hello?? yes i have?? i’m right here??” and the knights go “oh! there you are!! you were here the whole time!! i forgot :)” and merlin looks arthur up and down before teasing too much like emrys “got lucky with a sorceress, did you? imagine what your father would think” before turning and walking away leaving arthur. Hot. and. Bothered.

[yuwuta]

JJK OLYMPICS OHHH YOURE A GENIUS

head spinning w sooooooo many athlete aus rn….. 

satoru honestly isn’t half as cocky as the media makes him out to be but he could be because you bring up world champion men’s freestyle swim times and it’s his name on the scoreboard ten times before someone else shows up. he’s faster than himself by fifteen seconds all around, he’s earned a bit of cockiness. mentioned in the last post that whenever he’s at a competition and he finishes a race, he looks at the camera and signs a little infinity sign and then blows a kiss to you. some bitter old coach always calls him out on it, and gets him fined for unsportsmanlike conduct, and he’s happy to pay the fees if it means getting a message home to you, but eventually you two come up with a new code; and at his next race, he places gold, turns to the camera, crosses his middle finger over his pointer finger and smiles. when he’s in his post-race interview, he makes sure to explain that he does it for you with the widest smile on his face.

megumi nepotism baby but not in the same sport. toji was a multi gold medalist back in his heyday for shooting, so it’s not really a surprise to anybody that megumi has scary good aim, but he takes to archery instead of shooting. actually the idea of megumi being an emo little kid and throwing rocks at a tree when his dad pissed him off his hilarious, and even funnier is toji watching him, slightly amused and a little scared because megumi is maybe six and hitting the exact same spot every single time. he grows to be very blase about it—it’s more of a release/hobby for him that he happens to be really good at, and well, now good enough to earn a few olympic medals. megumi is not a fan of having his dad ruffle his hair on international television after he’s won, but he supposes it can’t be helped.

i don’t know where to put yuuta…. tennis…. tempting….. him in his little white shorts…. little grunts after he serves…. cries….. a complete 180 in his personality when he’s playing vs doing anything else. so charming and sweet and kinda shy when he’s being interviewed, and the second he steps on the court his eyes are so cold it’s scary…. need him… extremely nerdy about his rackets, and shoes, and clothes, and rambles to you about aerodynamics and posture and torque whenever you ask him to teach you, and you always have to shutup him up with a kiss and remind him that yeah you sort of want to learn to play tennis for him, but mostly you came bc he looks hot doing it. once he got asked in an interview if he ever thinks about you while he’s playing and his response was very concise, “no, never. it would be a big distraction,” and did not realize the implications of his heavily televised words. 

also…. not to make this post 40% yuuta but we could pull from canon a bit and make his sport fencing. he doesn’t excel because he’s the strongest, it’s because he’s learned to treat the sword as an extension of himself and a good strategist… also because i like the image of him pulling the helmet/mask off and shaking his hair out………..

don’t even know where to put yuuji…. volleyball? basketball? track and field??? the irony of him easily being the most athletic but canonically does not want to play sports 😭 but i can see him playing a sport because someone scouts him and it turns out to be a way to make steady money to support himself and his grandpa :( by the time he’s qualified and made it to the olympics, wasuke is doing much better (thanks to yuuji having landed some preemptive sponsorships and being able to afford better medical care), but not so well enough that he can travel across the world to watch yuuji play. wasuke tells you that you should travel and be with yuuji, but yuuji is so touched by the idea that you would stay with his grandpa and be by his side when he’s away :(( he wins gold, of course, and he doesn’t even wait until the closing ceremony—which, he’d mentioned in all of his interviews, so nobody can be too upset. he’s on record saying, “i’m excited to play, but i’m even happier to be going home. my girlfriend and my grandpa are watching me and i miss them!” several times— he’s on the first flight home with flowers, and tears in his eyes. puts his gold medal on his grandpa’s neck as a thank you, and spends probably thirty minutes straight hugging you and kissing you and honestly don’t put it past him to propose now that he’s got nike ambassador money 

nanami started judo as a way to relieve the stress of his overbearing job, and someone at the gym/training center notices he seems to be a natural despite being a beginner. he starts to draw a crowd, which annoys him at first because the point of judo was discipline and release from having to deal with too many people at his office job, but nanami supposes he can’t be too mad when you introduce yourself as a talent scout and offer him professional training. there’s irony in him accepting your offer, because it was definitely not based in professionalism at all… quitting his job as a salaryman to become a professional athlete in his mid-twenties was not on his bingo chart, but if it means he will have met you, then so be it. you’re with him all the way, through his training, competitions, world championships, qualifiers, all the way until he’s on the podium. you’re the first to congratulate him, but he interjects by telling you he’s quitting. you ask him why—he just won at the olympics for crying out loud, but nanami just shakes his head, puts down his flowers and his medal so his hands are free to hold your face and tell you, “it would be unethical to kiss my manager, so i am quitting.” (later, when everything is said and done, and you two are cuddling, you mention to him that he could just hire a new manager, and not quit his new career, to which he blushes because yeah… that’s probably more rational, but rational was not in his train of thought at the time)

[kaluawoo]

While I agree that giant swords are super cool, they're also kinda shitty weapons for a ninja

[ktsumu]

THE CUT THAT ALWAYS BLEEDS

pairing: childe / tartaglia x f!reader wc: 4.4k

choosing to love him is choosing endless bloodshed; all of it is yours.

(alternatively — the metamorphosis of a god through the eyes of his keeper.)

warnings: suggestive / mentions of sex, nudity, profanity, angst, mentions of murder / death, ambiguous ending i think, almost canon compliant

note: 4.4k words and i don't think even this has a plot. WHO CARES dedicated to @shoyostar bc i never stop talking and @crysugu :3 here he is!

Before he was ever Tartaglia, eleventh of the Harbingers, he was a timid child. 

He feared the simple things — speaking to neighbours, strangers, the mailman. He never went to the market alone, not without his parents, not without his older brother to hold his hand. Neighbourhood boys called him names and you called him sweeter things, bringing him in for hot chocolate because of his red eyes, holding his frozen hands in a lukewarm basin. 

Your town was on the coast but he rarely saw the water; he was afraid of drowning and even more afraid of sinking, even though you could see the ice was six inches thick through the sides of the fishing holes scattered everywhere. Not even the men would crack it, fathers that ate at the head of the table, yet he thought he’d be the one. Nor did he trust anyone to save him. 

Childe was Ajax before he was anything for anyone else, his name from myth. Eagle. He was born a  Greek tragedy; hero, for most. 

He was fourteen when he disappeared. Your mother said he’d come back home, kids get mad. Your father said a bear got to him, a weak thing like that — your whole neighbourhood looked for him after he vanished. 

He was gone three days in the woods but he told you he’d been gone for months. He was underground; you asked if it was Hell but he said it was much more. When he crawled back up to Morepesok, he was a different person.

He looked you in the eye and told you he was finally ready to fight.

+

You didn’t believe he was lost for three months until you watched him hold a sword.

By the barrels on the fishing dock, boys fought with wooden blades. Girls would watch and sit on box crates, swaddled up to their ears, cheering on whichever one they liked that week. They’d watch as they hit each other, splinters snagging on coats, knuckles gone white from the cold and how tight they held their handles. 

When Childe stepped up for the first time, they snickered at him. The boy who ran away from home, coming to join the sword fights. It was a joke and they laughed.

(You saw something in his eyes that day and it scared you. There is nothing more terrifying than a child with bloodlust.)

He beat the kid so badly that they put thirty stitches in his forehead, and you were left to do patchwork on the bomb.

Cutting coloured wires, you dabbed Childe’s red cheek with a warm cloth, wringing it out in the bowl of water that separates the two of you. He was calmer then, in front of you. Not that he wasn’t before; it was less of not being calm and more of craving victory, more of a test of his newfound gift.

“I told you to stop,” you mumbled, “hitting him, I mean.”

“I stop, he starts. I won.”

“What did you win? Where's your prize?”

Childe looked at you dumb, with his dumb childish eyes that no longer held hate. Maybe it was somewhere, hidden, beneath the water you drown in, but instead the surface held a glare of wonder. He was Ajax again, always hopeful.

He hissed when you dabbed his skin with something other than water, something that stung. “I—”

“No one wins in war, Ajax,” you scolded. “You’ll see someday.”

“I won’t be in a war.”

You scoffed, your hand gripping his jaw when he tried to run away. “We’ll see.”

+

You’re seventeen when he stumbles inside your house, the wooden door cracking against the wall as he slumps to the floor.

Your feet are cold when you step away from the wood stove in your living room, dropping to your knees, holding his face in your hands that are always so much warmer than his. They cradle his flushed cheeks, sweat beading on his forehead; he’s gripping at a pulse in his ribs.

“I’m fine,” he assures you, before you start to cry, “just tired. I’m just tired.”

He eases the door shut, his head tilting back against the wall. His hand rests on your knee, squeezing it like he’s grounding himself, counting on the fabric of your pants to do it for him. You touch the icy veins that run over his knuckles and he comes back to life.

“What happened to you?” you rush, your family asleep down the hallway. You turn the dial on the oil lamp beside you, watching the fire reflecting off of his dirty cheeks.

He laughs, pulling your wrist off when you smack your hand over his mouth with a lousy ‘alright, alright’ and a glance towards your parents’ bedroom. “Me?” he coughs out. 

“You should see the other two.”

(You don’t know what told you first, but you remember going cold.)

“What do you mean?” you whisper. You can’t stop whispering, you can’t stop shaking. “Ajax, what did you do?”

Childe’s smile tilts itself crooked. “I killed them,” he says. 

His voice is so quiet it cracks under the pressure to not be heard.

(He’s smiling, but he’s crying. It doesn’t look like he means to. He doesn’t know he is.)

You want to run. You notice the smear of blood on his jaw again—is that even his? His hand still clutches your knee but you only now notice the red his palm stains it with, the red on the side of his torso. You want to run.

(You should run.)

You don’t run. Because it’s Ajax, and he’s tired of running tonight. Why would you?

“It’s okay,” you say with a nod and a shiver, like shutters in a hurricane. You’re both crying, and he’s against your chest, and he’s still so fucking cold that it’s migrating to you. “Stand up. Ajax, stand up—”

“I can’t,” “You can, you need to get in the bath.”

“I’ll wake your—“

“If you were ever worried about that, you wouldn’t have come here, so Ajax would you please—“

He breathes out, muffling his groans as he staggers to his feet. You’re not of much help but at least your hands, your shaking hands, are telling him you’re there. And that’s enough. 

“I love it when you say that,” he grimaces, shuffling towards the hallway. “My name.”

+

Childe misses your eighteenth birthday by ten minutes.

You ate dinner with your family at your favourite pub, his siblings wrote you cards and pulled your ears, you tied your hair loose and flirted with the pretty guy who fed the boat lines. You don’t like him all that much, but he looks nothing like your neighbour and for you, that is a fine enough reason to talk. 

Stones hit your window at ten past midnight, and Childe stands in the snowy alley outside of your bedroom. He wields another pebble and tilts his head.

Your window’s too old for you to ignore me.

You pull on your coat and boots, scarf too because he talks too much, and head outside into the night, creeping out the back door. You cross your arms, walking over to where he stands just outside of the lamplight.

“Hiding?” you ask, stopping in front of him.

Childe laughs like nothing’s wrong, digging through his back pocket with his gloved hand, handing you a box. “Happy birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday."

“Belated.”

You glance between his rosy cheeks and the box before you take it, looking towards the end of the alley to avoid his stare. Because guys like Childe don’t look away — you know better than to look back.

“Thank you,” you murmur, tucking your hands back into the warmth of your pockets.

Childe nods; you don’t open gifts in front of him, you know better than to do that, too. He knows better than to think you would. 

You look at his hands, eyebrows furrowing. “Leather gloves?”

“So you noticed?”

“How? You couldn’t afford long johns last year.”

Childe grins. “I got a job.”

“At the tank house,” you say, crossing your arms. “Which, you had last year.”

The look in his eyes tells you he’s in deep — he doesn’t seem to care about it as much as you do. “I’m a Harbinger, now.”

“You—”

“I’m the youngest—” “You’re the dumbest,” you grit, sticking a finger in between his ribs. “You're eighteen — what kind of achievement is that?”

He takes a deep breath, his lungs pushing your finger back until it falls defeated. “I didn’t expect you to be happy, believe me.”

“Why,” you whisper, “would I ever be happy to watch you sell yourself to killers?”

“You know I’m no better,”

“Oh, Ajax, if you think that’s what I know then you’re more stupid than I thought.”

There’s no real reason to excuse the blood on his hands other than the fact that they’re so gentle when they hold yours.

There’s a voice down the alley and two drunk men in hats and coats wave your way. You grimace, but Childe waves back. 

“This is why you’re outside. You don’t want them to know where you live.”

“Or where you live.”

You grit your teeth. “Yes, because it’s great that your allies are a threat your family.”

“You’re not my family,” he says, “that’d make things weird.”

Your eyes well and you swallow, looking back at the men who stare at both of you. They murmur amongst themselves and you try to ignore them, but it’s hard when Childe won’t look away.

A breeze of snow from the rooftops drifts over you, and you look at him one more time. The last, you try to pledge to yourself. “Don’t leave with them.”

“It’s too late now and you know it.”

“How the fuck would I know it?”

“Don’t cry,” he tells you, much softer now that he knows you didn’t realize it yet, “I’ll come home, I’m not gone forever. If anything, I’ll come back richer. No one will sleep cold.”

“You’ll come back to spoil your family with blood money?”

“I’d spoil you, too,” he adds, “but I know better than to try that.”

There is a heavy silence between the two of you. It isn’t the weight of his gold or the weight of him not coming home; it is the weight of lead, of gunpowder. The weight of the bullets that his two new friends that wait in the street have loaded.

Childe takes your arms, tugging your hands from your pockets, frowning at your white fingertips and cracking knuckles. 

“Take these—”

“I don’t want your dirty paws,”

“Well, I don’t want your dry hands. And when I come home, I’ll need them.”

Childe drives the knife deeper, twists it through your chest, and slips off his gloves. He places them in your hands and just snickers when you pocket them. “No worries, I’ll just get a new pair.”

“Great.”

He nods, starting down the alley. He knows you well enough to understand that you don’t want to say goodbye, not when you know you’re saying goodbye to how things were before. Instead, he just calls over his shoulder.

“See you at Christmas?”

“Why even come back?”

“Right,” he chuckles. “I wanna see your gift next time, though.”

Then he leaves, and he doesn’t look at you again. You suppose he’s been trained to do that, but then again, you can’t remember a time where he has looked back at you, anyway. He’s never looked back at anyone before the end.

+

He comes home every Christmas, just like he promised. 

Each time he does, he drags you out to a cabin outside of town, one so hidden in the woods that you almost thought he built it, and he fucks you like he missed you before he was gone. Not enough to leave the Fatui, but enough to come home once in a while. And once in a while is all you're gonna get, so you don't let it go.

He comes home, tells his family all about his life as a businessman, a toy salesman you once heard, and then sneaks you out so you can love him as loud as you want. Then, you eat the fish you bring, he tells you how much he missed the sturgeon in Morepesok, and he's gone before the sun comes up. 

Childe lets you go with a tired breath, watching the fire beat against your glistening skin as you sit on the edge of the bed. The warmth of him courses through you like a river current and you fix your hair with weak hands, biting the tie that was around your wrist. “I feel your eyes, you’re not subtle.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” he says simply. “You’re beautiful. More beautiful now.”

“You said that last year.”

“Next year, too.”

You roll your eyes, back straightening when he looms behind you, his naked body against yours. His hand sneaks around your waist and his lips press against your shoulder blade, kissing until he gets to the juncture of your neck and collarbone. 

“Ajax,”

“I know,” he says against your skin, “gotta eat.”

“You’d think they would feed you in the castle.”

“Hardly a castle, sweetheart."

“That belt says otherwise,” you mumble, standing, making him let go. You pick up your underwear from the floor, too hot to wear anything else. “It’s custom.”

He snorts, flopping back down on the bed. “Birthday gift.”

“From who?”

“Ooh, jealous?”

“Of someone who doesn’t know who you are? No.”

Childe hums a laugh, giving a look in agreement to the ceiling that you catch out of the corner of your eye. He rests a hand on his chest, watching you sweat in the heat of the fireplace, smiling at the life he has for the next four hours.

He clears his raspy throat. “You finally wore it. The gift.” He snickers, “I only waited two years.”

You look over your shoulder at him, pulling your cami over your head. “I wasn’t gonna let money rot.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“What?”

“The stone. Do you know what it is?”

You stare, face hot. You’re partially embarrassed to not know, never having left Snezhnaya and let alone your town, but you’re curious enough to shake your head. Childe smiles like he knows that you wish you knew enough to say yes.

(You hate that he’s travelled the world you used to tell him you dreamt about. The one you made him dream about, too.)

He scoots up to lean against the headboard, and you take the invitation to come back to the bed. You crawl onto the mattress again, sitting beside him as he moves the clasp of the necklace to the back of your neck, and the stone to the front.

“They call it Cor Lapis,” he says, “it’s in Liyue.”

“Oh.”

He lets go. “It’s not rare, but I like it.”

“You spend a lot of time in Liyue, it makes sense.”

“So you do read my letters,” he says with a grin, cocking his head and holding your hand. “What else do I say?”

“What about the necklace?”

“Huh?”

“If it’s not rare, why get a custom-made necklace?” you ask. “Expensive for such a simple stone.”

Childe’s eyes drop back down to the necklace, holding it out from your neck and in line with the light of the bedside table lamp. It glitters in his eyes and you’re sure it does in yours.

“Cor Lapis is dull,” he tells you. “It doesn’t actually glow until it’s cracked open.”

You look at the cut edges of the stone, framed in gold. It’s small, but it’s something that looks like Childe gave it to you. When your mother saw it, she said it was beautiful and asked when he was home last.

You focus on the fingers that hold it.

“I found it a lot like you,” he says, his voice lower, his eyes finally looking up to face you head-on. “Heart of gold.”

“I don’t need to be cracked open."

“You have been,” he corrects, “you are right now.”

He’s right. He’s so fucking right that it hurts your head to think about and hurts your chest to acknowledge. 

Childe’s hand runs up and under your shirt, showing your skin. “And you’re glowing.”

You sit in the silence inside your open ribs and give him a small smile, standing up to shake his hand off of you.

“I’ll let you tell me that next winter, too.”

+

Next Christmas, you stay in bed. Childe cradles your necklace again but doesn’t tell you about Liyue because you don’t ask, too proud to ask twice. 

Instead, you lay against his chest, littered with brand new scars you didn’t see last time. Some you watch, others you look away from because they run too deep for you to need to know how he got them. Year by year, you get more quiet.

Childe does, too. He hasn’t lost his boyish charm but it shares his body with something else now.

“Why don’t you come home before Christmas?” you ask. “Once, even. Teucer’s birthday?”

“It’s not that easy. If it was, I’d be there for every birthday. Yours, theirs.”

You purse your lips, rolling onto your back to stare aimlessly at the ceiling. “Right,” you whisper.

“Don’t do that,”

“Why do you say that like I’m fishing for empathy?” you ask casually, scoffing a laugh. “You used to have some, you know. Before you were a fucking hitman.”

“You have no problem fucking said hitman, so please, if you now raise any sudden changes of heart, I should probably know.” 

You look at him coldly and he shakes his head. “It’s not like I want to hurt you.”

His arm gets heavier around you, weighing you down against his side. You fight it off when you sit up, turning to look down at him. Déjà vu washes over you both.

“Do you honestly think that I’m talking about me?” you say through laughs. “I’ve gotten used to your wounds, Ajax, it’s not about me.”

“I—”

“How about your family?” you say. It shakes the cabin walls, even though you weren’t loud at all. “You have younger siblings who idolize you and older ones who know better than what you tell them. Do you think they’re dumb?”

He stares at you. You ask, “You remember them, don’t you?”

“I remember my siblings, yes, thank you for aski—”

“Did you know Teucer made a sword?”

Childe’s next sentence fades into a sigh, and his lips purse as he shakes his head.

You cross your arms. “It looks just like yours.”

“Brotherly love, toys are harmless.”

“Who do you think will stitch his eyebrow? Or sneak him into the bathroom after he comes down from his first kill—”

“I never asked you to be my keeper,” Childe says, the grip on your hand tighter than it was before.

“And look how it turned out, anyway.” 

Childe leans back against the bed frame and thin pillows he’s stacked up, looking anywhere but at you. 

He’s older now and hardened into someone you can’t recognize, but he resembles a lot of the boy he was born as. He still doesn’t look you in the eye when he apologizes, not when he means it.

“Do you want me to leave?”

You stand, finding your clothes on the floor. You’re too hot, so you put on your underwear and shirt and leave it at that. “I brought fish. Rest while you can.”

+

It’s July, and Childe comes back to Morepesok in the middle of a blizzard.

Glasses rattle in behind the bar and you dry the ones from the sink, since the hot water ran out an hour ago. The pub’s empty but your shift still stands, even though no one dares to go outside when the storms are this bad, and it’s only you and a few stragglers left to pray the windows don’t shatter when the breeze hits you from the coast.

Every time you catch yourself in the counter’s reflection, you see your necklace, and you wonder what the beaches in Liyue are like. You can’t swim here without freezing to death and you can’t dream in relentless snow, so you let yourself think of him sometimes.

(Warm, swimming in streams. You wonder if he ever got over his fear of drowning when he realized he wouldn’t sink.)

Air whistles through old panels and teases the fire that burns in the seating area, and there’s a quiet hum of voices that dim the crackle of the logs you throw in every half-hour. A glass slides off the counter and breaks in the wind.

You gasp and jump, stepping back, stepping forward when you hit something — someone. You turn around and Childe stares back, snow on his eyelashes and his hair damp from hail and the sweat beneath his hat.

“Why are you here?”

“Oh, you’re so welcoming. Need help?”

You scoff, kneeling with a brush and pan, guiding the glass back into a pile. You don’t answer his question. “They don’t really mean it when they say 'Christmas in July,' you know.”

“You were the one who told me to visit more, right?”

You nod, standing again, dumping the glass into a bin. “Outside the bar, staff only."

Childe slowly raises his hands in surrender, stepping quietly out from the back and rounding to face you again. He leans on the freezing counters, looking around the room. “You work here?”

“A normal person job, yes.”

“So boring.”

“Why’d you come back?” you ask, going back to washing glasses. “When do you leave?”

Please, stay. Just for once, stay.

“Tomorrow.”

“Do they ever let you off your leash for more than a day? Or do you just hate snowstorms that much now?”

“They have gotten worse since I’ve been gone,”

“Or you’ve just been gone long enough to forget where you come from,” you suggest, glancing up at him again. “The Fatui do still operate here, right?”

“Lower your voice, eh?”

“Sorry. Forgot.”

Childe purses his lips, looking around again. He lowers his head. “The cabin’s open.”

“There’s no way we can make it through the trees blind.”

“I can get us there.”

“Do you remember you got lost in those woods once?”

He grins when you look up. “Well, you know you don’t learn without getting lost. I know them now.”

You crack a tiny smile back, one that probably gives him way too much hope. He watches you put glasses away, he relaxes when he sees the necklace you still wear; even if you started wearing it two years late. 

You shake your head. “I’m not coming to the cabin.”

“Why’s that?”

“You should spend the day you have with your family.”

“You—”

“Don’t make things weird.”

The moment is bittersweet and Childe isn’t stupid enough to challenge it, so he just laughs. You try to but it comes out funny.

“So that’s it?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “It’s always been your decision, not mine.”

And nothing you have ever done has been anything I’ve wanted.

Childe nods, biting his cheek. He knows that people who live in the woods often die there, too. He never really made it out. “Show me out, then?”

You give in, walking him the short distance to the door. He rests with his hand on the knob, gently moving you away from the door so the breeze doesn’t freeze you in place. He tugs his hat on and notices the gloves he gave you years ago hang by your coat on the standing rack.

“When should I come back?”

He watches you breathe in, he watches you breathe out. “Come back when you’re coming home.”

Childe doesn’t try to reason or to ask what you mean, because he knows what you mean.

Don’t.

With a nod, he smiles. It shows with a weakness that no Harbinger should still have with them; you think this might be the death of it.

“I’ll see you around, then.” He opens the door.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Bye, Childe.”

The door shuts. You don’t hear the snow crunching beneath his feet until a few seconds later, and you keep your ear against the door until you don’t hear them anymore.

Before he was ever Tartaglia, Childe, eleventh of the Harbingers, his home was in the woods he got lost in. Not underground, but in a cabin, with strong windows and shutters the colour of your eyes.

+

It’s the second Christmas you haven’t seen Childe or the woods. You haven’t checked if he’s stayed there and the stories Teucer tells you are old, but there’s a chance he’s still burning a fire and laying in bed, glowing with heat.

Either Childe hasn’t come back, or he just hasn’t told you he has. Either way, you don't make an effort to know.

Somewhere in Liyue, there’s an ore mine with your name carved above the entrance. The men talk about you when they wheel out carts of jade and ore, wondering how you reached so far up to tell them you were there.

In Mondstadt, an outpost sings a folk tune about a girl who heals wounded soldiers.

In Inazuma, a village calls a seashell by your name. It started with the kids, who said a man from a different place told them all about it. An expert on it, they said. They haven’t called it anything else since.

In Sumeru, your laugh runs through the river.

In Natlan, a painting hangs in a bar of a woman dressed in fire, a ribbon on her wrist and her hair everywhere else. When asked, the artist says he was inspired by a man who spoke of a girl with a heart of gold. 

In Fontaine, they serve grilled sturgeon, only cooked by wooden stove.

Childe sits down in a town in Snezhnaya, far away from Morepesok, and he sits in front of five kids who look just like the ones back home. Freezing, and curious.

He lets them fawn over his attire, bug him for all he’s worth while they’re tucked inside of a barn to avoid the cold. He answers every question about his job selling toys with enthusiasm and without guilt, promising to someday come back with some for them. Then, they ask him to tell them a story — one they haven’t heard before.

Somewhere in Snezhnaya, far away from Morepesok, a tale is told about a girl who travelled the world.

[danikamariewrites]

Can i please request something with Azriel x reader where az is doing super masculine stuff, like he’s being so manly and it makes reader drool over him. Like he’ll giver her a hug and he just smells so fucking good or he accidentally flexes his biceps when he’s reaching over her so the rest of the day she’s latched onto his arm ( real asf ) JUST HIM BEING A MANLY MAN GOOOODDDDDD😩

Just Azriel being Azriel

Azriel x reader

A/n: just think about this made me drool I need him so bad 😭

Warnings: suggestive, fluff

Something you love about being with Azriel is how masculine he is but he also isn’t afraid to show his softer more emotional side around you

But Mother above was his masculine side hot

All he had to do was take off his shirt and you were a drooling mess

You love watching him during training

You don’t even mind how early it is, you will always get up if it means you can see Az in his element

Watching him focus and swing his sword or even stretching to get a view of his perfect ass did things to you

Nesta would tease you about observing training but you give her a smirk and remind her that she does the same thing

You always bite your lip with hearts in your eyes as you watch him strip his leathers from his sweaty skin as he gets in the bath

While you wait for him you distract yourself with a book or making a snack

When he gets out of the bath and he’s in his work clothes you can’t help but swoon at how the black tunic and pants hug his muscles to show off his perfectly toned body

You find any excuse to hug Az when he passes you

You just love clinging to him and absorbing his warmth

His scent of night-chilled mist and cedar mixed with the cologne you bought him for solstice drove you wild

When you hug him you always make sure to bury your face in his neck to catch that sweet smell of his scent and cologne mixed together

Your undoing is when he flexes his arms

Those damn biceps get you every time

You notice they flex when he scratches the back of his neck or runs his hands through his hair

You ask him to reach things for you up on high shelves just to watch his biceps flex

His ego absolutely boosts when he notices you staring btw

There isn’t a thought behind your eyes except him wrapping that thick muscular arms around your neck to hold you up while he fucks into you from behind

You find any excuse to be on his arm for the rest of the day and squeeze his bicep

Asking him to wake you every where in the house, even the bathroom

Azriel knows the effect he has on you and thinks it’s adorable that his sweet girl’s brain just empties when he does something as simple as flexing his wings

Speaking of flexing his wings…

We all know Az has the biggest wingspan meaning other things 😏 so when he turns his back to you and knows your staring he’ll exaggerate stretching his wings out, especially if you guys are out side and he has room to fully extend them

He will ask you to rub them bc they’re just so sore

Truthfully he loves the little blush that comes across your cheeks when he asks. The fact that you still get this flustered decades into your relationship makes him giddy

Corners you to make you blush on purpose since he’s way taller than you

Azriel loves when you place your hands on his chest and run your hands across his shoulders

He has you sit on his lap while he works sometimes and you lay your head on his chest to hear his heart beating

When you want his attention but know he can’t fully give it to you because he’s working you stick your hands up his shirt and trace small patterns on his skin

You also shamelessly watch his hands while he writes

Azriel’s handwriting is just so elegant and neat you can’t help it

You also can’t help but wish his fingers were somewhere else

[snivyartjpeg]

Yuma Month Day 26 - Role Swap

god i was excited for this one. it first started off as a joke, but the more i thought about it, the more interesting this swap became. so here's my massive lore dump of changes that'd happen in the story beneath the cut (spoiler warning):

i think, fundamentally, yuma and yakou are very similar characters. they're both very protective and kindhearted, with a strong sense of justice and a penchant for attracting terrible luck. because of this, some things would remain the same, such as the NDA's dynamics with their doormat chief as well amnesia!yakou's massive unpaid intern energy. i think yakou would be pretty similar to how he behaved in the light novel- a bit more optimistic and naive, like yuma. but there are two key differences between them that'd make this a different story, especially in ch 4: yuma has a forte, and yakou is very selfish. so here's some changes:

yakou's wife is his shinigami now, as you can see, while shinigami is yuma's dead wife. i think mrs furio would act cooler than shinigami. she'd still be playful, but she takes her job more seriously. also she hands yakou the solution keys normally without throwing up. they still have to do the dance and mouth sword thing tho. and the other stuff. that's just death god protocol

shinigami (or in this case the unnamed Mrs. Kokohead but i will still be calling her shinigami for convenience sake) was a scientist at amaterasu who studied forensics and thanatology instead of regenerative medicine. this also means that the pill she gives zombie yuma is not going to bring him back, but instead grant the zombie homunculi a peaceful, painless, but permanent death

speaking of zombie yuma, he's the homunculus now! yakou is 100% human and also doesnt have a forte. he's still number one, but instead of having a forte he's just that good at solving mysteries

yes this means makoto looks like yakou now. sorry makotoheads. i think he'd have really long, shaggy hair dyed to be like. idk. black or something. also he's more clean shaven bc stubble with a mask on is a sensory nightmare

yuma still cant cook. he subsists entirely on takeout, meat buns, black coffee, and beer. he's still in a lot of debt and under a lot of stress and his personality is essentially "what if canon number one just gave up"

he doesn't smoke though. he tried once and got into the worst coughing fit

imma say it right now. kurumi is not a love interest. yakou likely disguises himself as a faculty member instead (also i think one of the teachers gets a crush on fem yakou bc i just know she'd be hot)

ANYWAY what about chapter 4? im SO glad you asked! because here's where things get spicy!

so, lets start with the dead wife. shinigami catches onto huesca's inhumane research and she's just as adamant about bringing the truth to light as she always is. she blows the whistle, so he blows her up. yuma investigates, but they dont let him look any further, yada yada, yuma stews in his misery for five years

yomi sends in the evidence to motivate yuma to kill huesca, and makoto lets it happen because a dead huesca would be convenient. he even introduces the hitman, fully expecting yuma to make use of him

yuma doesnt. in fact, he wants to kill huesca with his own hands. and now that these detectives are here, he can do it and even return alive. the thing is, he doesn't want to put them in danger, so he chooses to do almost everything alone (sound familiar?)

his plan is simple:

ask desuhiko for a peacekeeper uniform. desuhiko trusts him enough to take "i want to investigate kanai ward's ultimate secret by infiltrating their ranks" as an answer. he does, however, let yakou know about this as an offhand comment before the mystery ever begins

hold fubuki's hand. it doesnt really matter how. she'll gladly allow it because she's fubuki. he stores her time powers and heads out the sub. yakou also learns this as an offhand comment played off as a joke (maybe fubuki affectionately comments about how she never expected the chief's hands to be so soft... idk. there has to be some way for yakou to have this as a future clue)

use his peacekeeper status to sneak into amaterasu HQ and demand a functioning ama-pal from that one creepy researcher

use ama-pal + fubuki's borrowed powers to bypass huesca's security. sneak the bot past the hard-of-hearing doctor and press the button to shut off security

this would probably alert huesca, but since the doctor never received a warning, yuma has enough time to rush in and stab him before he realizes what's going on

leave HQ while still in uniform, dispose of the disguise once he's safe, and return to the NDA like nothing happened. success!

soooo.... yakou, on that same day, decides to investigate amaterasu HQ with makoto

all the while, vivia has his suspicions about yuma's actions and keeps an eye on him in spectral mode. he... basically witnessed the whole thing, so he gets up off his ass and decides to follow yakou to the lab because he has a Very Bad Feeling about this

just like canon, he senses the death god and deduces that our protag has been killing off murderers, and so he wants to protect his chief as well as his peace and quiet (his dynamic with yuma would be the same as his dynamic with yakou, since it's entirely believable for yuma to treat vivia with the same kindness yakou did)

yakou tries to speak to huesca, but surprise! security is disabled and he's dead in the lab! no one else at amaterasu liked huesca enough to check on him, so yakou and makoto are the first ones at the scene of the crime. yakou, of course, decides to start investigating this murder

vivia somehow sneaks into the lab (dont ask me how) and confronts yakou, threatening him with his boxcutter and adamantly imploring him to stop pursuing this particular mystery in the same way he did yuma in canon. unfortunately, this attracts attention, and now they're in trouble (maybe even yomi's there to fetch his files). at this point, yakou has enough solution keys, so he panics and goes right into the labyrinth (and maybe others can enter for another reason that isnt coalescence idk)

so... they go in the labyrinth... vivia tries to stop him every step of the way, until the answer is right in front of them

yakou kills yuma with his own hands. there's no stab wounds or toxic gas to leave any doubt. yakou begins to question what good his justice really does. it doesnt even save them from their predicament, just like the other deaths. instead, makoto ex machina comes in to save them, and hands yakou a small black box

when they return to the agency, everyone is heartbroken over their chief, who seemingly died out of nowhere. fubuki tried rewinding time, but to no avail. halara tried everything to wake him up, knowing it's futile. desuhiko stood aside, feeling completely helpless. and yakou and vivia return looking like they just came back from hell

they barely get the chance for a funeral before the knockout gas trap activates... you know the rest

AAAAND SCENE! so that's my extremely long winded lore dump about this au. i thought about it Way Too Much but god it's so interesting to me. i love these characters and swapping them was immensely fun

[lycheeloving]

For the purpose of shenanigans, imagine the darlings decide to flirt with different heroes.

Who would take it the worst? Who would take it the best?

(I can imagine Green Lantern being open to a three way with certain heroes…)

I'm just going to answer this for my AU, minors dni obviously:

Wonder Woman: Darling can flirt with whoever they want. As long as they're having fun? Sure! Why not! But if someone starts flirting back she's getting out her sword. So darling can't really flirt with people bc the others get nervous that Diana is going to take something they say as flirting back and attack them. Darling gets flirty with the Flash and he zooms the fuck away immediately. Could be a fun hobby tho! Finding out who's the most scared of Diana?

Batman: No. Don't do it. Don't flirt with anyone else unless you're trying to get punished. But you might be able to convince him to try a threesome if you ask him about it first and tell him he's the only one you'll ever care about, you've just always wanted to try a threesome, he can even choose the third person! Please? Then he might agree if he's in a good mood. Probably chooses Clark.

Superman: Doesn't like it, it makes him sad. What does the other hero have that he doesn't have? Why don't you like him? Gets mopey. Not angry at all but looks like a kicked puppy. Great way to get back at him when he's pissing you off by being too clingy or something.

Green Lantern: Gets really jealous if you flirt with anyone else, but thinks a threesome could be hot, mostly to show off his darling. Isn't his darling the hottest, most attractive person ever? Might get a bit jealous during the threesome tho. Like if the other hero is doing a better job at pleasing you than he is, he might throw them out of the bedroom and end the threesome there and then. And never speak of it again.

Haven't written for him yet but the Flash I think would also be sad, kind of like Superman, but you could talk him into a threesome if you ask nicely enough. Like. He'll do it, anything to make you happy!! But his feelings will be hurt and he'll be more clingy than usual afterwards and be kind of pissed at whoever else was a part of the threesome.

That being said, I'm not totally sure if any of them would agree to a threesome in my AU bc they all have their own darling? Like the person you ask to be the third would probably say no. Unless the other darling is invited too and it was a foursome maybe. Or just an all out orgy I guess. Monthly Watchtower orgy anyone? Ok no I don't think any of them would be really ok with that... Hm. Unless...? 👀

[sophswritingthings]

I have more incorrect quotes on apothecary Reader and Mizu bc they're funny asf

Reader: That was so hot, Mizu.

Mizu: I literally called the person who just flirted with you a degenterate dog and told them I hope they get dragged through the streets.

Reader: I'm so in love with you.

-

Reader: I think I'm falling for you.

Mizu: Then get up.

-

Mizu: I don't know how to tell you this, but... I love you.

Reader: That's great, Mizu. Especially considering the fact we've been married for 6 fucking years.

-

Reader: I’ve been dropping them the most insanely obvious hints for like a year now. No response.

Mizu: Wow. They sound stupid.

Reader: But they’re not. They’re really smart actually. Just dense.

Mizu: Maybe you need to be more obvious? Like, I don’t know… “Hey! I love you!”

Reader: I guess you’re right. Hey Mizu, I love you.

Mizu: See! Just say that!

Reader: Holy fucking shit.

Mizu: If that flies over their head then, sorry Reader, but they're too dumb for you.

Reader: Mizu.

-

Mizu: My future partner must be brave, strong, intelligent, successful and organized.

Reader: *steps on a caterpillar and proceeds to drop to their knees and sob while apologizing profusely*

Mizu: That one. I want that one.

pairing: mizu x fem!apothecary!reader

warning(s): swearing

a/n: PLEASE 😭 they’re funny as all hell. mizu wants the wet pathetic traumatized girl. I was about to write smut when I realized I had this ask

word count: 490 words / 2,717 characters

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“degenerate dog. flirting with married women,” she hissed to herself.

you, on the other hand, we’re only staring at your wife with hearts in your eyes.

“that was so hot, mizu,” you cling to her arm with a smile.

she glances at you, raising an eyebrow at your words.

“I just called the man who flirted with you a degenerate dog and told him I hope he gets dragged into the depths of hell,” repeating her own words only furthered her confusion.

“god, I’m so in love with you.”

-

you were gazing up at her from your pile on the floor, your face flushed with a bright red color.

“I think I’m falling for you,” you whispered, your voice gentle and tender.

she offered a hand out to you, her eyes narrowed.

“than get up.”

-

mizu was gazing at you, her thumb rubbing over your knuckles—strands of hair falling upon her face. her blue eyes traced the features of your face over and over, as if trying to capture it in her memory permanently.

“I haven’t been sure how to tell you this,” she murmured. “but I think I’m in love with you.”

you raise an eyebrow.

“.. that’s great, mizu,” you hiss, narrowing yourself eyes. “especially considering we’ve been married for six fucking years?”

-

you groaned, your arms folded across your chest.

“I’ve been dropping hints to them for the last year,” you sigh. “like, the most insanely obvious hints. and nothing! nothing!”

mizu folded her legs, taking a sip of her tea. 

“they sound stupid, (y/n),” she replies bluntly. “you sure you should be even worrying about them?”

“but they’re not stupid! that’s the problem,” you haul yourself to your feet, pacing a little. “they’re very smart. just very… dense.”

she looks at you, puzzled. “maybe just be more obvious,” she suggests. “I don’t know. just tell them “hey, I love you” and see where that goes.”

you take in a sharp inhale of breath, stopping your pacing right in front of her.

“I suppose you’re right.” you place your arms on either side of her shoulders, “I love you.”

“see? just like that,” she replies, still sipping her tea.

you raise a hand to your forehead, stepping away from her, “holy fucking hell.”

“if that flies over their head then I’m sorry, (y/n), I think they’re a bit too stupid for you—“

you narrow your eyes down at her, “mizu.”

-

she was standing outside the swords-smith with eiji at her side, unintentionally, subconsciously, watching you from far away.

“I need my future partner to be brave—strong—intelligent. successful, and organized,” she murmured. “like your wife once was.”

just then she watched as you dropped to your knees, holding what looked to be a dead caterpillar in your hands—tears running down your cheeks and apologizing over and over again.

she sighed, adverting her blue gaze while blushing, “is it bad I want that one?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: babe when you have more can I have them. please.

[fairyyarchive]

I LOVED FWB ZOROOOO I GOT SOME MORE

Running into him after hes all sweaty from his workout in the sunny and asking him to feel his muscles 😩😩 (can u make the reader bite his biceps once or sum LMAO)

HEY BESTIEEE tysm for your requests you keep me going <3 this one is a little rushed but i promise my upcoming uploads are so worth it hehe. Ty as always for the love and don’t hesitate to send me literally any and all ideas you have you’re the best!! <3 faye Content: afab reader, training, martial artist reader, sweaty zoro, suggestive content, flirty and fun bc these two are my favs rn

bad form

An empty day, in this economy? It truly seemed impossible. However, the fact remained true, leaving the members of the Straw Hat crew finding ways to occupy themselves. Nami had offered for you to come with her for a few errands (since when does Nami run errands..?) but you declined in favor of using the Sunny’s training room. Training with the view of the sky and sea outside, air blowing in through the windows gave you a sense of clarity and calmness that allowed you to train at your best.

You quickly discovered that you weren’t the only one with that plan; a familiar green haired, broad shouldered, toned back… swordsman. Crewmate. With benefits? You weren’t sure yet, exactly, but you did know that since the first time you’d slept together, you couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you really knew how those muscles worked now, and not just in battle. 

Regardless of your situation, you still wanted to get some basics in, at least. Zoro seemingly didn’t notice you enter the room, focusing instead on the swords in his hand as he ran through his exercises, precise and strong and sure of his movements, as always.

You began your stretches, shifting your focus from previous escapades with your –devastatingly hot– crewmate to the sounds of the ocean and breeze outside. It wasn’t what you’d grown up with, but you’d found that as long as you were where the sounds of nature could find you, the focus you required found you as well. Your focus was so in tune, in fact, that you hadn’t noticed Zoro’s presence just behind you. 

“Form’s a little lax today, got something on your mind sweetheart?” His hand is on your waist, the other running up your back to straighten your posture. You turn around in his arms, concentration definitely broken. His breathing was heavy, nearly bare chest heaving and sweat glistening from what was likely hours of training before you’d seen him. His body buzzed with warmth and energy behind you, sparking electricity in your veins.

“You’re lucky I was just warming up, I could’ve swept you in no time. Bam,” you punched his arm, small fist hitting stone muscle. Ugh. 

“Yeah? I’d have had you headlocked in no time babe, your knees were locked and your back wasn’t straight at all,” he chuckled. His forearm barred your chest, pulling you flush against him and knocking the breath from your lungs. Your back hit his absolute wall of a chest, bodies now alight with the sparks that flashed between you.

“Yeah well…” You huffed. It wasn’t fair that he always got the upper hand, though you knew you’d rather be wrapped up in him than kicking his ass - at least today. That didn’t mean you couldn’t be a little annoying while you’re at it, though. You started softly, craning your neck to plant soft little pecks all over Zoro’s arm.

“Hey, what are you – Ow! What the hell?” Zoro flinched back when you bit down on his forearm, teeth pinching the skin totally surprising him from the sweet kisses you’d been giving him. 

You giggled, twisting around in his grip and using your right foot (and his surprise) to sweep his ankle, knocking him to the ground. You toppled on top of him, wasting no time in straddling his waist and locking him in between your legs. Zoro had seemingly given up, knowing his raw strength could overpower you but opting to give you this win instead, just to see the cocky grin on your face. 

“I win,” you smirked, leaning close to his face to kiss him. 

“This time,” Zoro smiled back, warmer than before. 

Yeah, he’d let you keep thinking this was your win. 

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊

loved doing this actually bc even without smut Zoro is so obviously obsessed hehe, more to come soon! ty for all the love <3 faye

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[tiredofthehumanlife]

less haunted more hookup

part one

barbie dolls: gn!reader x anthony lockwood

word: 4.6k ish

summary: you and Lockwood are just fuckin around with your little almost realtionship and its just shennaigans

warnings: lots of talk of sex, i didn’t write like an actual sex scene bc im tired but its talked about a lot, mentions of Lockwood’s dick, hes being an ass, also mentions of Lockwood eating you but its not mentioned if it’s pussy or ass so we’re chill, its not that cray cray its just you guys being kinda goofy, mentions of eating (food), you love pancakes, adventure time reference, George is just scandalized by everything really, that's pretty much it I think

Within a couple of hours, you and your team were able to find the source and contain it. You were helping Lucy pack up in the downstairs library. George was fixing the knocked-over table in the kitchen. Lockwood was upstairs, fixing the mess he caused with his fancy sword movements. You helped Lucy shove the heavy iron chains back into her bag.

“So, what exactly took you two so long to search upstairs?” She asked with a grin slowly creeping onto her face. You grimaced and shrugged. You kept your eyes on the chains, knowing you couldn’t possibly look her in the eye.

“Lockwood trapped himself in the bathroom.” You said. It was a reasonable lie in your eyes. He once somehow ended up locking himself out in the backyard. He had to climb over the fence to get to the front door from the neighbor’s yard. Lucy hummed with a sarcastic tone.

“Sure he did. I’m completely positive you two weren’t getting handsy up there at all.” Lucy said, dragging out her sarcastic claims. You felt your lips twist up at the fresh memory of Lockwood staring up at you from the ground. You shrugged, zipping up the bag.

“I can assure you I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Lucy’s shock had a five-second delay where she added up your grin, avoidant eyes, and obvious lie. She let out a quiet gasp, her hand flying up to her mouth. She leaned forward to whisper.

“Are you being serious?” You pressed your lips together, throwing out a one shouldered shrug. She gasped again, only this time louder. You gave her a small smile, pretending like you had no idea what was going on.

“What are you gasping about in here?” You turned around to see George standing in the doorway. You shrugged, Walking out the Libaray to drop the bag by the door.

“Can’t tell you, it’s a secret.” you heard Lucy say in the library. You had a light smile, happy your secret was safe with her.

You’d tell Lucy every small detail of your conversations with Lockwood. She’d lay on her stomach over her bedspread, kicking her feet in the air. The air between you and Lockwood had always been different than with your other roommates. When you first moved in it was more awkward. You just didn’t click like you did with Lucy and George, there was something weird stopping you both from being able to converse properly. Eventually, the awkwardness settled and then you were touchier. Lockwood rubbed your shoulders, you’d walk with your elbows hooked together, and you leave totally platonic kisses on each other's foreheads.

As time went by, Lucy asked you for more details in private. You kept it short and sweet, not wanting to give away too much of Lockwood’s personal life. Lucy loved the sweet gossip. Two of her friends were getting hot and heavy on the job? Not to mention, the obvious crushes you both had for each other. It was juicy and terribly annoying. You both were so ditsy. You avoided the idea of the other liking you back like a deadly plague. Lockwood would stare over the edge of his mug at you, making you suppress a grin hiding behind your toast. Every time you two were in a room together the tension was so thick Lucy couldn’t breathe.

Then it was the problem of Lockwood’s unspoken lust that quickly changed into the secret you three two shared. How could you two possibly slip back into your regular touchyness when Lockwood’s fingertips just had to brush your palm while handing you the salt and all you were thinking about was that haunted house again? Now it was just, a heavy waiting period. It was certain you both were itching to get back to taking off each other’s clothes, but you just didn’t want to say that because what if Lockwood thought you were weird?

You could still gaze at the other though.

Lockwood would stare at you over his breakfast. He always paired you two up on missions. You’d rest your hand on his shoulder when you set his food in front of him, and his hand would find the back of your knee. Lockwood smiled up at you while he thanked you. He’d dry off the dishes while you washed them, his foot pressed to your ankle. He was thinking about you at night again. Only now he had real material, real memories to lull himself to sleep. He knew exactly what your moans sounded like, and exactly what you tasted like. With time passing, your flavor started to slip away from his tongue, leaving him wanting all over again.

You missed his eyes staring up at you. You missed the light making his eyes look even more warm and inviting. You just wanted to feel his hands running over you again. It kept you awake, staring up at the ceiling with all the unspoken wishes running through your head.

You weren’t sure what broke the camel’s back. It could’ve been a compliment on your good work on the thinking cloth. It could’ve been the look of his hands as he stirred his tea. It could’ve been after you returned from hours researching in the library you found your bed made, a small box of chocolates, and a note hidden under the box with his signature. It could’ve been his hand brushing your back when he had to squeeze between you and George. Whatever it was, after everyone had settled into bed and you could hear Lucy’s snores you were flinging yourself out of bed.

You tiptoed down the stairs, avoiding the squeaky ones. You were 85% sure Lockwood would be staying up in the library, and you were 76.5% sure he wouldn’t mind kissing you silly. Sure enough, the light was peeking under the library door. You steeled yourself, taking a deep breath, before pushing open the door.

Lockwood looked up from his magazine, the corner of his mouth tipping up just slightly when he saw you. You made some joke but it didn’t really matter what you said; he’d invite you in anyway. You slipped through the small talk quickly, you were on a mission to get his tongue down your throat. You were pretty sure he saw through you. Lockwood tilted his head and had a particular shine in his eyes that reminded you of the dark house. Eventually, you were leaning over the edge of the couch, getting closer and closer to Lockwood’s personal bubble. He must’ve caught on to what you wanted, knocking his nose against yours.

You got what you wanted, his tongue down your throat and eventually he was settling down onto his knees in front of the couch and tugging your pajamas down. Even though everyone was asleep, you stayed quiet. And eventually, after your chest was heaving and Lockwood was pulling away, you begged Lockwood to let you return the favor. He was definitely more interested in giving than receiving but with your pretty hands rubbing circles on his hips, he wanted more. You were swapping places in no time. Lockwood was obviously nervous, rubbing his hands down the sides of his thighs.

He relaxed greatly once your warm mouth wrapped around him. He was smothering his face with a throw pillow to stifle his moans within a few seconds you were on your knees in front of him.

Once you were both redressed, you slipped right back into your extremely friendly ways. You said goodnight as Lockwood settled back into his chair. His cheeks were still bright red but he ignored it as he reopened his magazine to where he left off. You muttered something about seeing him in the morning. You stayed true to your word, you did find him in the morning. He was passed out in his armchair, magazine left open to the page you saw him open last night in his lap. You threw a blanket over him before going to find Lucy.

She was just as excited as you, gasping when you explained the shenanigans you two found yourselves in last night. The second time seemed better than the first and it sparked an even stronger flame within Lockwood. He was getting more brazen and desperate. The first hookup seemed to satiate him enough to realize secrecy with most of your friends was important. The second seemed to drag him to the edge of insanity, he was itching for another moan out of you and another taste of you.

The second George and Lucy would leave, he was pushing you towards the closest room. George would leave the kitchen in the early morning with Lucy still asleep and he was lunging over the table to pull you into a kiss, dropping back in his chair the second he heard George’s footsteps. It was like he just needed to feel you touching him to get through his day.

Once George left to go read a newspaper for research in the Library as Lucy was training downstairs. Lockwood wasted barely a second before he was pressing you against the kitchen counter to slip his tongue past your lips. You pulled him closer by his button-up, enjoying the feeling of his hand on the back of your neck. He knocked his hips against yours, making you sigh into his lips. You heard the Library door squeak down the hall. Lockwood pulled away from you, swirling around in a fancy motion to lean against the fridge and pick up his tea off the table. He grabbed the front of your shirt, yanking you towards him. Lockwood pressed his lips to yours over and over again, cutting it quite close to George seeing you two before he gently shoved you away. You slid on the floor because of your socks, bumping into the table. Your hit to the table made the glasses tink. You quickly settled into the nearest chair, resting your chin in your palm to seem natural of course.

“You guys are not going to bel-“ George glanced up from his newspaper, looking between you and Lockwood. He raised an eyebrow. “Why do you two look like that?” You glanced back at Lockwood to see him quirking up an eyebrow as he sipped his tea. You looked back around at George, shrugging. The door to the basement opened, and a very sweaty Lucy appeared. Her bangs were sticking to her forehead. She swiped away at them, letting her forehead breathe a little. Lucy looked between the three of you. George turned to her.

“Why do they look like that?” George asked. Lockwood let out a scoff.

“What on earth are you talking about George? Are you coming down with something?” Lockwood asked. Lucy’s eyes flicked to yours. You suppressed your grin, giving a small shrug. A small smile grew on her lips, looking back at George.

“They look normal to me George. Come here let me feel your forehead.” Lucy stuck her arm out to George. he narrowly avoided it, swinging his arms around to swat her hand away.

“Don’t touch me with your sweaty hands.” Lucy dropped her arm letting George stand up straight again. She looked over at you to raise her eyebrows. In the kitchen? You gave her a shrug, pressing both your hands to your cheeks, feeling your face warm. You both looked back to George to find him pointing between you two.

“You know something.” George declared, pointing at Lucy. She held her hands up in surrender.

“what exactly would I know?” Lucy said. George shrugged swinging his finger between the two of you again. You and Lucy shared a glance.

“That. See you guys have a secret.” George said, jumping when you and Lucy saw each other. You shook your head. Lucy crossed her arms over her chest as she shrugged.

“No, I don’t think so. We don’t have secrets, it is disrespectful to leave your roommates out of something.” You said, tilting your head back to look at Lockwood upside down. “Right, Lockwood?” He smiled at you before looking up at George.

“Yes, incredibly disrespectful. Which is exactly why I told you guys about that rash.” Three groans met his comment. You sat up straight, grimacing at the memory.

“You’re disgusting, truly. You’re a terrible pain to be around.” You muttered, trying to get the nasty taste out of your mouth. You heard Lockwood hum behind you.

”I know, baby.” He whispered it into his mug, the petname came as an afterthought, but George still jumped at it. His arm flying out to point at Lockwood. George looked over at Lucy for reassurance.

“See? Baby, he said baby. When has he ever called anyone in this house that? They’re being weird.” Lucy shook her head.

“Nah he uses pet names all the time,” Lucy said, sitting down at the table with you.

“Oh yeah, he called you darling a thousand times, George.” You added. George scoffed. He huffed before throwing the newspaper on the table and storming out. You and Lucy both turned to face Lockwood. He looked between the two of you before taking the hint and leaving. Your secret was able to slip past George and, under Lockwood’s knowledge, Lucy for weeks. You started to wonder what exactly you two were doing. You never clarified if this was all a friends-with-benefits thing or if you were just dating secretly. You really needed to talk to him about it but every time you were alone he was kissing until you couldn’t see to Tuesday. You told Lucy all about your feelings and Lucy decided she was going to get you two an empty house if it was the last thing she’d do.

One morning George declared to the breakfast table he was going grocery shopping. You and Lucy shared a look before she jumped up out of her seat to volunteer her services. George was confused but decided he didn’t care enough to ask more questions. Within a few minutes, you went from being surrounded by three roommates to just one. You glanced up from your plate to smile at Lockwood. You both sat in silence while you picked at your food. You heard the gate close, Lucy and George were officially gone. Lockwood hummed before his fork clattered onto his plate.

“Livingroom?” Lockwood asked. You looked up, gently setting your fork down next to your plate.

“Livingroom.” Lockwood shot up from his chair, letting it stick out. You stood up, snorting at him scrambling out of the kitchen. You leaned over the table, snagging a sausage off his plate before moving towards the living room. He was standing next to the door, he stuck his hand out towards you. You placed your hand in his. Lockwood tugged you forward, letting you press your body against his. You smiled up at him as he leaned down to meet your lips. He turned around. Your back was towards the living room as he pushed you inside.

Lockwood led you to the couches, letting your legs hit the edge. You finally pulled apart so you could lay down across the cushions. He settled on top of you, pulling you into a kiss again. Even with Lockwood's weight on top of you, all you could think about was where you stand. You thought about Lucy giving you the blessing of an empty house for way more than just another hookup. You gently shoved his shoulders. Lockwood pulled back, tilting his head to the side.

“What’s the weight of this?” You whispered, feeling like the decorations were staring at you as much as Lockwood was.

“What like the couch? Um I don’t know probably like-“

“No, what we’re doing. The sex and the kissing, what is our relationship right now?” Lockwood pressed his lips together. You let your hands settle on his shoulders, tracing the stitches of his button-up. He pulled himself up more, using his arms to hold himself up.

“You know, I actually didn’t plan on having this conversation with a hard-on.” He avoided your eyes, looking around the living room. You hummed, it wasn’t exactly news to you at the moment. You traced a circle around the top button on his shirt.

“It’s okay take your time.” Lockwood sighed at you. He dropped his head, making his face out of view. You rubbed the back of his head in support.

“You’re so hot. Just give me a little okay?” You hummed again, giving him his moment. You tried to be supportive by rubbing his back, reassuring him.

“It’d actually be a great help if you stopped touching me,” Lockwood muttered, his face still out of view. You dropped your hands away, letting them dangle over the edge of the couch. After a few minutes, Lockwood looked up to meet your eyes again. You smiled at him.

“We can be whatever what you want.” You grimaced at Lockwood’s response.

“You had like an extra five minutes and all you come up with is ‘whatever you want’? That’s embarrassing.”You said ignoring the awkward position with your arms dangling off the edge of the couch.

“I was a little focused on something else,” Lockwood said, squinting at you. You rolled your eyes.

“You can’t double-task?” Lockwood shook his head.

“Don’t be mean to me otherwise you’ll have to wait another five minutes.” Lockwood said, a teasing grin showing a peak of his teeth. You glared at Lockwood.

“I’d smack you if I still had access to my hands.”You muttered. Lockwood grinned at you.

“If you want to date, we can date. If you just want to be boss-employee with benefits, I'm okay with that.” Lockwood said, smiling down at you. You frowned.

“But what do you want?” You asked. You would’ve tucked his hair back behind his ear because it was dangling in front of his face making it hard to see his eyes. Lockwood shook his head.

“I want to be married with four cats right now, but I’d settle for a date or two,” Lockwood said. You pressed your lips together to stifle your grin.

“Right, well, since you feel so strongly about this I suppose we could get donuts or something sometime.” Lockwood’s smile quadrupled at your sentence.

“Yeah?” You shrugged in response. He leaned down and quickly pecked your lips before pulling back. “You can touch me now.” You smiled brightly, quickly throwing your arms around his shoulders. You pulled him back down, meeting his lips fully. Lockwood was quick to meet your tongue, already missing the taste of your mouth from being just a few minutes apart. When you felt your lungs screaming for air you pushed him off towards your neck. He dipped down leaving soft kisses on your clavicle. Lockwood pulled back.

“We should probably tell our friends huh?” You grimaced at him.

“Lucy knows.” His jaw dropped open. He thought he was the sneakiest person on the entire planet.

“for how long?” Lockwood asked. You grimaced even more.

“Day 1.” Lockwood looked at you even more shocked.

“How?”

“She put it together but after that, we’d gossip about it.” Lockwood sighed. He shrugged.

“We should tell George then.” You nodded. He met your lips again, his hands traveling down to the waistband of your pants. Just as his hand was slipping past the elastic of your underwear, you heard the front door open. Lucy yelled something about being home. You both shot apart. Lockwood landed in his armchair, leaving a magazine over his lap. You laid on your stomach, picking up the closest book. You held it up to your face, tuning the page like you knew what you were reading about. Lucy and George’s head poked in, the both of them joining you. George raised an eyebrow at you.

“Since when do you read about beekeeping?” George asked. You glanced down at the cover of your book, sure enough, it had a tiny bee on the front. You shrugged.

“I wanted to branch out my knowledge. Is that okay with you?” You said, glaring at him. He sighed and rolled his eyes. George left the room and headed to put away groceries. Lucy looked between you two. She readjusted the bags on her arms the handles cutting into her skin.

“how’d things go?” Lucy asked. You smiled.

“Good.” You said, closing the book about bees. You tossed it back onto the coffee table, you weren’t branching out your knowledge.

“Could’ve been better,” Lockwood muttered. Lucy’s head shot towards him, thinking he was insulting you. “Kinda cut short.” He added, turning the magazine page still settled in his lap. You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t listen to him, it went well.” Lucy settled, giving you a short nod before hobbling out of the room with the weight of all the grocery bags on her arms. After George scolded you and Lockwood for leaving your dirty plates on the table, the day passed quickly. You helped Lucy put away groceries. She told you all about how she wanted to rearrange her room, needing a change of scenery. You helped move her furniture all around the room, hanging up new pictures and curtains. It took so long by the time you were done you both just wanted to eat dinner and go to bed.

With the exhaustion of the day’s heavy lifting pushing your body down into your mattress, you conked the fuck out. You slept like you cuddled up in a fluffy cloud. You had beautiful dreams of ponies and cupcakes it was lovely. Waking up was slightly less enjoyable. You were halfway off your bed, head dangling over the side. Most of your blankets were thrown on the floor, one singular corner draped over your ankle. You didn’t even know where to look for your pillows. While you were sitting up, looking around the room, and trying to calculate how on earth your pillow ended up across the room, you caught a whiff of George’s best breakfast.

He’d cut cooked bacon into small bite sizes and add them to pancake batter. It was your favorite breakfast of his. You kicked off your last bit of blanket and dashed down the stairs. Lucy was parked in one of the chairs at the table. Her eyes were closed and she was holding on to a cup of tea like it was the last bit of life source she had access to. George was standing by the stove with a pan and a bowl of batter sitting next to him. You rushed over to him, tightly wrapping him in your arms. He groaned muttering about the hot stove. You held onto his chin, smacking a kiss to his temple.

“I love you, George.” George grimaced. George turned his head to glance at you. He pulled his hand away from the handle of the pan, shooing you away.

“You’re going to get burned, go away,” George grumbled, turning back to face the stove to hide the smile you knew he had. You hummed sitting down at the table next to Lucy. She gave you a half grin, more focused on her drink. You looked around the table, noticing a lack of Lockwood and furthermore a lack of his cup. You knocked Lucy with your elbow and pointed at his unofficial official seat.

“Asleep, in his bed no less.” You gave her an impressed look. He didn’t sleep much and if he did it was mostly in his armchair. You hummed. There was a silent agreement between you three that if Lockwood was asleep you didn’t wake him up unless it was certain you were all going to die. You would’ve come down the stairs quieter if you knew he was asleep. You cringed at the memory of you running down the stairs. A herd of unicorns would’ve been quieter than your excitement.

Eventually, George’s stack of two pancakes grew and grew until he was out of batter. The last bit of it was made into a mini pancake, which he gave to you once it was done. You heard movement upstairs. You waited patiently. You helped George set the table. You set out the syrup and butter, before straightening the forks next to each plate. You settled back into your chair just as George was setting the pan in the sink.

Lockwood entered the room, in his comfy clothes. He glanced around the room.

“Good Morning.” You muttered, biting into your mini pancake. Lockwood’s eyes settled on you. He smiled and made a beeline for you. His hand ducked under your chin, gently pushing it up. Lockwood greeted you with a soft kiss before moving to the other side of the table and settling into his chair. You looked over at George when the pancakes didn’t join the table. He should’ve set them down by now. George’s jaw was hanging open, his eyes unwavering on you. He was holding the plate of pancakes, about to set them down on the table. Lockwood’s hands slowly reached towards the plate, gripping onto the sides.

“What the fuck?” George said, astonished you two kissed so casually this early in the morning. Lockwood slowly pulled the stack of pancakes away from George’s hands, setting them on the center of the table. Lucy’s fork lunged forward, pulling two pancakes onto her plate. George kept his eyes on you while his hands fell limply to his sides.

“What what the fuck?” You asked, handing Lucy your plate. She added a few pancakes to your plate as George pressed his lips together in annoyance.

“Since when were you two a thing?” George asked, turning towards Lockwood. Lockwood glanced up from his plate, his cheeks full of pancake. He swallowed at a speed that made you worried about him choking.

“Well officially, less than a day. Unofficially, a couple of weeks.” Lockwood answered as you thanked Lucy for filling your plate. George scoffed.

“And you didn’t bother telling me?” George asked, obviously scandalized by this news. You shrugged.

“Well technically speaking, it was supposed to be a secret but Lucy figured it out before we even put a name on it.” You muttered, taking a bite of bacon pancake. George scoffed at you.

“It was a secret from me, basically is what you’re saying?” George asked. Lockwood let out a sad sound, his hand shooting out to hold onto George’s wrist.

“We weren’t dating or anything, we were just hooking up. I assumed you wouldn’t want to hear about that, so I didn’t tell you.” George grimaced, wiping his hand on his pant leg.

“Alright gross, you’re right. But next time something big happens you guys need to tell me.” George muttered, scooting his chair further away from Lockwood’s. You nodded.

“I don't know if I’d call it big, huge might be more accurate,” Lockwood whispered, giving you a cocky grin across the table. Lucy’s fork clattered against her plate.

”Shut up.” You said, grimacing and looking down at your plate. “Dickhead.” you added, wishing he would’ve slept longer. You looked at Lucy to her pressing her hand to her mouth like she felt nauseous.

“I’m eating, Lockwood,” Lucy said. She glared at him.

“So was I,” Lockwood muttered, taking a sip of his tea. You groaned at him, flicking water drops at him.

“Bad Lockwood.” You said, flicking more water at him. George hid his face behind his hands.

“I miss when this was a secret,” George muttered. Lockwood shook his head, patting George’s shoulder.

“I don’t,” Lockwood said, winking at you across the table. You shook your head at him.

“Get your harlot hands off me.” George shrugged Lockwood’s hand away. Lockwood hummed, returning to his pancakes. You looked back at your plate.

George grew accustomed to your new relationship, and Lockwood learned to stop sharing private details at the breakfast table. You started to enjoy the small shows of affection Lockwood added to your routine. He’d say hello with a kiss. He’d flop down next to you on the couch to lean against you. Lockwood started to sleep more with you dragging him up the stairs. Apparently, a boss-employee relationship wasn’t as scandalous as you thought it was.

[lowkeyremi]

hello, hello. I would like you request shiratorizawa 3rds boys playing Minecraft with their s/o🤭

I think with tendou would be hilarious

Nah bc Satori would be killing ur cats 😭 this is so cute

Playing minecraft w GN!reader ft. Ushijima, Tendou, and Semi.

___________

Ushijima Wakatoshi:

"How do you- I'm being attacked by zombies." His voice is nonchalant and he stares at you waiting for your input.

"'Toshi, use your sword!" You don't even look at him because you're fighting a stupid skeleton.

"Which button was that again?" His character is close to dying.

"We should have played on creative mode." A snort escapes your lips and he smiles at you.

"Maybe I'll lose more often if I get to hear that cute laugh of yours." You don't even have to look at him to know he's smirking.

"Better stop daydreamimg cuz I'm robbing your place." You laugh again.

His brows furrow, he looks so cute. "Hey, I've gathered all that myself, you can't take it." He shakes his head playfully.

"Quit getting distracted by my hotness, then." You smile.

"That's hard to do.." He sighs trying to keep from smiling,

__________

Tendo Satori:

"Satori!!" You scream kicking his side. He starts cackling.

"What?" He asks trying and failing to sound innocent.

"You snake! You burnt my house down!" It took you two weeks straight to finish your build, it was perfect.

"Ah... that was your house? Oops." It wasn't an accident, the smirk on his face said so.

"I'm so going to get you back." You scoff and walk over to his place and kill some of his cattle and his favorite cat— which is named after you.

"You killed, (name)?!" He screeches in shock.

"I'm not your minecraft bae anymore, 'Tori." You feel pretty satisfied with yourself.

"Two can play that game." His character makes his way to your burnt down house. He finds your favorite wolf in his pin and kills him. "Goodbye Satori junior, your sacrifice was not in vain."

"You killed my baby and burned my place?!" You weren't able to believe what happened in a little over five minutes.

"Okay how about we make a truce and I help you build your house again?" He knew you couldn't resist such an offer.

"Fine but if you burn down my place again, I will kill all of your animals." He chuckles at your childness. He loves that about you.

_________

Semi Eita:

"Did you kill them yet?" You ask Semi waiting for the green light.

"Mhm.. give me like two seconds." He was concentrating hard, but you can't help being silly.

"One, two." You count out very fast and he scoffs at you.

"Okay I'm done, go go go." He says and your character runs into the house of the villager he just killed.

"What's in there?" He asks with amusement.

"Let's leave, it's only bread." You let out a laugh from your gut as he sighs.

"Damn, this is like the fifth house with nothing good in it." He groans, it's not a big deal to kill villagers, its just time consuming.

"What if we rob the pillagers? It's risky but I'm sure they have some good items." You mention, it causes your boyfriend to smile at the thought.

"Okay, we'll give it one last shot." He was just as determined as you are.

Actually finding the pillagers took over an hour, you happened to stumble across one and it began attacking you.

"Eita, help! I found a pillager!" You scream and he laughs at you. It's so adorable to see you really getting into the game. Honestly, he's thinking about leaving you by yourself to see how you'd respond.

"Eita, where are you?!" You're fighting the pillager with your sword that wasn't as cool as your boyfriend's sword.

You can hear muffled laughter, indicating that Semi planned on letting you die. That bastard.

"Eita please, I'm dying!" The pillager gets the upperhand, it shoots you one last time and your character dies.

"Eita, how could you?! I thought we were partners in crime!" If anyone else heard what you said without context they'd be confused. Your boyfriend on the other hand broke into fits of laughter.

"I'm sorry baby, try to catch up." Eita lets out a small giggle. At least he waits for you to catch up before continuing.

Heyyyy, thanks for this request ily anon!! I think Tendo's is my favorite, he is such a cute menace. Anyways thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it :P

[petermorwood]

@nimblermortal sent me this last week:

A second blade weapon became increasingly common in the later Viking Age. It does not have a formal name, being often referred to as a fighting-knife or battle-knife, and it was essentially a development of the one-handed, long seax knife of the Migration Period. A single-edged blade with a thick back that added weight to a short, stabbing blow, it seems to have been intended as a back-up weapon. By the tenth century, battle-knives had elaborate scabbards that were worn horizontally along the belt, allowing them to be drawn across the body from behind a shield if the sword was gone; a variant hung down at an angle from an elaborate harness. It seems they may also have been worn on the back - again for a swift, over-the-shoulder draw. Children of Ash and Elm by Neil Price @petermorwood (Mr Morwood! Mr Morwood!) I found an archaeologist claiming people were doing over-the-shoulder draws! Would you care to weigh in?

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Would I ever! That's a button well pushed. But things got odd when I tried, because as soon as I'd written even the smallest reply and saved to Draft, this happened:

Letting it stand would have seemed like I was trying to avoid comments, corrections or criticism, but despite poking around in Settings there was no way to turn things on. It was only by cut-and-pasting @nimblermortal's entire original as a Quote starting a new post that the problem was resolved.

Anyone else encountered this?

Anyway, on with the lecture response. :->

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As regards Back-Carry / Back-Draw of "battle-knives", I'm not convinced.

("Battle-knife" is a term I've never seen in connection with any Viking Age weapon. What's the Old Norse for it? German "Kriegsmesser" (war-knife) refers to something much bigger from 500 years later, also not back-carried or back-drawn - which from here on will be BD / BC.)

To get where he is now, a full professor, Neil Price will have defended his PhD, and should know such a statement as "It seems they may..." will need evidence to support it.

That phrase is easy to write, as is "According to legend..." and "It is said..." However these are IMO default History Channel phrases, with all the authenticity that implies. None of them actually PROVE what they're speculating.

"Experiments conducted by museum staff wearing authentic armour reveal that IT SEEMS medieval knights could use smartphones."

But does it prove medieval knights USED smartphones? See what I mean?

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I first asked if anyone had actual proof of BC / BD on Netsword almost 30 years ago, and to date there's been nothing. I've also posted about it quite a lot on Tumblr, so being poked with this particular stick is no surprise. :->

The quotation from "Children of Ash and Elm" is the first time I've heard of a trained archaeologist making a claim for BC / BD, and the odd part is that Prof. Price also states the weapon was intended for "...a short, stabbing blow" - which means wearing it horizontally in front makes far more sense. From that position it can be drawn far faster and with less telegraphed intent than "...on the back - again for a swift, over-the-shoulder draw."

Reaching up for any weapon carried across the back, whether long or short, is a bigger movement - and thus less "swift" - than snatching out the same weapon worn at the hip or across the front at waist level, especially if - as he suggests - that move is masked behind a shield (or for that matter a cloak, a door, or a half-turned torso...)

Try both moves in front of a mirror with a ruler or even a length of dowel, and you'll understand.

With a weapon-hilt visible behind one shoulder or just a cross-belt suggesting something slung out of sight, what's a Norse warrior going to think when his potential opponent reaches up there? At a moment of hot words and high tension, will he wait while an itchy back gets scratched or until an attack happens?

The explosive violence described in sagas suggests not.

If Prof. Price has solid proof for his BC / BD notion in the form of artefacts or art - and it'll need more than a one-off example - I'll be very pleased to finally see some "show me" evidence.

(It won't do anything for longswords of 500 years later, of course, though I bet the uncritical back-carry brigade would leap on it regardless.)

But without that evidence, I'm taking "it seems" with a wary pinch of salt.

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There's a weird internet fixation about BC / BD (which are NOT the same thing) and an equally weird need to show that back-draw "works", whether with hooks under the guard and a leather condom at the point...

... or by being open most of the way down one side.

Neither are real-world historical, so let's see how they work in fantasy.

IMO they're not appropriate there either, because the designers are so eager to provide working BC / BD that they ignore the main function of a scabbard, which is to carry the weapon in something which protects people from the weapon's edges, and the weapon from the elements.

Real scabbards for real swords went to some trouble over that. They protected people, including the wearer, with a completely enclosed wooden, leather and / or metal case, and protected the blades by having them fit into their case well enough that inclement weather stayed out.

This fitting could involve metal collars (Japanese habaki), or tight-gripping lanolin-rich fleece linings, or leather flaps, caps and rain-guards mounted on hilt or scabbard-throat. Real scabbards didn't have exposed metal and weren't open-sided rainfall buckets, because the priorities of actual sword users were very different to those of back-carry fans.

Given the number of posts I've seen about the technical side of fantasy world-building - history, geography, even geology and meteorology - I think this difference is worth noting.

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The first time I recall seeing back-carry mentioned in a historical-not-fantasy context was in "Growing Up in the Thirteenth Century", © Alfred Duggan 1962. Here's the extract in question:

Unfortunately Duggan - though according to his Wikipedia entry "His novels are known for meticulous historical research" - doesn't give any cited source for this; his introduction to the book says:

I know the feeling! :->

I'd still trust him more than some modern historical writers who seem over-willing to add a touch of fantasy speculation / interpretation if it rounds out something inconclusive, makes the history more interesting or chimes with a personal agenda.

"Accurate" is better than "interesting", and "I don't know" is better than making stuff up.

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To repeat: I've yet to see any museum-exhibit or manuscript-illumination examples of BC / BD ever done For Historically Real with Western European swords, especially the hand-and-a-half longswords on which modern back-draw fans seem fixated.

A seax, scramasax or just plan sax is shorter, but yet again, this is the first time I've read anything even remotely scholarly about them or their later Viking-age version (saxes were associated more with Saxons than Vikings, guess why?) being BC / BD.

By contrast, there are at least three art instances of saxes worn horizontally, on 10th century crosses at Middleton Church, Yorkshire:

The art is backed up by surviving examples with scabbard-fittings still in place, indicating how they were worn. Here's one example, from the Metropolitan Museum, New York which makes that very obvious.

The little decorative masks (originally part of the top of the scabbard, now corroded onto the blade) are clearly meant to be This Side Up, and also show that this scabbard was This Side Out for a right-handed draw, since there's no detail on the back.

There's a similar fancy-front / plain-back / right-hand-use leather sax scabbard at the Jorvik Centre in York.

There's only a single photograph of this bigger one - 54cm (21.5 in) overall - from the Cleveland Museum of Art, with no way to see if the L-shaped scabbard mount is decorated on just one or both sides. However it does indicate the weapon was meant for horizontal wear.

I've also flipped the website photo to show right-hand use, because "It seems..." (hah!) more probable. Here's why I did it:

For most of history being left-handed was unusual, a disapproved-of aberration and the origin of the word sinister.

Left-handers were useless in any formation from Ancient Greece through Ancient Rome to the Saxon and Viking period where the shields of a phalanx, testudo or shield-wall had to overlap for mutual support.

In the Middle Ages, both the specialised armour and the layout of jousting courses were almost 100% right-hand only.

Most surviving swords with asymmetrical hilts, such as swept-hilt rapiers, are made to for right hands not left.

Even nowadays many weapons - including the current British Army rifle (SA-80 / L85/A2) - are set for right-handers only.

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The longest saxes are called Langseax (surprise) though this may be a modern-ish term. Here's one from the British Museum, the so-called "Seax of Beagnoth"...

...which is 72 cm (28.5 in) total / 55cm (22 in) blade.

That's about the same as a Roman gladius (another sword never back-worn despite its convenient size) and is a good 25-30cm (10-12 in) shorter than the average "proper" sword of the same period, which means it could be drawn over-shoulder...

However the layout of its runic engraving shows it was almost certainly meant to be worn horizontally As Per Usual.

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And now we've come all the way back around to Prof. Price's claim that Vikings did BC / BD with their battle-knives.

Such a claim needs proof.

Please, show me some.