#and i was Drawn In. he said it's like lamb. i love lamb. and he doesn't sell lamb so double enticing

[supercantaloupe]

i love the farmers market and i love it during the fall especially. the crowd is still awful but i have pawpaws on my counter and fresh yogurt and napa cabbage and apple cider in my fridge

[charlotteking23]

The Lion's Lamb - chapter 1 - MV1/33

Max Verstappen x reader

The lion's lamb series: Aesthetics, Ch. 2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6, Ch.7, Ch.8, Ch.9

You spent most of your life alone. It wasn't your decision but artists tend to isolate themselves by accident. you were the type to find inspiration and peace when alone.

You would spend hours in your room, painting, until your vision became a reality.

Most people would never work as hard as you do to make a living, but you lived in Monaco. The country where money flowed. You knew you weren't like other residents that surrounded her in this country.

You weren't rich and you didn't have a trust fund to fall back onto. Don't get it wrong, your paintings sold high enough to be able to live in the country permanently, but you were barely scrapping by.

Some might ask why you choose to live in Monaco when you could have been living somewhere else more comfortably.

Monaco itself was known for their wealth and in your line of work, you need the rich to buy your work. You had about three regular clients in Monaco that provided 80% of your entire income.

Coffee was the only time you took a break and wandered into the outside world. And today was one of those days where you needed a break. you had been in your room for the past 4 hours trying to come up with something, but your mind was blank with ideas.

A client had commissioned a piece about 3 months ago and gave the 23 year old a wide range of creative ability on the painting as long as it was a darker piece.

You were the epitome of bright and bubbly and couldn't seem to get her mind into a darker frame of thought. With the piece needing to be done in a months time, you were starting to stress.

You had ordered your cup of coffee at your usual spot. You heard your name being yelled at the counter and quickly went up to grab your drink. Once in hand, you turned only to run into a wall, spilling coffee all over herself and the wall.

To add fuel to the fire of the already embarrassing situation, you slipped on the coffee that had spilled on the ground and fell to the floor hard causing more attention to be drawn onto you. While on the ground, you noticed two shoes in front of you.

You hadn't run into a wall like you originally thought, but instead a man. Your eyes followed the shoes all the way up at the man's face.

Piercing blue eyes stared down at you in annoyance. You could tell he wasn't truly taking you in but rather glaring at you for spilling both their coffees.

Jumping up quickly, You immediately grabbed some napkins off the counter of the coffee shop and tried your best to wipe the stains off the mans white shirt.

"I'm so sorry sir!" you said with tears building in your eyes. "I didn't see you! I'm so sorry!"

As you wipe the man's chest, he grabs your hands causing you to look up at him. It was then, he took in the details of you standing before him.

Your big eyes stared up at him, tears threatening to spill out of the sides. You had a light sprinkle of freckles that ran along her cheekbones and over your nose.

You had long hair that was pulled back out of Your face, but bangs to frame your face perfectly. Your lips were the perfect size and your cheeks were now the color of your lips from embarrassment.

There was a certain shine in your eyes that drew him. He couldn't tell if it was because of the tears or something else, but he needed to find out.

"It's alright," he said. You picked up an accent that wasn't from Monaco but you didn't know where.

"Please, sir, let me buy you your coffee! It's my fault, I can at least try make up it up to you by getting you another."

He nods his head at your response causing a smile to erupt across your face. The man loved how every part of your face lit up at his response. He didn't even say a word, yet you acted like he hung the stars just for you.

"How do you like your coffee?" you asked.

"Black," he state.

With a nod of your head, you told him to sit down while you waited in line. There were only two people ahead of you but you didn't want the man to have to stand with you after you ruined his clothes.

Being around him longer than necessary would cause more embarrassment on your part.

After getting both their coffees again, you found your way back to the blue eyed stranger sitting at a corner table by the window.

"Here," you said while putting it on the table. You noticed his shirt was definitely going to stain and winced slightly at the brown blob on his chest "Again sir, I am so sorry!"

You started digging in your bag for some money to give to the man for dry cleaning. Pulling out whatever you had, you tried to hand it to the man, "Here. It's not a lot but it should pay for dry cleaning to get that stain out."

"No," was the simple response you got.

"Please! It'll make me feel better if you take it! It's the only way I can make up for spilling you coffee!"

"Sit down," he said. You tilted your head in confusion at the blue eyed man. "Sit down and tell me your name. I don't want your money but I will take a name and a conversation as payment."

A blush quickly took over your cheeks as you shyly looked away from the man and sat down across from him. When you sat down you finally got a good look at his face.

He was attractive. He had these piercing blue eyes that would stare into your sole. He looked at you with softness but you were scared to be on the other end of that stare when he was angry.

He was tall, or at least taller than you, but that wasn't saying much compared to him. He was a dirty blond and had a bit of scruff that started to turn into a beard.

You could tell he didn't smile much due to him having very little smile lines. He was a serious man and it showed.

"Your name?" He stated.

"(name)," she said softly, "and yours?"

The man's eyes quickly flashed a look of surprise before they softened again, "Max."

[alllgator-blood]

I s2g if you add the layers of these comic pages together, it's over 350 layers. THIS is why I don't do full color for my comics lmaooo- ANYWAY EVERYONE HERE HAS AN AU APPARENTLY, SO THIS IS A BRIEF GLIMPSE INTO MINE. I don't know what to call it yet but I'm thinking of calling it "famous prophets" because 1. I like that car seat headrest song, 2. it's about shamura who is prophetic, 3. it's about trying to outrun fate with the Power of Love (and failing. Like the song!!!). It takes place when all the bishops were teens/kids during the age of hundreds of gods at war, and were trying to survive as a family.

I'm really excited to work on stuff for it but it's all gonna be drawn out of order. Maybe I'll write a full explanation of what it's gonna be about when I have a better idea...I want to channel my eldest sibling angst in a productive way, and maybe establish a QPP between shamura and a completely random npc everyone forgets about <3 also kallamar is trans too cause I said so. I'll do a comic about it eventually. Instead of an absence of gender he has TOO much gender. It simply cannot be contained.

I like that nonbinary genders are normalized in cult of the lamb to the point where nobody singles anyone out for being a they/them, it's not like "THIS IS MY SIBLING SHAMURA. THEY ARE NONBINARY AND USE THEY/THEM. ALRIGHT BACK TO KILLING YOU", it's just like "don't you fucking dare make my poor sibling wake up from their nap to kick your ass. Cause they deserve better than this."

But at the same time I like having the freedom to be more specific, and say "shamura is voidpunk and their gender is best described as the feeling that overtakes you during the first snow of the year, when everything outside is deathly quiet". This comic is actually derived from the time I was walking through a forest that's been torn down for a few years, and came out to my little sister as trans. I must've been like 13 or 14 and she didn't really get it as a 10 year old, but it was better than my mom FREAKING OUT about me coming out. So it was a nice little bonding moment between just the two of us. I don't have a good memory so I don't recall how it went unfortunately...

Now, the climate is a little different. My sis tried out transmasculinity for maybe 5-6 years before feeling happier as a woman, my mom is trying to be Based and flaunt her Woke trans children, and my dad remembered "oh yeah trans natives have existed before colonization. Maybe me being transphobic is a product of my culture being erased" and has gotten better about calling me the right thing. I have a mustache (thanks pcos!!) and wear skirts and am not a repressed "tomboy" teenager anymore. But I can't help but wonder what would've happened if I could've been like shamura and just...been nonbinary without people being fucking weird about it. Or been born as a badass war god who will tear you to shreds before you can perceive my birth sex. I know they're fictional but they are my ultimate gender envy GRRRRR BARK BARK BARK

Here is the secret image for this post- I listen to mostly EDM when I draw cause it keeps the energy up, but as I was finishing up shamura's poetry part, I was like THESE ARE JUST KMFDM LYRICS so I made this

[vilhelios]

— A QUICK GLIMPSE OF HEAVEN ;

( & an eternity of the divine. ) ; ceremonial body paint and scars fulfill the same purpose—stories imprinted upon the skin. or: the god of the sea teaches you what the ceremonial body paint on your body means & in the far off, harsher future, he lets you worship him—though his scars replace the body paint he once bore. cw: implied fem!reader (the sea god's beloved bride) ; fluff ; suggestive themes ; mentions of fertility ; mentions and descriptions of scars (abysswalker) ; abysswalker and god of the sea rafayel ; body worship.

“you love to learn, don’t you, my beloved?”

“if i am to be painted on like a temple’s mural, i simply would like to know the meaning of said designs, rafayel.”

the depths of lemuria are cold tonight, the rays of the sun below the waves filtering in through the arching windows of your bedroom do nothing to heat up the waters around you. and yet—you feel so, so warm, flustered by the young god’s proximity, the heat of his hands and brushes of breath against your skin feeling like the flames he conjures… but if it’s any consolation, rafayel too, seems just as flustered. the tips of his ears and his cheeks are flushed a brilliant crimson, more red than any flamulla he’s ever shown you. it seems no amount of stolen moments sleeping under the fake sun, drawn close to his side with your head on his shoulder, could ever prepare the two of you for this intimacy. 

the intimacy in question, being a miniature rehearsal of what awaits you in a few moons time—the sea god’s ceremony, the image of your lovely rafayel wreathed in gold and flame and divinity. and you, at his side, at the temple’s altar—as a bride, where once you were nothing but a sacrificial lamb. the thought makes you squirm under his touch.

“which one would you like to learn about, my heart?” rafayel murmurs, that final bit much quieter than the rest, as his fingers deftly dip the brush into the paint. (it seems he’s doing anything at all to avoid looking into your eyes, for now.) a shiny blue now coats the bristles of his brush as it returns to your skin. it is careful, just the right amount of pressure, as it glides across your shoulder in a smooth arc. and then, little dollops of paint, in a smaller, gill-like design. it’s beautiful, only possible with a steady hand—you know that all too well, given the arcs you’ve painted on rafayel are not quite perfect, yet. 

your hand drifts downward, fingers drumming against the dark-blue designs now adorning your waist, just above your hip bones. “these.” you say, hushed, like a secret. “i want to know what these ones are about.” rafayel follows to his knees, hands skimming up and down your sides as he hums, now eye-level with your exposed stomach. with bated breath, you drum your fingers over the back of his hands as they finally rest on your hips.

( memories of many a night tangled in his bed sheets come to the forefront, a sacred, makeshift altar. flesh transmuted into the divine, moans and prayers swallowed into the hungry maw of a god, salvation in the haze of pleasure. religion in reverse—it is the devotee that is worshipped. )

you’d already asked him about the crimson and sapphire insignias he’d painted onto your back and shoulder blades—and as you painted matching ones upon his skin, asked him about those as well. something about strength and wisdom, he’d explained, and how the gods would help ease the burden from your shoulders. the golden dusting across his collarbones sparkle as you look down upon his kneeling figure. like glittering moonlight on the surface world, they catch the light of lemuria’s fake sun—like thousands of little twinkling stars upon the porcelain perfection of his being.

“ah, these ones…” rafayel kisses the now-dry paint, curved lines and diamonds of blue that he’d so carefully painted minutes ago. those soft lips of his trail a burning path down the painted lines, skimming dangerously close to the opulent fabric around your waist. the way his gaze flits upwards to meet yours is dangerous, and gods, he tugs at the fabric with his teeth— “these …” he repeats, almost in a trance, “...are a blessing of fertility.”

“your highness—” 

a choked protest, it dies the moment it rolls off his tongue and your lips connect to the marred skin of his chest. if rafayel was any louder, you’re certain amund (who has had nary a night of restful slumber since you’d taken up residence in rafayel’s tent, and proceeded to make up for aeons of lost time) would throw a grumbling fit in the morning. rafayel lies beneath you, his gaze burning into your very soul as you pepper loving pecks to the scars scattered on his skin. he can’t hide from you now–not with his mask thrown aside into some corner of the tent and his overly-complicated garb half-done–and when your eyes flicker upwards you can see how red he’s gotten. his cheeks are flushed, the tips of his ears too, and there’s a haze in his eyes that you recognise well.

( gods are meant to be perfect in every way, sculpted without imperfection by the hands of some higher power. and yet, this god, so far removed from what he is meant to be, is where you find the grace of divinity. isn’t it only fair to thank your god with the worship he so deserves ?)

“how did you get this one, ra’el?” you murmur, warm breath fanning against his skin in a way that makes him shudder. your fingers trace a large scar that stretches from his collarbone to right above where his heart would be. the scar tissue is smooth under your fingertips, a dark silvery-pink line borne from who-knows-what. you hum, offer him a gentle smile as you draw a heart over the end of the scar, right over where his heart should be. “and you better not say it’s from another sandworm—i’ve yet to encounter one in the bestiary amund gave me.”

“not a worm,” rafayel manages, once he’s found his voice again. a calloused hand coming up to cup your cheek, and you lean into it like a too-eager cat. the act is gentle, delicate, as though he wasn’t all rough and rugged edges. ( in another life, perhaps, he was more well-versed in the sweeter, gentler things in life. ) “it was from a noble who thought he could best me.” his hand drops to grip your chin, tilting your head up. the look in his eyes holds a darkness you can’t quite place—a beast lingering just out of sight.. as he presses a kiss to the corner of your lips, he murmurs, hushed like a not-quite secret; “he didn’t, of course.”

you hum at that, breath hitching as another kiss falls on the other corner of your lips.. when he pulls his hand away from your chin, you lower your head to the jagged skin of his chest once more; “of course.” you echo, another kiss pressed to those battle scars, and it earns a blissful hiss from him. each press of your lips against him is reverent, as though each one sings praises of his triumph. “only i can do so, yes?”

silence captures the tent, and you think you see his eyes widen just the slightest in shock. as quickly as it came though, it is replaced by a warm amusement, a small chuckle rumbling in his chest. "how bold," he says, the little huff laced with a lilt of challenge. the rumbling in his chest is soothing, and you place your hand above his heart to savour that feeling-he is alive and happy and present, with you. "but you would be correct, your highness..." rafayel's hand moves to hold your wrist, a firm touch. he lifts it, pressing a kiss to a palm-and it feels almost like the kiss of a dagger against skin, a scythe to a soul. "only you can tame a beast like me.”

( lone stray dog, looking for your home amongst these endless sands, have you found your master once more? shall you bite the hand that loves you, as your fellow brethren pray for, or lay your life down for a semblance of love once more ? )

and then, a tug. you’re brought flush against him, his burning skin against your own, like hot coals compared to the cold desert air. “enough about these scars.” rafayel practically purrs, sounding only pleased by how he has you in his arms now. his voice drops to a whisper, and you can tell something in the air has changed, any semblance of power you thought you had ripped away; 

“there are better ways to worship your god, my heart.”

a/n: changing up the format a bit! no small text bc editing it on tumblr is! a pain! but!!!! i'm honestly so proud of this one: the idea of rafayel's live paralleling religion is so dear to me! thank you to my lovely twt moots who gave me this idea !!! (this was supposed to be an entry for the wander in wonder event BUT i got carried away and it became too suggestive so uh. none of that.)

[fatuismooches]

a lesson in sadness.

Today was another day of your peaceful, average but happy life with the puppet known as Kabukimono. Nothing seemed different about today. The blue sky appeared endless, stretching on forever with misty cotton clouds hovering above. Villagers and miners were already awake, slowly turning the sleepy village alive again. It seemed like it would be a good, normal day. And a good, normal day was deserving of a nice walk to take in the scenery. 

Kabukimono, Niwa, Katsuragi, and you sometimes went on strolls outside the village, and today was one such day. Even though it was a group of you, you tended to stick to two pairs - Kabukimono and you, and Niwa and Katsuragi. The two older men had cheesily nudged you with their elbows, winking and motioning for you to join your lover. They’d let the two lovebirds have some alone time as they walked behind, they said, remarking about how precious young love was. You were going to kick them later for sure.

But you welcomed the time you got with Kabukimono. Lately, you had been encouraging him to be around the other villagers without you. You figured he needed more interaction with other people. You could only teach him so much. Some things in life could only be learned through experience. But it seemed like he preferred to hang out with the kiddos anyway.

“And they taught me lots of cool games! Hide and seek, temari, duck duck goose… tag, too!” The thought of Kabukimono trying to keep up with the hyperactive children was amusing.

“Tag? I can’t imagine how fast you had to run,” you giggled and Kabukimono brightened.

“Really fast, actually! I have a lot of stamina, see!” With that he took off in front of you, taking you by surprise for a second, but you excitedly raced after him. Now, you weren’t much of a runner, but something about doing this with him made you feel like the weight of all your worries had been lifted. The sounds of laughter filled the air.

“Hah- K-Kabukimono! Wait u-up!” Your sprint had come to a halting stop, hands on your knees as you caught your breath. It shouldn’t be a surprise that the Almighty Shogun’s puppet was so agile, but this was on another level. Then again, you thought a puppet would be emotionless, but Kabukimono was far from that.

Thankfully he stopped to rub your back comfortingly like the good boy he was. “Hehe, sorry [Name]. I guess I got a bit carried away there. But you should really join us! We always have a lot of fun!”

You smiled at him through your pants, standing up straight. “Well, when you put it like that, I simply can’t refuse. But I think you’ll have to do most of the running. I’ll just be… backup.” Both of you giggled and you caressed his cheek, while he looked into your eyes deeply. Slowly, you both began to lean in, ready to lock lips when-

Snap.

The sudden noise was enough to make you jump and pull away from Kabukimono, eyes searching your surroundings. Uneasiness settled in your stomach, and you then felt him tighten his hold on your sleeve. Turning your head back, you could see why.

A group of Kairagi and Nobushi appeared in front of you.

The uneasiness had crept up and turned to agitation. You two weren’t even that far from the village, yet somehow they were this close. Usually, they knew their place. Perhaps things had gotten bad for them lately.

“Well well well, what do we have here? Two lost little lambs?” They all had mean, wicked smiles on their face, some blades drawn already. You had a feeling that this good, normal day would turn out to be something far different.

The dishonored samurai had a tendency to attack anyone regardless, but you knew they were particularly interested this time. Kabukimono’s clothing was very expensive. And they liked to rob.

Kabukimono, on the other hand, hadn’t much experience with people outside of the tight-knit village, but he could easily tell that these men gave off a much different vibe than what he was accustomed to. And your face had an emotion that you rarely ever displayed. Fright. Nervousness. The same face he made when he was abandoned in Shakkei Pavilion.

“Kabukimono,” you whispered breathlessly, “We have to run. Now.” You didn’t like how your own fear was beginning to infect him, but there was no helping it. 

Your hand slid down to firmly grasp the puppet’s. Niwa and Katsuragi shouldn’t be that far behind, but you should get some distance away from the bandits before you yell for help. They could hurt you if you tried anything like that. Carefully, you took a few steps back, tugging on Kabukimono’s hand.

“Come on, we need to-” You had begun to turn around to run when a large shadow suddenly loomed over you. You recognized the tattered clothing instantly as another Nobushi, and before you could even look up to gaze at your attacker’s face-

A warm liquid splattered on Kabukimono’s face. 

He was rendered horrifically speechless as you staggered back, your hand gingerly touching your shoulder, which now had a large cut. Your grip on his hand began to weaken, eyes widening in surprise and then shutting just as quickly until you fell to the ground. Almost robotically, he stared at your crumpled form, blood soaking into your shirt now. When his eyes shifted to your pained face, Kabukimono snapped out of his terrified daze and dropped down to his knees to your body.

The Nobushi paid no mind to the scene, instead shaking the blade to clean your blood off of it. But Kabukimono was too caught up with your nearly still body lying in his trembling arms, unable to properly process what just happened.

Kabukimono had never seen so much blood in his life. He didn’t even know humans could bleed this much. What should he do? Puppets did not bleed the same way humans did. You never taught him about this. One hand was placed on your back, and the other was pressed to the cut on your bare shoulder, but quickly he realized how much of the fluid stained his pale hand, running down from his palm to his arm and dripping onto his white clothes.

He was sick to his stomach. 

He wanted to move, to scream, to call for help, but the sight of the redness gushing from you onto his hand made bile rise in his throat. Your blood was on his hands, literally and figuratively. The puppet was paralyzed. Not even the clash of blades could draw him away, or the yelling that was close by but seemed distant. Even the shaking of his shoulders could not draw him away from your bloodied face, barely registering the extra pairs of hands that occupied your body.

“Kabukimono!” A seemingly distant voice ran in his ears. “Kabukimono!” Niwa had torn a piece of his shirt off and wrapped it around your wound.

“Kabukimono! [Name] NEEDS YOU!” Niwa screamed your name, the sheer emotion and urgency in his voice finally making him snap out of his traumatized trance.  “Go! Now! Bring the town doctor!”

You need him, Kabukimono thought. That’s right. You need him. You needed to live. With that, he stumbled to his feet, and ran, ran, ran. Ran despite his blurry vision from tears, and the ache in his knees from tripping. For you.

—

It had been a few days since the incident, and you had not woken up yet. The puppet had remained by your side throughout. His eyes trained on you the whole time.

Kabukimono wondered what you dreamed of. He hoped it was sweet dreams. He hoped you weren’t suffering in the land of dreams at least. Meanwhile, he was being racked with his own tortuous thoughts, unable to even entertain the thought of sleeping when you were laid like this in front of him.

Useless. Weak. Powerless.

That was what Kabukimono thought of himself as. Sure, he was discarded by his creator for his lack of utility, but even still, he should have been able to do something. He could have punched, kicked, or anything. He was stronger than you, but he could not do anything to protect you. You’ve taught him so much, and he felt like he had not repaid even a fraction of it. Instead, the only thing he could think about was how it should have been him. Then he would have been of some use to you at least.

He turned his attention back to you. As always you managed to look so pretty, even when you were sleeping. If you opened your eyes, you’d look even more pretty, he thought. For a second he wondered if praying to Inazuma’s Archon would help. He had a… complicated relationship with her, but the other villagers always said-

Luckily it didn’t need to come to that, for somehow you answered his unspoken wish, eyes barely fluttering open and then squeezing shut again at the light. Something in his chest beat ferociously as he leaped up from his seat.

“[Name]? [Name]! Oh, you’re awake!” He cried out in joy and almost threw his arms around you, but stopped himself since you were injured. Tears began to well up in his eyes.

“Ngh… ugh, K-Kabukimono?” Your head pounded a bit and you squinted at the person in front of you. A hand was gently stroking your hair.

“Yes, it’s me, [Name]. It’s Kabukimono. I’m right here,” he did his best to keep his voice calm for you. After a few minutes, you had come to your senses, the ache on your shoulder a reminder of the events that you were starting to remember again.

“Oh… ah, Kabukimono. Hey love,” you whispered, trying to work up a small smile to ease his teary eyes. His hands moved to softly grip your one.

“[Name]... I was so worried. You were asleep for days, I was so, so scared. I didn’t know what to do…” He trailed off, voice threatening to break into hiccups. You were asleep for days? No wonder Kabukimono was looking a little worse for wear. He pressed your hand against his cheek, and you softly cupped it in return.

“Hey… don’t cry. I’m fine now, see?” He sniffed and looked at you with big, blearily eyes, nodding his head as he continued to relish your awakened presence. He updated you on what else happened, how your two friends defeated the bad men, and how everyone was so worried for you. How relieved he was when he found out you would be okay. 

But it was obvious he was terribly bothered by the whole situation. The young puppet had experienced loss before, but it was in no way similar to the feeling he felt when you were bleeding out in his arms. It was immensely jarring, and he’d never felt so ill before.

“I just don’t understand,” he murmured softly. “Why would anyone want to hurt you? You’re so kind, beautiful, amazing…” The puppet trailed off with downcast, clouded eyes. You sucked in a breath, totally unsure of what to say.

You were not sure how to word this to the young, still learning puppet. How do you even go about explaining that there are some people out there who want to hurt you, in any way possible? Sometimes for a reason but also no reason at all? That some people were just rotten?

“Well,” you began, hoping the words would come to you, but nothing did. You continued on ineloquently, “Some people are just wicked. Evil. They don’t care about what happens to others.”

“But why?” He pressed on. Why, indeed. That was the question everyone asked themselves.

“I don’t know why. I wish I could tell you. But the only thing we can do is continue to spread goodness and happiness instead.” Kabukimono still seemed stumped and confused by your answer, but let the conversation drop, instead choosing to move it back to you.

“Do you need anything? Is the pain unbearable? The doctor should be here should. Actually, you’re probably really hungry, aren’t you? Should I-” Kabukimono worriedly rambled on until you pressed your fingers to his lip, effectively shutting him up.

“Of course it hurts,” you stated honestly, “but it doesn’t hurt as much as it did before. I will be fine,” you reassured him. “Though something to eat would be nice.”

Your partner dutifully nodded, as if he was given a mission that decided the fate of the world. “I will get you something right now! And tell everyone else you’ve awoken!” Kabukimono left the room, and you were alone for a bit, but not for long, as the familiar brown-haired man popped in right after. 

“Ah, Niwa…”

“Hey [Name],” he ruffled your hair affectionately. “How are you feeling?”

You shrugged your shoulders, unsure of what even to say. “I’m fine, but…”

“Looks like something is hurting you more than that cut of yours,” he looked at you with pity.

“I just, I don’t know how to console or help him.”

“It might be difficult for one without a heart to understand. Though you have taught him matters related to love and life, the flip side is…” Your dear friend trailed off.

“Kabukimono does have a heart. It may not be physical, but he is far more kind than some of the actual heartless humans I’ve met in this world,” you whispered softly, fluttering your eyes shut. “But, how do I explain death and hatred and all the ugly things in this world without breaking his heart…? I want him to learn, but I fear it may hurt him too much.” Niwa didn’t reply but looked at you with understanding, rubbing your arm soothingly.

“You know, he hadn’t moved the whole time since you were sleeping. No matter how much we pleaded with him, he just refused to leave your side. Didn’t eat, sleep, or even move an inch from that position. So… no matter what happens, I think the two of you will be fine. I’ll leave you before Kabukimono comes back.” With that, Niwa left your room, leaving you to your thoughts.

You stared at the ceiling, feeling empty, not just from the ache in your injured shoulder, but the one coming from your heart. You wondered what would happen when you actually died. Passed on from this world leaving Kabukimono by himself. What would he do? Would he accept it? Move on after overcoming the grief?

“[Name]? Here, I got your favorite,” your lover’s voice rang throughout the room as he came in with a neatly set tray of soup. “The doctor says you need to eat light things to get your appetite back.”

You watched as he diligently dipped the spoon into the bowl and then brought it to your lips. You obediently swallowed the liquid. It was yummy. He continued the process without faltering, like this was the one thing he must do expertly.

Well, you could put thoughts like those away. It wasn’t necessary right now. You weren’t planning on dying anytime soon, not while he needed you so much.

lesson 1. lesson 2. lesson 3. lesson 4. lesson 5. lesson 6. lesson 7. lesson 8. lesson 9. lesson 10. bonus lesson.

[vixstarria]

Admit that you love me

Connected with my other headcanon fics, but works as a standalone as well.

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Bard Tav, Astarion is bad at feelings, Gale is bad at everything

Bit of angst, bit of comfort, bit of fluff, love, banter, humour and all the other good things. Non-explicit. Early Act 2.

Approximately 2,000 words. 

AO3

You traversed the shadow-cursed lands. Earlier this week, Elminster had showed up, eaten all your cheese, essentially told Gale to kill himself and promptly went back to wherever he had come from. And you thought 200 year-old vampires were erratic... You hoped you would never come across a vampire wizard.  

It was an average evening in camp. You and your companions were passing time by the fire before calling it a day. 

You were sitting on the ground before the campfire, as Astarion sat on a fallen log behind you, trying to massage a crick out of your neck and shoulders. You weren’t even being obnoxious about it, your neck had genuinely been killing you and he was trying to alleviate the pain and discomfort.  

You’d closed your eyes and leaned forward a bit, trying to give him better access, when a remark from Gale caught your ear, and the hands stilled. 

“It’s truly heartwarming to see how well Astarion takes care of his livestock.” 

In the sudden silence that ensued, before you had even registered your own emotions for the insult, your immediate instinct was to seize the hand that was still on your shoulder, and say: 

“If you kill him, he’ll take us all with him.” 

It turned out to be the right call, as Astarion re-sheathed a dagger you hadn’t even noticed he had drawn (or had on him), and gave your hand a small squeeze.  

“I... I’m sorry, that was a poor joke.” Gale looked at the ground shaking his head. “If you can call it that. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” He started to get up. “I better-” 

“Disrespect my lover or me again, and I will personally burn everything that you cherish, and rip out the throat of every person you hold dear.” Astarion’s voice was an icicle. “I won’t kill you… But I will fulfill my need to hear you scream.” 

Astarion gave your hand another squeeze and got up. He met your eyes as you turned back to look at him, and gave you a barely perceptible shake of the head before stalking off.  

Gale, who had stood silently through Astarion’s cold outburst, wordlessly turned and left in the opposite direction. 

You still sat on the ground, elbows on your knees, eyes shut, now rubbing your temples. Great. Perfectly normal (in accordance with your definition of ‘normal’, anyway) evening ruined. No Astarion, Gale at a new lowest low, awkward silence, you still with a crick in your neck, and now an unfolding headache. All while feeling like you’ve been spat on.  

“Is that what you all think?” you asked quietly, still rubbing your temples. “That I’m a stupid lamb offering myself to a wolf for slaughter?” 

To your surprise, it was Lae’zel who answered.  

“It is true that the vampire is a predator, and there is hunger and lust in his eyes when he looks at you. But there is also love and yearning. You both carry it. My people are proficient in recognising it, for we are taught from a young age to quash such notions at their conception. Love and attachment make you weak. But you two, you have turned it into a source of resilience and strength. The wizard is as delusional as he is out of line.”  

You were completely taken aback by what you just heard. 

Firstly, by the fact it came from Lae’zel. But also... You hadn’t actually exchanged words of love with each other. Oh, there were the ‘my love’s, but that was more of a silly casual pet name that had started long ago. You both regularly addressed Karlach as ‘love’ as well. It didn’t mean much. 

But to have a githyanki set it out for you so candidly...  

“...I couldn’t have said it better myself, Lae’zel,” spoke Shadowheart.  

“Aw, none of us doubt you or fangs,” added Karlach. “Hells, sometimes I worry my heart will have a meltdown not from exertion, but from seeing you two.” 

You hoped no one could tell your face had coloured scarlet by the light of the fire. 

“Gale just hasn’t been himself lately. I’m sorry you and Astarion took the brunt of it. I’m sure he feels awful about this.” Wyll apologised as though he had anything to do with it. “I better go speak to him, make sure he knows we understand.”  

You excused yourself and went to your tent soon after as well.  

Astarion didn’t return that night. On checking his tent, you noted he did take his weapons with him, though. That’s all you really needed to know. He could take care of himself. After all, he was one of the horrors other people were scared to encounter in the shadows. Still, when you finally fell asleep, it was only due to sheer exhaustion. 

~ 

It was morning when he finally showed up at the entrance to your tent. Probably. You could barely tell night from day in this blasted place. You were sitting cross-legged on your bedroll, getting ready for the day ahead. You didn’t get up to greet him as you continued to fasten the belts and buckles of your equipment. 

“I was worried.” 

“I know,” he said simply. When you didn’t say anything, he sighed and added: “And I was angry. Furious, actually. Murderous. I didn’t want you to see it.” 

You bit back a swear. 

“I can-” 

“Before you say you can handle my anger, that’s not the point. I don’t want you, of all people, to be exposed to it to begin with.” You frowned and he continued: 

“When everyone keeps telling you you’re a monster, eventually you no longer want to prove them wrong – you want to show them just how much of a monster you can be. And you’re the only person who doesn’t think that about me. Why on earth would I do anything that might make you look at me the same as they do..?” 

It broke your heart a little to realise that that’s what he thought. 

“They don’t think you’re a monster, Star,” you said imploringly. “Gale said something stupid which he immediately regretted, yes, but the rest of them were on our side.” You made sure he was taking in what you were saying. “On your side.” 

“...They were?” Astarion’s eyes softened. 

“Yes. Lae’zel gave a whole speech, just about.” 

“Ugh,” Astarion curled his lip. “And I thought you were serious for a moment there.” 

“I am serious! She was quite poetic about it, actually.” 

Astarion suddenly took a step back out of your tent, looking up at the sky in alarm. 

“What is it?!” you reached for your bow. 

“Oh just checking for flying pigs...” he stepped back into the tent. “...So what did she say? I’m intrigued.” He still looked skeptical, but much less guarded than before.  

You paused your preparations, set down your weapons and met his gaze. 

“She said she sees the love in your eyes.” 

You weren’t about to tell him that she actually said she saw love in your eyes as well.  

“Oh...” Astarion seemed momentarily taken aback. “That is quite poetic for a githyanki.” 

You continued to study him without saying a word. 

“...Oh no. No no no.” He waved a finger at you. “I see EXACTLY what you’re doing, and I am NOT falling for it.” 

“What am I doing? I’m not doing anything.” 

“Exactly! You’re not saying anything, forcing me to fill the silence until I start stammering like a fool and admit that I love you!” He paused, turned away and huffed, before turning back to look at you, hand on his hip. “And that is NOT on the agenda!” 

“You’re not going to admit it?” 

Astarion looked away again, wrung his hands, opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it, and looked back at you, cocking his head to one side before finally saying:  

“...Not today..?” 

You burst into a laugh. How long had your heart been pounding? 

“Gaaaaaale! Old buddy, old pal!” you heard from Astarion. 

You lifted your head to see Gale approaching.  

Fucking Gale, you thought.  

You got up to face Gale at the entrance to your tent. 

“Morning! I would say ‘good morning’, only that would be a lie for all of us, in light of-” 

“Oh for the love of all that is unholy!” Astarion cut him off. “Spare me your words and drawn-out explanations, and I will spare you my daggers. We don’t need that. We can sort this out like two mature, adult men.” 

The next thing you knew, Gale was on the ground, looking in disbelief at the blood dripping onto his hand from a possibly broken nose.  

“There. Now, for all intents and purposes, this matter can be resolved, if you wish. As previously advised, in the event of any further disparagement of me, Tav, or the nature of our relationship, I WILL be committing arson and turning everyone you love and care for inside out, Tav being exempt, of course. Now that this has been explained to you, if you accept, the damage you just took to your face can serve as compensation, to the full and final satisfaction and discharge of the idiotic shit you said yesterday. Are we in agreement?” 

Astarion held out a hand 

You stood back observing Astarion, your arms crossed. Theatrics to cattiness to violence to legalese within the span of a minute. How flustered and giddy was this man? 

Gale was still on the ground, also looking at Astarion incredulously.  

“I sometimes forget that you used to be something far worse than a vampire.” 

Gale accepted the offered hand and got up. 

“And you, Tav? Would you like to break the spare lute over my head, perchance?”  

Astarion perked up at that, but you were quick to protest: 

“No, no, let bygones be bygones and all that...” 

“Then it is settled,” Astarion interjected. “Well then, off you go, friend.” 

“Actually,” you cut in. “I think Shadowheart needs to rest a while. Gale could come with us today instead, seeing as you’ve sorted everything out. Gale, are you up for it?” you asked as Astarion stared at you in disbelief. 

After the borderline sleepless night you’d had because of these two idiots, the least they could do was entertain you by suffering each other’s company.  

“...Sure, let me just ah... do something about the blood. I’ll only be a minute.” 

And just like that, you and Astarion were back on your usual bullshit, causing a loud ruckus as you headed out of camp, him on your heels.

“I object! It’s ME or HIM! And if it’s him, you can give me my ring back!” 

Wyll snapped his head in surprise to look at you two, as Karlach gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.  

Astarion paused as if to say something to them, then waved a dismissive hand and continued walking after you. 

“...Because I am NOT dying in camp like a sitting duck just because HE couldn’t keep you safe!” 

“It’s my ring now, and you’re both coming! And so is Lae’zel. Lae, are you ready?” 

“Always,” came an unperturbed answer from the githyanki, as she got up to follow you. 

“There. She can lecture you on poetry, between the fighting.” 

Astarion had finally caught up to you.  

“You cheeky pup,” he said only loud enough for you to hear, his red eyes narrowed and a wry grin on his face. “We’ll need to have a long talk about your behaviour.” 

“Is that on the agenda? For today?” 

Astarion swore under his breath, smiled to himself and fell back again. 

Yep, definitely flustered, you thought, fighting a stupid grin that was threatening to take over your face.  

Oh you were going to enjoy this day. 

~~~~~ 

Author’s note: 

Sorry bloodweave gang, my headcanon is Gale and Astarion are constantly beefing.  

I wanted to work in the “disrespect me again” line from Early Access – although I ended up altering it. A lot. 

~~~~~

Next in series - Confession

OR, chronologically appropriate smut - Seeing stars

Series master list

AO3

[docholligay]

after episodes 110 and 111

Okay so four things might have been aiming for the stars, given my output this year, but if I get a little over a thousand words more it'll be 3,000, which is more than I've written in a day in....more than a year. Maybe two.

SO HERE is this one. More canon-complaint, or at least canon-friendly than usual (boo), it's about 1900 words.

You are special. There is something inside you, that makes you different. Important. 

She’d left the light on in her room, bright as day. Her mother wouldn’t bother coming in and telling her to shut it off, to go to sleep, to take her book and tell her she had school in the morning, and what was she thinking, reading this stupid thing at midnight? 

Haruka wished she would. 

The young boy on the page, a dragon at his side, sword in his hand, destiny in his blood--it was always boys who were brave, who were special, who did things, and did not need to be rescued--was the culmination of Haruka’s desires. He was upright and noble, even in his momentary sadness. It was true, what the wizard said. He was different. He was important. So important that it had been necessary for the beautiful sorceress, Aralith Starfall, to die to save him, her undying love on her lips to her last breath. 

Haruka wiped the tear, that was most certainly only from holding her eyes open too long, from her cheek. 

To be loved so deeply that someone would die for you, Haruka could not imagine, at 14. To have been born to a higher cause, every struggle and difficulty imbued with meaning. To carry a promise inside you. She closed her eyes, and wished into the starless sky. 

She should have realized that if there are no stars, you pray to the dark. 

Haruka had everything she dreamed of that night. A destiny. An importance. A woman willing to die for her. A sword, even. 

But Griffin Steelblade didn’t seem so bothered by it. His carefully-drawn face had betrayed no confusion, no uncertainty. Haruka, on the other hand, suddenly didn’t like any of it. 

It was true that they both had died, and the apartment was silent as the graveyard they both should have been in, but it wasn’t the same. They were fated warriors, chosen by God and Destiny, doing what they needed to for the princess yet to be revealed. It wasn’t a Steelblade story, and Haruka wasn’t supposed to be Griffin. They were both soldiers. It was a different story.

But Michiru lied. 

------

Michiru was, to put it mildly, unaccustomed to explaining herself, and she had no intention of starting now. 

What was done was done, and it had all worked out in the end anyhow, in a manner of speaking, and the princess was revealed, talismans obtained, so what Michiru had done or not done was immaterial at best. Pluto had said not a word to her on the subject, Usagi had been dismissed with a quick bow and a hissed, ‘at your leave, Majesty,’ and Mina had merely tossed her hands in the air while walking away. 

Michiru would do it again. 

The overwhelming burden of being chosen, of being special, was already Michiru’s at a tender age. Rich, pedigreed, almost certainly likely to marry within the circle of latter-day global debutantes, her head had felt the weight of a crown long before it had fallen to others. Not even the crown of a queen, but the crown of a princess, born only to be groomed and sacrificed as a perfect lamb in spring. 

When Sailor Neptune was draped upon her, Michiru was hardly surprised. Another requirement Michiru was born to, another kingdom or family pyre to burn herself upon. To fight a monster was not so different as to speak to some failing Duke looking for a dollar princess. Over more quickly, at the least. Michiru was quick and decisive in her work. 

She had not saved Haruka out of love. A creature like her could not feel it, the blade and the crown wrought in iron and gold. But Haruka was hers. Haruka was the only thing she had ever wanted for herself, in recent memory. Oh, perhaps a lovely dress, or a fashionable handbag, but that wanting was not like this. Desire. It curled in her mind, red and hot like the end of a cigarette. 

Michiru had been affronted that Eudial thought she could take what was rightfully Michiru’s. Everything else was merely detail. The only rules she had broken were self-imposed. 

Now the worst of it: Haruka was no longer sweet and amusing. She looked at Michiru as if the apartment were a boxing ring, and she was looking for a clear space, somewhere she could insert herself and claim victory. It was silly, of course. No one yet born could feint and jibe as Michiru could. They could circle each other until the end of time, round for round, and Haruka would never be the victor. 

Time would pass. Haruka would forget whatever silly little promise they had made to one another, and they would return to festivals and other amusements. Michiru would fight and curtsy and whatever else they wanted her to do, but this moment would pass without comment. 

Michiru did not explain herself. 

---

She lied. 

“If one of us should fall, the other will go on. It is a matter of duty. You understand duty, do you not, my gallant knight?” 

Michiru had tilted her head in the way Haruka loved, where the light would gently catch the edge of her eyelashes, the curl resting next to her cheek. 

“Yeah.” 

“So if I should be captured?” 

Haruka nodded. “I keep going. We gotta get the talismans.” 

Michiru smiled her closed-mouth smile. “Yes. Very well. Let’s begin.” 

But she lied. Haruka wasn’t stupid, she knew what Michiru said, even if she said it all flowery. Just like in the Steelblade comics, sometimes. Like Aralith used to talk. She said they both had to keep going, if one of them got caught. That was the rule. That was what they promised. 

Then Michiru came after her. Then Michiru died. 

Then they weren’t dead, which made bringing up harder. Easier, also, because you can’t bring something up when you’re dead. But harder. Michiru’d walked away from the cathedral that day saying there was no harm done, and was that cafe still open by their apartment? 

There was a dull ache behind Haruka’s breastbone, and she wasn’t sure it was from the gun. 

Michiru lied. 

The other reason it was hard to bring up was that Haruka had killed herself. Well, it was to get the talisman. So not killed herself, more like, ‘nobly sacrificed herself for the cause.’ But it didn’t sound as good as dying for someone. And Michiru died for her. But she wouldn’t say that, either. 

Did Michiru love her? She’d never said so. She let Haruka live in her apartment, but that was smart, because they were looking for the talismans together. Haruka went a lot of places with her, but it seemed Michiru was kind of lonely, so that made sense too. Sometimes, the way she touched her…but it was all silly. Michiru wasn’t going to fall in love with someone like Haruka. It was all business. 

But then she died. And she lied about it. And Haruka couldn’t stop thinking about those comics from when she was a kid. 

“Haruka, I won’t let you die.” 

It wasn’t “I love you.” It wasn’t. Besides, Michiru liked things her way. She was kind of spoiled, honestly, though Haruka thought it was a little cute. So, it could just be that Michiru didn’t like Eudial thinking she could do what she wanted. 

Every time she tried to say something, Michiru would dodge it, like they were kids fighting in the backyard, and she was too quick and too clever for Haruka. And she wasn’t Griffin. She was special, sure, but she was a side character. She did the dying. She wasn’t worth dying for. 

But Michiru did die. And she died for Haruka. She didn’t die for the talismans, even Haruka saw that. 

It had been easy to die. It was like she’d been holding her breath her whole life, waiting to die for something. To be a hero. 

There’s something inside you that makes you different. 

Maybe the hero got to live. Maybe true love conquered all. 

That was the end of it. From the moment Haruka said it to herself, she realized that whatever Michiru herself thought, and however broken and scuffed and worthless Haruka was, Haruka was in love with Michiru Kaioh. This had been true for months. Every time she looked at her, there had been a soft wash, like a watercolor painting, as if Michiru were too beautiful to be a real thing. Every time Michiru spoke, there was a light breeze, music, she could smell roses in the air. There was a perfect love, hidden by Haruka’s own fear. 

But if Michiru were brave enough to die, Haruka must be her knight gallant. Must be brave enough to live. 

If Michiru could lie for love, Haruka could tell the truth for it. 

---

Like a dark shadow in the sea, Michiru saw the moment approach. It lingered, and waited, peering up at her from beneath. Surely Haruka would say something, had been trying to say something since the whole incident. She opened her mouth, gaping like a big mouth bass, and when Michiru looked at her with whatever seemed most offputting: coyness, indifference, even laughter, she would close it. She would not speak on what she had done. 

Truly, the saving grace of the matter was that Haruka was not burdened by emotional eloquence. 

But the point was coming, whether Michiru liked it or not. Eventually, one’s opponent does attempt to land a blow. But no matter. Haruka was unaware that Michiru had more than heard of Haruka’s asinine little dalliance with martyrdom. The invocation of that, and all the waste of Michiru’s own sacrifice that it implied, would be enough to close the book on the matter for ever. Haruka would never be quick enough to catch her. Whatever had happened in the cathedral meant nothing. Might not even have happened quite as Haruka remembered it, over time and retelling. 

Michiru was the undefeated champion in this game, and Haruka would have nothing against her. She would not explain herself. She would not reveal the game. They would continue in their little play, and she would continue to have Haruka, and nothing would ever change. If she was to be Saillor Neptune, she would take this as her prize. 

It was true, that Michiru was sculpted and twisted into the thing that she was, and that Haruka could never understand that, but an inability to be a real thing did not--apparently--disclude her from wanting. And like a lovely dress, she would have Haruka, and she would take the thing she desired, and it would be hers. Haruka would stay because Michiru had everything, and would give it to her, and Michiru would never admit what she was afraid might be true. 

Haruka rose from her spot by the window and sat at the end of the couch where Michiru read. She drummed her fingers on the edge of her knee, licked her lips, and looked over Michiru, two short slow breaths coming as she let it rush out of her mouth. 

“Michiru, do you love me?” 

MIchiru sat up straight, closing the obsolete book in her hand, and tossed her back, ready to speak. 

“Because I think I love you.” 

It was the sort of think only Haruka could say to her: open and true and utterly artless. Devoid of artifice or poetry or anything but the raw bleeding edge of the moment. Her hands dropped, book in her lap, overwhelmed by that horrible leviathan of truth. The great punch, with no respect at all for rules or footwork or anything but what she felt, full on her face. 

K.O.

[cultofdarkwood]

*grandma voice* In my day there was a video of a man coming out of anaesthesia being filmed by his wife and had no idea who she was so he started hitting on her, only to choke up when she tells him she's his wife.

That but Narilamb (or dealer's choice)

hold on thats hilarious, one sec. hope u don't mind i changed it a little bit :3

-> rules to request a ficlet here!!!

-

When Narinder opened his eyes, all he could see was red. Sharp red light illuminated the dark shadows, giving shape to dark wooden ceiling arches high above. The blinding light faded, and something pulled from his throat, gurgling and churning.

A dark liquid flowed from his lips, the harsh tugging leaving his throat sore and mouth dry. He coughed, turning over onto his side as the chanting within the darkness began to cease.

"Narinder!" A voice called. There was a clop of hooves on wood, approaching, loud, before a cold rush of air flowed over him and the face of a beautiful stranger leaned over him. White wool curled over their soft, grey cheeks, a pitch black crown nestled between two dark, tall horns. Their eyes were red, a deep color that reminded him of spilled wine.

They were speaking to him, he realized. This gorgeous stranger with soft clouds of wool, dressed in a striking red robe that complimented both their wool and dark grey fur, was speaking to him.

"Narinder," they said, worrying their bottom lip between sharp teeth, and oh, what another beautiful detail about them. "Narinder, are you okay?"

"I must have died," he said in a hazy voice, "for there is no living creature that can compare to the beauty of one such as yours."

Somewhere insignificant, there was a snort, and a hastily covered giggle. The beautiful stranger looked surprised.

"Narinder," they said, unable to tamp down a smile of their own, despite their worry. "You did die."

"Oh," he said. "Does that make it impossible for me to court you?"

There was another hastily covered laugh from somewhere else. He cared not from who or where, focused entirely on the beautiful stranger holding him in their arms. Since when had they drawn so close and touched him?

"I- I mean, I suppose you could," the stranger said, laughing to themself as well. "But, Narinder, we are already married."

"Oh," he said again, looking at the stranger, then down at their hands.

"Nari- Narinder!" the stranger laughed as he struggled to look, sitting up on his own and grabbing their left hand. He stared at the metal band upon their finger, his face twisting up.

"Oh," he said once more, his voice choked with tears, "I have no chance at all."

Unable to help themself, the stranger with white wool burst out laughing. Their laugh was one of fondness, laughter so full of love that Narinder couldn't stop his devastation from spilling down his cheeks.

"Kallamar," the stranger called, beautiful, loving delight in their voice. They took their hand from him, gently cupping his face and wiping away his tears. "Kallamar, help me get him to the healing hut please. Disciples of mine, send everyone back to their duties."

"Who is that?" Narinder asked, sniffling pathetically, paying no attention to the soft, gentle hands helping him up. Instead he clung to the stranger, leaning on them as they led the way from the dark building. "Is that your spouse?"

"Hah! Absolutely not," a voice beside him spoke. It was watery and high and soft despite its nasal tone. It didn't belong to the beautiful stranger, so he ignored it.

"No," the lamb said, gently grabbing his hand as they ducked inside another building. They lifted his hand and showed it to him, sitting him down on the bed and smiling. He wore a metal band on his finger, one that matched the band on the lamb's hand. "Narinder, you're my husband, my darling."

"That resurrection ritual did a number on him," the other voice, supposedly Kallamar, said, and there was a rustling of baskets and the clinking of glass bottles. "I've never seen him so... so... well, like me."

Narinder looked up at the lamb, and found they were no longer a stranger to him. The wetness on his cheeks, instead of devastating, now left him feeling mortified. The lamb smiled, their free hand cupping his face.

"Ah, there you are, my love," they said, attuned to his recognition. They kissed the top of his head, between his ears, and despite his embarrassment, he couldn't help but melt into the affection.

"What happened?" he asked, wincing at the way his voice cracked with previously shed sorrow. "Resurrection? Why do I find it difficult to recall..."

"A new side effect," the lamb muttered with a sigh, kissing the top of his head again. "You died, my love, and I brought you back. Kallamar?"

"I'll figure it out," the other voice grumbled, and Narinder finally tore his eyes away from the lamb to glance across the hut. A pale blue squid was pulling down several bottles from a high shelf with his tentacles, reading the labels and setting them aside in a growing pile-up. "I've not failed yet."

"Who is he?" Narinder asked, and Kallamar fumbled the bottle he was holding, glancing over his shoulder to stare at Narinder. A second later, the hand on his cheek gently turned him away, and he was face to face with the lamb again, that beautiful lamb.

"He's your brother," they said patiently, their thumb gently stroking the fur of his cheek. "He's going to help you get your memory back. Right, Kallamar?"

"I already agreed," Kallamar grumbled, and there was another clink of glass.

The lamb smiled, gentle and sweet, nuzzling their nose to Narinder's. He melted into the affection, his tail curling as a purr started up in his chest.

"Don't," Narinder started, unsure of what he wanted to say but saying it anyways. "Don't leave me alone."

"I won't," the lamb agreed. "I'll stay with you."

[maggiecc]

When the World Shifts (Finnick O’Dair x reader) Part 2

Finnick O'Dair x reader

TW: It's about the Hunger Games, so murder, talks of death

You have been made shorter than Finnick, but it's not important. Do I include Y/N?

No Betas, we die like vikings.

Part 1, Part 2 (here), Part 3, Part 4: TBD

The day of the reaping came all too soon. The days leading to the reaping were filled with training, for Finnick, and you, as well as everyone taking shifts with Annie. If you were with her, Finnick trained with Mags, if Mags was with her you and Finnick trained, and if Finnick was with her, you and Mags trained. Annie had fallen back into many of her old patterns from the months after her games, if she did not have one of you to ground her she would start to scream and rip her hair out. You worried that when you and Finnick left, Annie would only have Mags but she will know where you are and you are unsure if Mags will be enough.

“Are you ready love?” Finnick pulls you from your thoughts. You take a breath in to steady yourself.

“Does it really matter?” You attempt to joke, but your words hold much truth. It doesn’t matter if you are ready, the reaping will occur and you will soon be on a train to the capitol, whether or not you like it.

The District 4 victors all gather together to walk over hand in hand. You walking next to eachother, Finnick, you, Annie, and Mags stepping onto the stage together. You looked at the bowls, the left had 3 pieces, and the right had 1; seeing them making it feel all the more real. 

The capitol representative who had drawn, Annie’s, Finnick’s, and your names walked up to the bowls. He began his long-winded speech from the capital all about the importance of the Hunger Games and how significant the quarter quell is. It was a summary of what Snow had said, and that speech was already burned into your brain. You start to disassociate from yourself, it had been so long since the last time time you had been at the reaping in person. 

After your victory, you tried to go to the reapings to meet the tributes after they were reaped to help comfort them, but it became too much. No matter how much you tried the tributes were outmatched by the careers. So over the years, you had to stop going, seeing the names pulled and looking at the faces of the children who were lambs to the slaughter became too much. Sometimes you still dream of those first few kids, 

Coral was only 14 when she was chosen, and had a smile that could light up a room. She made you a bracelet you still wear on your wrist, made of dried fish bones and odd-shaped shells. She went in with Moss, a soft-spoken 16-year-old. You grew up on the same road as him, his older brother even went to school with you. He did not have hope for himself but spent the game trying to protect Coral. They lost their game by a sneak attack while they slept, leaving you a wreck for weeks. The only comfort you had was they went fast, a mercy not many receive in the games. 

The next was Annie, and although she won the loss of her partner hurt you as badly as the first two you lost. Annie winning was both a blessing and a curse, it let you keep Annie but the next 2 years held hope which only made the pain hurt more. After losing 4 more tributes you eventually stopped going to the reapings. You wanted to be there to help the kids but the mental torment was simply too much. Finnick trained, them and Mags the group after, you returned to join the rotation knowing that it was hard for Finnick and Annie as well.

Your reminiscing was cut off by someone grabbing your hand. You turn to look a the source of the warmth and comfort. Finnick looked down at you and tried to give you a comforting smile. It was like he read your mind and knew what you were doing, and he was probably doing the same. You all knew not to get too attached but it was impossible to look a those young kids and not care.

“It will be alright, love” Finnick attempted to comfort you, but you could not even muster a response, only being able to squeeze his hand.

“We shall let the men go first,” The host announced, laughing as he pretended to search around the bowl, but there was only one name. You knew what the host was about to say but you still flinched upon hearing it. “Finnick O’Dair!” 

The host began to clap and District 4 reluctantly joined in, out of respect for their only male victor. Finnick gave the cameras a wave as he walks to the side for the next name to be called.

“Alright, now for the female tribute!” The host was loud and excited, so clearly capital. He saw this as some sort of game but the districts knew the truth. These were murders, children slaughtered for nothing, a war they weren’t alive for. “Our female tribute is . . . Annie Cresta!” Your heart sinks. Annie broke out in tears holding herself as she begins to weep. You knew what you were about to do, knew she wouldn’t enter the games but hearing her name still hurt her.

“I VOLUNTEER!” You scream tears starting to form. Mags begins to wrap Annie in her arms as you walk over to join Finnick. 

He wraps you in a hug and leans to whisper in your ear “We will make it out, I promise.” You nod your head and wipe your tears.

You move to stand side by side and grab Finnick's hand. You raise it high above your head for your District to see. All of District 4 began to cheer for their victors, turned back into tributes. They finally have a reason to have hope, both of you were survivors and maybe you could have a chance, that they would not have to watch more of their people be slaughtered for entertainment. You had the same hope, maybe you could make it out, maybe both of you could.

Once you were able to walk off the stage you run to where Annie and Mags stood. You wrap them up in your arms, and Finnick does the same holding all three of you. Your little family, the only people who truly understood you was being torn apart. Annie grabbed both you and Finnick, gripping your arms to the point her nails dug into your skin but you ignore it. She is still crying but not screaming anymore. She lets go of your arms and grabs your heads to put them to her. She was unable to speak but you understand what she is saying. Annie lets out a soft laugh and you know that she cannot control it.

“We will make it back to you, I promise,” Finnick tells her. You don’t know if she believes him, or if you do but she lets go of your heads. She grabs your hands to give you one last squeeze followed by Mags giving you both a soft touch to the cheek and a smile. 

The peacekeeper starts to head towards your group, a sign you had to leave. Their weapons stayed in their hands, not pointing towards you, but the threat was clear. You are leaving now.

“We’re coming you grunts,” Finnick told them as he turns to walk. You begin to join him but quickly turn your head around and mouth, I love you to the woman. Annie turns into Mags' arms as her weeping returns.

You turn to look up to Finnick, seeing him tensing upon hearing Annie’s cries but not being able to hug and comfort her. You grab his hand and squeeze it, making him look at you. “We got this. Mags will take care of her for when we come back.” you try to comfort him.

He gives you a soft smile that does not fully reach his eyes “Of course my love. They don’t stand a chance against us.”

You nod your head, then turn forward to walk, hand in hand with Finnick, knowing that whatever you are going to face you will at least be with him.

[apomaro-mellow]

Lambing ch 1/? Read on AO3

the stedissy secret adoption omegaverse fic that i put in the steddie fic adopt community

There was silence in the Hagan house tonight. However it wasn’t the peaceful silence of a household asleep. No, the silence came after the frantic chaos of just an hour before. Steve Hagan had awakened, suddenly in distress. Something felt wrong. It didn’t take long to figure out why. Now, the mess was cleaned, the bed sheets changed, and he was in a fresh nightgown and his husband was back to sleep.

The days when Tommy would comfort him over this were gone now. This was the third time after all. Once everything was done and they were settled back into bed, he simply said, “We’ll try again later” and then bid him good night. Steve knew he must smell something awful. Bitter and astringent, he didn’t know how Tommy could sleep so easily. As much as he tried, Steve knew he couldn’t escape his own scent. But he could stay here in this bed.

Quietly, he got out, slipped on his bed jacket and left the bedroom. He felt like a phantom, haunting the halls of the house in the dark until he got to the nursery. Or rather, what would have been the nursery. Steve brought a hand to his mouth, just barely covering a sob. He slid down along the doorframe, his shoulders shaking but his voice producing no sound. He knew he shouldn’t feel like this. He should let it roll off of his back like his husband.

And yet it broke his heart all the same. The first time, Tommy had kissed him sweetly, had blamed it on Steve trying to do too much as a new wife, had assured him that it wasn’t his fault. He’d understood when Steve didn’t leave the bed for a week, he’d even stayed home with him. The second time, Tommy had rubbed his back as he cried and didn’t force Steve to attend outings but still went out himself.

Tomorrow there was a party. And Steve knew that this time he would be expected to be present. It was an open secret that Jason Carver would be proposing to Chrissy Cunningham tomorrow. Jason and Tommy were close partners. Steve couldn’t even imagine having to congratulate Miss Cunningham on her soon to be engagement. Steve wasn’t that familiar with her, only Jason through Tommy. But she would be Jason’s wife soon and he needed to begin establishing a kind of relationship with her. 

He couldn’t sleep. He knew trying to do so would be an exercise in futility. But he also knew that Tommy would be disappointed if he woke up in bed without him. He wiped his face, breathed deep and long for a while, then stood. He gave the nursery a final look before shutting the door on it and returning to bed. If there was one thing he wished the future Mrs. Carver, he hoped she had better luck conceiving and carrying a child.

Chrissy giggled as she was kissed from the tip of her middle finger all the way up to her shoulder. Her sleeve acted as a barrier and yet she felt the heat of it anyway. It felt incredibly bold doing something like this in broad daylight, but there weren’t many windows on this side of the house and the view from both sides was obscured by tall hedges. She knew her beau wouldn’t risk it otherwise.

“Like sweet cream and sunshine.”

“Sweet-talker.”

“Ah, but ‘tis true my lady.”

“Eddie~”

“Madame~”

“Stop”, she giggled again. But he continued, kissing her cheek and then whispering sweet nothings into her ear. She didn’t want him to cease anyway. These secret stolen moments with him were one of the only things she had to look forward to right now. Especially with her impending engagement…

Chrissy had been born into a wealthy family and unfortunately, Eddie was not a wealthy man. He was rich in his soul, it was what had drawn Chrissy to him as he tended to the garden of her childhood home. What began as a tender yet shy flirtation as teenagers blossomed into a secret love as they reached adulthood. They were of different worlds and yet Eddie courted her with all the cordiality he had in his bones. Were they allowed to be open, he certainly would have proposed and made an honest woman of her.

But it was not to be. Chrissy knew that Jason would be proposing at the party today. She knew that once that was set in stone, she wouldn’t be able to be alone with Eddie like this. It made her burn for something more than kisses and light touches. But Eddie was a proper alpha and never pushed forward, even when they could smell each other’s desire.

Eddie could smell her getting dour now and moved to kneel in front of her, holding both of her hands.

“E-Eddie?”

“~It won't be a stylish marriage~ I can't afford a carriage~ But you'll look sweet upon the seat~ Of a bicycle built for two!” He kissed her knuckles. “I can’t give you a ring. And I can’t promise you anything but myself. But I’ll always be here. You call my name and I’ll be at your feet.”

Chrissy smiled down at him. She pulled one hand away and petted at the short curls upon his head. “Like a loyal little pup?”

Eddie barked and Chrissy laughed as she scratched behind his ear and he bounced his leg. Eddie always knew how to put a smile on her face. So when he had to get dressed for the party tonight, she was still walking on air. It felt odd, putting on such a pretty yellow dress when the radio spoke of war and the world falling apart. So she turned it off. No one she knew was off fighting, although she knew husbands and brothers of acquaintances that did.

Tonight she would be fighting her own battle, so she put her war paint on in the form of her favorite lipstick. 

All was going well tonight. Tommy had complimented him on how he looked in his dress. His breathing was even and the music kept him from thinking too much. Steve was doing an amazing job holding it together. Something he had learned long ago was that decorum would keep people in polite society from mentioning ugly things in public. He had lost the milky sweet scent that came with pregnancy already but no one said a word. They all must know though. The first time Steve had been so ashamed, he wore scent blockers for six months, long after the baby would have come, had it survived. 

He thought any and everyone would throw it in his face, his failure as a wife and supposed mother. Now though, he knew better. People possibly had remarks in private, but no one said anything to his face. He still went without drinking though. He didn’t trust himself around it right now. Tommy was by his side most of the night until Jason called him over when at the same time Steve felt a bit dizzy.

“You go. I’m going to sit down for a bit.” Steve felt like he was wobbling in his heels but no one commented, so he must look well enough. He looked for somewhere to sit and the couch was right there, but it was also in the center of everything. And the longer he looked, the more he felt short of breath. So another room wasn’t the answer either.

Steve eventually found his way to a patio in the back. And thank the stars, there was a patio set. He sat down, taking a deep breath. Summer was good to them right now and the night was pleasantly warm.

“Too boisterous for you?”, a voice said in the darkness, causing Steve to jump to his feet and look around. A man pushed off from the wall just next to him, he’d been covered in the shadows.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Steve looked him up and down. He wore a simple white button down, his slacks held by suspenders and a flat cap finished the look. It was the lack of a jacket, the slight wrinkle to his clothes and the stain on his shirt that told Steve he was a member of the staff.

“No harm done”, Steve said, pushing some hair behind his ear. It was short, just barely coming off his nape. He’d worn it long his entire life. But after the second loss, he had chopped it in a fit of shame, guilt, and rage. 

“They’re a lively bunch, aren’t they?”, the man said, gesturing towards the interior of the house.

Steve looked just in time to see Jason lead Miss Cunningham across the room and into another, supposedly to pop the question.

“It’s a momentous occasion”, Steve said. He remembered his engagement to Tommy. How hopeful and happy he had felt.

“Mmn”, his conversation partner said before taking a drag from his cigarette that Steve just now noticed. Then he looked Steve up and down and for a moment Steve feared he could tell what he’d just been through.

“Why is a baker a silly fellow?”

“...I beg your pardon?”, Steve asked.

“Just what I said. Why is a baker a silly fellow?”

“I don’t know many ba-”

“Because he parts with what he kneads!”

It took Steve a moment to catch up but when he did, a smile broke out onto his face and he covered his mouth to hide the little giggle that threatened to bubble up.

“What has eyes but cannot see? A potato!” 

That one got a snort out of Steve and an eye roll that was only half sarcastic.

“Alright, alright, just one more. If Hitler and Goering went up a tree, what kind of fruit would they find?”

Steve raised a brow at that, his silence prompting the man to finish his joke. The man grinned wide before answering.

“A rotten pear.”

It was so unexpected, Steve hadn’t been able to stop the bout of laughter that spilled out. It was so strong that he had to hold his sides. His companion looked incredibly proud of himself but Steve had to admit that it was deserved. He was literally wiping tears from his eyes.

“Now it’s your turn.”

That got Steve to sober up. “Me? I don’t know any jokes, I’m afraid.”

“No? You must know at least one. Come on, indulge me. What’s a momentous occasion for you is terribly tedious for myself.”

Steve tried to think of any funny stories or wordplay he knew. He remembered making friends laugh before getting married. Nowadays, people laughed at Tommy’s jokes and Steve was expected to laugh along. That was when he remembered. 

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

It was a bawdy sort of joke. One that wasn’t really meant for a wife’s ears but Steve had heard it anyway when he entered the room to serve their guests drinks one evening. He never would have thought of repeating it. But something about this man made Steve want to impress him. He swallowed, rubbed his hands onto his skirt like he was preparing himself for more than just telling a joke. Then he cleared his throat.

“What hangs at a man's thigh and wants to poke the hole that it's often poked before?”

The other man’s eyes got wide for a moment before he smirked. “Oh pray tell, what?”

“A key”, Steve said, grinning the whole time. He felt filled with light the way the man roared with laughter. 

As he caught his breath, he almost sounded like he was choking. That was when the music stopped and Steve could see that everyone had gathered around Jason and his future bride. The glass door muffled most of it but they could both hear as Jason raised his voice to announce - “She said yes!” prompting the guests to clap and cheer. Almost immediately after, Jason was corralled by alphas and male betas while the omegas and female betas flocked to Miss Cunningham to get a look at the ring.

“I should go inside. Get back to the party”, Steve said. 

His companion was already walking away, melting back into the darkness. Steve felt odd for not getting his name. But he more than likely worked here as a gardener or cook or steward of some kind. It was only happenstance that their paths would cross now and there wasn’t any reason to expect them to again. Steve patted his cheeks before going back inside and joining the throng around the woman of the hour. 

“Congratulations, Miss Cunningham.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hagan. It really is a dream come true.”

Steve wondered if he was imagining the strain in her voice, the tightness of her smile. A query was on the tip of his tongue. Was she alright? Was she really happy? Was this what she truly wanted? But he held back and kept smiling and so did she. Because these were not questions that were asked in polite society.

Part 2 coming soon

If you want a preview of what's coming soon, this was all inspired by this yt short

[4pplec0re]

Are we ever gonna get the context for the wolf in sheeps clothing drawing? it's just been stuck in my head because it looks BEAUTIFUL and Im curious/nf

the children yearn for the pretty awesome lore

okay i'm going to try my hardest to not explain this in the most complicated way possible... the lore goes deep guys never start a roleplay friend group /lh

The most notable characters here are Noel Vincent (Vin for short) Gruber (he/she) and Misha Oleksandrovych Bachynskyi (he/him). They make up the ship "Pretty Awesome" (technically they're also dating one of the Rickies--their full ship name is Pretty Freaking Awesome (PFA). It's dumb and I love it). Here are some short descriptions for each of them--

Vin is Moni's character. He is Noel at his core, based off of RVJ's Noel, but I like to call him fucked up Noel. She likes gossip and attention. She's often referred to as a "wolf in sheep's clothing" (HE SAID THE THING!), because on the outside he portrays himself as innocent, as if a lamb, but can often be selfish and loves to cause drama for her own gain. Her lore goes much deeper than this but we are not going to get into the Vin lore right now. He's not entirely bad but he is a very flawed character.

Oleksandrovych is played by yours truly. He's basically just my personal interpretation of Misha--he's the Misha you see in TCI (however, multiverse Oleksandrovych's lore is NOT connected to TCI Oleksandrovych. TCI has separate lore. No multiverse stuff over there). I'm not going to explain his personality you know what Misha acts like.

It all starts in a roleplay server called The Zolarian Star Cluster (which I'll be referring to as 'ZSC' from now and forward). The premise of this server is pretty simple. It's a Ride the Cyclone roleplay server, it's pre-Cyclone, and there are several slots for each character. So, a multiverse of sorts! Vin and Oleksandrovych met here. Blah blah roleplay plot stuff, they're dating now. Real corny.

Move on to RPTW, another RTC roleplay server. In RPTW, there is a category called the Sandbox, where people can claim whoever, whenever, with no limits, no submissions, and no approval (for a bit of context, in ZSC you're limited to two or three canon characters, and you can't have two of the same character (e.g. two Noels), because there are limited slots for each so it's easier to manage. None of these rules apply in the Sandbox.) We started adding on some lore to the Sandbox. One important thing to note is the Deja vu phenomenon; although the lore starts over in Sandbox, if a character meets another character in the Sandbox that they knew in a separate roleplay server (ZSC or Sugar Cloud (SC)), they'll experience a sort of Deja vu, noting them and things they do as familiar.

Clearly, I'm sure you know where this is going. Misha does not like Vin in the Sandbox. Vin has constantly been very passive-aggressive towards Noel Oscar (the Noel in Oleksandrovych's choir (TCI Noel!)), and Misha is pissed off about it. Despite this, he feels... drawn to her. He tries to ignore her, but ends up responding every time (even if he's dry about it). It doesn't help that Vin feels the same sort of connection, but gives into it, flirting with and teasing Misha.

Now blend all of this together-- Vin is ill-intentioned. Misha knows this; he's seen it himself! He hated seeing her insult his friend. Vin beckons, "Ohh, mon soleil... no need to be so cold. After all, I'm just a sweet little lamb... don't you agree?" Misha is frustratingly enticed by her. Despite all of his anger... something about this lamb is just so familiar.

I also want to point out some details of this drawing that I liked. First of all, Vin's eye is supposed to look like a wolf's eye (furthering the metaphor). Second of all, if you take a look at their eyes, you'll notice the highlights in them are heart-shaped. I have decided that when two characters who were in a romantic relationship in another universe look at each other, the highlights in their eyes appear heart-shaped. (Not related to the drawing, but this is the same for close friends, except those highlights are star-shaped. Thanks Nym!)

i love my son and his evil wife-from-another-universe i need them to get on that rollercoatser right now here's them interacting in zsc vs sandbox if u even care

[hqbaby]

four — can i see you

tag, ur it! — sakusa ? iwaizumi ? osamu ? 

*ੈ✩‧ love is a losing game your roommate, your ex, or the guy you totally haven’t been seeing—the choice should be simple, right? right?

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.1k content. profanity

You were a freshman. A stupid, naive, lost lamb of a freshman.

It was your first week at college and you’d gotten lost between classes. Your friends—stupid, lost freshmen just like you, though they’d never admit it—were no help at all. 

After walking around, imagining how the professor would scold you for being late for class (you later realized they didn’t care at all), you admitted defeat and sat down on a bench to wallow in your misery.

You contemplated how you’d tell your mother that you were dropping out of school, leaning back and trying your best not to burst into tears.

And that was when you saw him. The love of your life who was going to wreck it all.

He was tossing a frisbee around with a group of guys whose name you’d later come to know all too well. From a distance, he looked terrifying, definitely not the kind of guy you could walk up to and ask for directions. Yet, there you were, somehow pulled out of your seat, drawn to him.

“Hey,” he said, like you were an old friend. “You good?”

That’s when the floodgates opened and you found yourselves bawling to this stranger, blurting out every single one of your doubts and fears as he pulled himself away from his group and sat you down on a patch of grass.

He nodded to each of your worries and rubbed your back, trying to calm you down. “It’ll be okay,” he said between your rambling. “Just relax a little.”

Eventually, you ran out of words and tears and devolved into a hiccuping mess, rubbing your eyes and nose, trying to breathe.

“That’s it,” he said, smiling as you started to settle down.

You blinked at him. The embarrassment suddenly hit you and you buried your face in your hands. “Fuck, I’m so sorry,” you said, avoiding his eyes. “I must look insane.”

He just laughed. “Nah, you’re good,” he told you, moving away from you and sitting down. “It’s good to let things out every now and then, you know. Helps the nerves or some shit.”

You looked up at him and cringed. Had you really just sobbed like a kid to this god of a man?

“I’m so fucking embarrased.”

He laughed again. “Don’t be,” he told you. “Do you want me to do something embarrassing to make up for it?”

You shook your head. “Please don’t. I’d feel worse,” you said. You wiped your eyes and let your shoulders slump. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he told you, getting up. He reached his hand out for you to take, and you surprised yourself when you took it and pulled yourself up. “Come on, let’s get you to class.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why are you so nice?”

He grinned at you and shrugged. “I don’t know about you, but it’s not every day that a pretty girl comes up to me and asks for help.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m really not,” he told you, grabbing your bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Let’s go, pretty girl, you wouldn’t wanna be late, would you?”

The two of you made your way back to the building, stopping at the restroom so you could try and salvage the way you looked. You already messed up one first impression by looking insane, you didn’t want your classmates to suffer the same fate.

He led you to the third floor where your classroom was, pointing out different places you’d need to know later on as you went. “You’re an art student right?”

You nodded. “Painting major.”

“Damn.” He whistled. “That’s kinda hot.”

“You’re fucking with me, right?”

He shook his head. “I’m really not,” he told you. “You gotta have a little more confidence if you’re gonna make it through college, pretty girl.”

Pretty girl. He’d called you that more times that you could count in the short amount of time that you’d been with him. If anything was going to drive you to the brink of insanity again, it was that silly pet name.

“You’re not some creepy upperclassman who’s gonna start stalking me, are you?” you asked. “Because if you are, I’m only into that in very special cases.”

“Hey, I’m probably a year older than you. Two, tops.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He stopped in front of the door. 312-B, the classroom you’d spent the last hour looking for. He handed you your bag and smiled that easy smile of his.

“For the record, I’m not,” he said. “A creepy upperclassman, I mean.”

You smiled. “Yeah, I figured. A little boring, but it’s fine.”

“I’m Osamu,” he said, holding his hand out for you to shake.

You reached out and told him your name. “Thank you, really.”

His hand lingered on yours before he pulled away. “Don’t worry about it,” he told you. Then, he winked. “You can always pay me back later, pretty girl.”

And just like that, he turned to leave, waving at you as you pushed the door open.

You sat down in class waiting for your professor who would show up thirty minutes late, and all you could think about was Osamu. And he was really all you thought about for the rest of the week. And the next two years.

“You’re distracted,” Tsukishima says, dropping the stack of books on your desk. “Mimi wants to give these away.”

“Like donate them?” you ask, looking over the titles. Art books that you suspect you’ll never be able to afford at the rate you’re going. “Would she donate them to me?”

He shakes his head and walks over to his desk. “She just said to give them away,” he tells you. “Have at them.”

Smiling, you slide the books over to the side of your desk and turn back to your laptop. “Have you sent the emails yet?”

“Weren't you supposed to?”

“Yeah,” you say as you look over your laptop at him. You flutter your eyes at him in an attempt to make him weak at the knees. “But I was kinda hoping you’d do it.”

Tsukishima looks at you, immune to your tricks. “I could have her fire you right now, you know.”

You snarl. “I hate you.”

“Thanks. Now, send those emails,” he says, turning back to his own work. “So, why are you so distracted today?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re never this crappy at your job,” he tells you. “What is it?”

You look over at where your phone is placed face down on your desk. You think of the text on it, waiting for your reply.

can i see you?

An overwhelming feeling washes over you. Like you’re a freshman again. Like you’re a fool.

You shudder at the thought.

“Nothing,” you say as you pull up the emails you were supposed to send. “Just tired.”

notes. and we're back!!! sorry for the late updates but we're starting back up again ;) so excited for you guys to read the rest of this series

[charlotteking23]

The Lion's Lamb - Chapter 3 - MV1/33

Max Verstappen x reader

The Lion's Lamb Series: Aesthetics, Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6, Ch.7, Ch.8, Ch.9

Max was a beautiful man. He was even more beautiful when he smiled.

His smile wasn't full-on but slight, with his lips turning upwards in the corner only. But to you, making the man in front of you smile was your goal.

"Tell me about yourself," he said gently.

"About me?" You needed clarification. Normally, when you talk to men, especially the ones that live in Monaco permanently, they don't care to know about you.

"You are (name), aren't you?" His thick eyebrows arched questionably.

Blushing, you lowered your head, looking at your cup in between your hands. You see a hand reach across the table and land on your chin, slowly lifting it so your eyes meet blue, "No. I don't like you looking away. I want to see your eyes on me."

You blushed again at the man's words, biting your lip anxiously. His eyes immediately get drawn to your pink lip between your teeth.

Noticing his shift of attention to her lip, she decides to speak, "My (name) (last name) and I'm 23."

Max was surprised that was all you said. Most women he met would never give him a chance to speak, continuously talking about their lives to try to impress him.

"Are you from Monaco?" He asks, trying to get you to continue

"No," You shake your head lightly "I'm originally from the U.S. and came here about a year and a half ago."

"What brought you here?"

"The people," you shrug, "not to be weird about it but everyone here is wealthy. My clientele is mainly wealthier people."

"What do you do for a living then?"

"I'm an artist. Specifically a painter," You visibly become happy when talking about your job. It was obvious to see you love what you do.

You start to ramble on about your job until you realize what you were doing and start to blush, "Sorry. I ramble a lot."

Max chuckles, sending shivers down your spine "I don't mind. I love hearing the sound of your voice."

Blushing even deeper and smiling, you change the topic to save yourself from any more embarrassment, "what about you? Where are you from?"

"I'm originally from Belgium but grew up in the Netherlands most of my life."

"And for work?"

"I work with cars," he vaguely answers. You raised your eyebrow knowing there's more to the answer but decided not to push.

"And that brought you to Monaco?"

"For a time," he shrugs. "I travel a lot for work and only really have about a total of 4 months here in Monaco."

"Where do you travel for work?" Your eyes light up again at the thought of traveling.

You always wanted to travel but haven't been able to do it financially nor do you have any idea where you'd want to go.

Max smiles at you and goes into depth about some of his favorite places to go. He realizes his job is amazing but can't help but wish he had more time to spend with his family.

Though, his lifestyle hasn't affected him much because he's a loner. But sitting there with you, he can't help but hope to come home more often to see the beautiful woman more often.

The pair continued to talk for about another hour or so before they were interrupted by your phone ringing.

You give the blue-eyed man an apologetic smile before answering the phone, "hello?"

"Where the hell are you?" You hear your roommate yell at you through the phone. Your roommate wasn't someone you would willingly have in your life. If you could you'd live by yourself.

"I'm getting coffee," Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"I need you home because I have people coming over and the house is a mess! You have to come home now and clean it all up!"

Max didn't know who was on the other end of the phone but just by her tone, he didn't like her. No one should yell at you like that.

"What do you mean? When I left, the house was perfectly clean."

"Well, it was until I spilled soda everywhere so I need you to help clean up!"

Deciding not to fight with your roommate, you just sighed, and told the girl you would come home now and hung up the phone.

"Everything alright?" Max asked.

"Yeah just got to help my roommate clean up the mess she made because she wants to have people over," You sighed again.

"You shouldn't have to clean up her messes."

"I know but it's easier not to argue with her," you started to gather your things and stood up.

You reached into your purse, pulled out a pen wrote something on the napkin, and handed it to the man. "Here. It's my number. Text me and we'll do this again"

You smile softly at the man before leaning in and kissing him on the cheek before turning away and leaving. You hadn't registered what you had done until you were almost home.

You stopped mid-walk, a smile plastering your face. You didn't mean to do that, but you were happy you did. You smiled the entire way back to your apartment.

Max was stunned by your boldness. You were so innocent and naive yet here you were giving your phone number to him and kissing his cheek.

Something about you made you stand out from everyone else. He didn't know what it was yet but he couldn't wait to see you again.

Taglist: @shelbyteller, @smithieandy, @fangirlforever2000, @herexpertcollector

[thebeigelunatics]

i listened to a podcast that recapped and reviewed s4 and one of their chief complaints when it was said and done was that they felt lamb was a bit too soft now in comparison to prior seasons but more so in comparison to his book version. which i've no problem with—art is subjective and all opinions are valid. and i agree with them to an extent. i do think lamb was a bit softer, a bit gentler in s4. but i don't personally see it as a problem?

i think in a series of books, particularly in sort of spycraft/thriller/pulp crime novels that it makes sense for the lead to maintain a certain shape to the readers? for instance, as a kid i was really into raymond chandler's works and his crafted idol philip marlowe was virtually the same from start to finish. no matter what he came up against, it never fundamentally changed him or how he approached a case.

i understand how characters like that can be satisfying for book readers. whereas, imo, i don't think a character developed for television can every series be exactly the same and it be as equally satisfying. if that makes sense? i think lamb needs to have an arc. i also don't think that means that by the end of the show, he should be jolly father christmas. that will never happen. but i do think it's ok for him to have layers and feel drawn to other characters and have feelings about them. i think its ok if he expresses them.

idk i felt gary oldman did a lot of nuanced work in s4 and lamb imo did feel a bit different but i think it was earned? i think his relationship with standish and river in particular warrants him being slightly altered. and i hope that continues. i love his rough edges and his fear of letting people get close to him. but that only works for me and continues to be interesting if there are cracks where we get to see him trying to connect and work through that.

[angelsanarchy]

Requested by kappasbbgirl : i totally get it! he deserved a whole episode or honestly a whole movie! i would love desperately one where y/n and him are inseparable everybody knows they belong to each other period point blank….but someone else gets added to the cult “family” , kappa gets attached, and y/n starts feeling jealous abandoned etc and there’s chaos and it’s heart-wrenching ugh i need it 💔

All it took was 3 months with a tiny blonde ditz for him to shift his gaze. They went from worshiping each other every single day to barely seeing one another at dinner. Y/n watched her whisper in his ear as she sat draped across his lap across the bonfire, his hands sliding up and down her thighs and fiddling with the string of her top. Y/n sat sipping a beer, wishing that her glare could pierce his flesh with the hurt he had caused her.

She was his world and he was hers. They were the ones who started this movement against anti-humans. They had killed for one another, they had starved and been brutalized by the justice system all for her to be placed on the outside of his affections for some young idiot who hasn't gone a day in her life to sacrifice anything about her skin care, let alone the cause.

She pretended to be this little lamb who needed Kappa to teach her how to do basic things, it was pathetic.

"Y/n, you look stressed. Would you like me to help you with that?" Epsilon spoke from behind Y/n as he massaged her shoulders. The new contact felt wonderful and pulled a moan from her lips that seemed to drawn Kappa's eyes upward.

"You wanna take your hands off my property Eps..." Kappa said with a laugh. Y/n closed her eyes and reached back to hold Epsilon's hands in place.

"I'm no one's property. Please continue." Y/n stroked his forearm, not paying attention to Kappa's body shifting beneath his new toy.

"Y/n...don't make a scene in front of our new family members." He cleared his throat and Y/n opened her eyes to see the young girl with her hand buried in his hair.

"I see no new family members. The family I have has fought this fight, killed for our cause, and bled for it. What you're referring to on your lap there is a plaything...fresh meat." Y/n could see the girl start to tense.

"You're being rude-" Kappa started to grit his teeth and Y/n rolled her eyes.

"Then let me excuse myself before I hurt anyone's feelings. I have something much more interesting I could be doing with my mouth instead." Y/n got up from her seat and Kappa watched her run her hand down Episoln's arm before taking his hand and pulling him behind her. They had barely made it into the trailer before the door swung open and Kappa yanked Epsilon out. Y/n let out a sigh knowing that she had gotten Epsilon in trouble for no reason but before she could walk out and defend him, Kappa came bursting through the door, slamming it shut behind him and backing her into the bedroom until she fumbled backward onto the bed.

"Are you trying to make me kill Epsilon? Is that what you want? Because I will and you will have no one to blame but yourself and your desire to piss me off." Kappa seethed.

"Oh fuck you Kappa! You don't own me and I'm not going to wait around while you fuck the shiny new virgins into the family. I have just as much right to fuck who I want, when I want." Y/n pushed up from the bed and stood in front of him. He walked towards her silently.

"Is that so?" He kept his tone tight as he stared at her.

"Don't stand here and waste my time. Fuck that little toy of yours while you can because she isn't staying long." Y/n demanded.

"Yeah? Why's that?" Kappa asked amused.

"Because if anyone owns someone here, it's me. You think you can fuck me raw and hard, cum in my body and wake up one day to do that with someone else? I don't think so." Y/n shoved him hard before slapping him across the face, grabbing his chin roughly.

"This mouth belongs to me." She growled, taking her free hand and cupping his already hard cock in her hands.

"This cock belongs to me." She moved her hand from his chin and slapped her hand on the skin of his chest that was visible through his shirt.

"This heart is mine. The only way out is for me to consume it." She felt the pain in her teeth as she gritted out her words and Kappa's breathing picked up. When she released him he licked his lips, scanning the trailer for a moment before picking up the dagger that sat on the counter. Y/n wasn't afraid of him even as he walked towards her with the dagger before yanking the rest of his shirt open and holding it out to her.

"I suggest you mark what's yours then." Kappa's hand was unwavering as he held the blade towards her. She took it and shoved him down on the bed, straddling his hips and staying perched atop his cock which was crying to be released from its cage. She kept her eyes locked to his as she carved her name across his skin, letting his warm blood run down his nipple and his moans escape his lips.

When she was done, she wiped the blood from the wound and stuck the fingers into her mouth.

"I am yours...for eternity." Kappa whined leaning up to capture Y/n's mouth with his own.

"Then fuck me like I know you can." Y/n bit his lower lip and Kappa smirked. The clothes they were wearing was practically shredded before used the blood from his chest to stroke his cock. Y/n swatted his hand away from it and lifted her legs to throw over his shoulders. He entered her roughly and his thrusts were sloppy.

"Is that all you have for your soulmate? Fuck me harder Kappa. I am not glass, I will not break." Kappa took her words as a challenge, flipping her over and gripping her hips with a brutal pressure that he knew would bruise. He fucked into her deeply, pulling moans from her mouth as he slapped the flesh of her ass bouncing off of his thighs.

"Oh fuck! FUCK! Don't stop." Y/n pleaded.

"Who do you belong to Y/n? I need to hear it." Kappa asked as he pounded into her pussy, yanking the hair on the back of her head until her throat was exposed.

"Mmm I'm yours Kappa. I'm only yours baby." Y/n cried feeling him pumping his cum into her while he dug his fingernails into her hips. Even when he was spent, he continued to fuck into her, moving his hand to her clit.

"Cum for me my love. Cum on my cock." Kappa ran his hand down Y/n's back and she moved her ass back on him until she felt herself gripping him tightly. He slowed his thrusts and kept himself safely inside of her as he lay down behind her, holding her tightly to his chest.

"You were never second. You are and will always be my queen, my heart and soul." Kappa breathed into her hair as he held her.

"The day you decide otherwise will be your last, Kappa. I will kill you myself if you ever try and find a new queen." Y/n turned her head to look at him and he touched her chin.

"I will put the dagger in your hand myself." He promised his life to her.

[felice-jaganshi]

Made With Love

Radioapple Fic

Chapter 1: Lambchops

(This chapter based off fanart from notherpuppet, I love them so much)

The candles were lit and the sigil was drawn in lamb's blood. All that was left was to invoke his name, and see if he actually showed up. If not, at least Alastor could have a nice lamb chop dinner.

“Lucifer, King of Hell, Lord of Pride. I implore thee to grace me with thy presence this evening.” He spoke as sweetly as he could, using every trick he possessed to sound as alluring as possible. He was in his mother's living room, though she no longer lived here… he'd always call it hers. 

 

There was a full minute of silence, standing in the dark room with the candles as the only light. He sighed and began to turn away, when the room suddenly got brighter!

He turned, and saw the fireplace, blaze to life, where it had previously been dark and empty of any kindling at all! Shit! But he was supposed to manifest within the circle so he was contained! He must have done something wrong, now he'd have no control over the devil!

The fire blazed white and out onto the stone hearth stepped a flaming figure with horns and a tail, red glowing eyes locking on Alastor. 

Alastor's face split into an excited grin, “Greetings, your majesty. I'm honored that you actually took the time to visit my humble abode.” He bowed at the waist, but kept eye contact. 

 

“You're alone, human? No… others?” His voice reverberated with the flickering of the flames. He sounded curious, which Alastor hoped was a good thing.

“No, I am not part of any cult or anything. My summoning you was for entirely personal reasons. I beseech You, please hear out my request. I require power. Physical power.”

 

“Oh? And where is my lamb?” He sounded… bored.

“Oh yes, right here your Majesty!” He motioned to the dining table, and at lovely cooked lambchops.

The demon looked over and all the fire left his form, revealing a man. Much shorter than Alastor expected… he wore all white and stepped forward towards the table.

“You cooked it? Damn, that's a first actually.” He looked impressed.

“Well, please enjoy your lamb sire, then may we get down to business?” He smiled at the short devil, examining him. We'll, he's certainly not what Alastor expected the devil to look like, certainly less red… but he is known as The Deceiver for a reason. This is probably just a trick to make Alastor lower his guard or test him into being discourteous, so he can steal his soul without granting his request!

 

Lucifer sat down at the small table, “Well, you might as well join me. You prepared enough lamb to feed two!” He chuckled and kept his beautiful red eyes on Alastor, with a sharp toothy grin. Alastor felt it was more of a demand than a request. 

“If that is what you desire.” He went to get another plate and wine glass before sitting down and pouring them each a glass.

“So, what part of earth have I been summoned to? And what year is it?”

“You're in Louisiana, Sire. And the year is 1927. This is my mother's home, or… was rather…” He kept his smile on, but looked away with a deep sadness in his eyes. 

“I can't bring people back to life, if that's what you were gonna ask for.” Lucifer said softly, feeling pity for the young man. He took a bite of the lamb and his eyes went wide, “Whoa! Did your mom teach you to cook like this?! I'm gonna have to make you my personal chef!” He then dug in enthusiastically. 

“Is that what you'd desire of me for the power I require?” Alastor hadn't touched his food yet, just watching in awe as the devil ate all the way down to cleaning the bones.

 

“Huh? So focused on business. And here I was hoping for some good dinner conversation. Well, before I offer anything to you, I need an idea of what I'm working with here. ‘Power’ is a rather vague concept without context. And since you made me such a delicious offering, I'm feeling gracious enough not to immediately fuck you over.” He rest his chin on his folded hands and smiled softly, eyes half closed as he felt satisfied with a full stomach. 

 

Alastor sighed, “Very well, if I must.” He had hoped to avoid sharing his personal details with the demon, but he was damning his soul anyway. 

“My mother… she was murdered, and I wish to get revenge for her. But I'm not strong enough to take on the whole group by myself. So I would like to petition you for assistance. To borrow power from you so I may avenge her and make sure they never do this to anyone again.”

Lucifer stared intently as Alastor spoke. “I see… well, I could use some entertainment. So how about I make this extra interesting. For the duration of your hunt, I'll make you not just powerful, but I'll make it so no one will be able to tie the murders to you either.” He wanted to see how Alastor would handle this gift.

His eyes lit up, “Truly? And what do you ask in exchange for such a generous offer?”

“Well, standard arrangement for such a deal would be your soul. But let's make this more interesting. Once a month for the rest of your life and afterlife, you have to summon me for dinner. Not necessarily lamb everytime, I have quite the diverse palette.” 

“Dinner with the Devil once a month? And I get to keep my soul? Well, I Believe we have a deal then, your Majesty.” He held out his hand, and Lucifer shook it.

 

 

His first murder! It was exhilarating! The Power coursing through his body was a high he could hardly keep sane through, it was immediately addictive. He needed more!

That thought made him flinch and look in the mirror of his bathroom where he was cleaning up. His eyes… They were red now, like the Devil's. But it was already fading back to brown as the power left. No- no! Come back! I need the power!  

He felt a cold sweat over his body. “I… I may not have given my soul, but hell is already my destination.” He knew that should scare him, that he should be begging God for forgiveness and protect, but he didn't want either of those things. With this power, he could protect himself from anything! He was powerful now and no one could stop him!

The thrill of the realization sent shivers down his spine. That's what this was, excitement, not fear.

It was time for the next Victim. Tomorrow, he'd get Their leader.

 

Next month, he summoned Lucifer again, this time making him jambalaya and hoping for the best.

When Lucifer stepped in through the fireplace, he smiled softly, holding a box.

“Hey kiddo, it smells great in here! How've you been enjoying my powers, it looked like you were having fun.”

 

“Sire, can you please not call me ‘Kiddo’. I am an adult man.” Alastor's grin tightened, “And yes, I've been enjoying your gift immensely. However… I am coming close to the end of our arrangement, soon I will eliminate the last of the men who directly killed Mother… And I must admit, I am loathe to let go of the powers you've granted me… there are more Sinners who deserve to be punished. More lives I could save! I-” He caught himself, realizing he was getting carried away in front of Lucifer himself!

 

“Well, if that's how you feel, how about another deal?” He smiled and sat down to enjoy his meal, setting down the box on the table. “Ooooh, what'd you make this time?” He licked his lips.

“It's jambalaya, have you never had it before, Sire?” 

“Nope! Never heard of it.” He dug right in, and purred as he ate. 

“Your praise is appreciated, you majesty.” God, why did that purring make him seem almost... cute?

“And you're so polite too. Is it out of respect, or fear?”  He looked Alastor up and down before motioning to the chair across from him.

“Please, join me. You are pleasant company.”

 

Alastor sat, “Thank you, Sire.”

“Please, call me Lucifer. We're about to become much more intimately connected if you accept my offer.”

He waited for Alastor to eat his portion of dinner before getting to business.

“Now, you want to keep my powers after you've avenged your mother.

I will let you keep the strength I loaned you in exchange for ownership of your soul. Is that agreeable?” He held out his hand with a smile. Something about it looked… hungry.

Alastor took a deep breath, then slowly shook the Devil's hand. “Yes. My soul is yours upon my death.” 

Lucifer frowned at that last part, “Aw, only after your death? I can't just call you mine now?” He then chuckled and softened his expression, “Very well, enjoy your few years of freedom wisely, my pet. I look forward to continuing our monthly meals as well.”

“Yes, Sire, I will enjoy my time to the fullest!"

 

“Good, I'll be keeping an eye on you… make me impressed, my dear.” He chuckled and took his leave.

Alastor noticed the small black box he'd left behind, and curiosity got the better of him. He opened it up, and found a note card that said “To Alastor” on it. Underneath was a silk bowtie.