#and your little rolled up pantlegs

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

[unholyhelbig]

Oversight one shot request - Nat and reader dealing with the aftermath of an argument that got heated, nat realising she was wrong which is rare for her and having to try and make it up to reader

Title: The Sword and the Stone [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Reader and Natasha get into a heated argument when Reader starts to doubt her true purpose in Natasha's life.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): angst, threats of drowning, light threats, implied sex, horrible grammar- I don't proof read.

[a/n: yeah, I really don't know what this is. Life has been so hectic lately and I'm so exhausted. Someone put me out of my misery and make sure I never have to go back to South Carolina ever again.]

Check out the full Oversight universe

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

The black wax seal on the three-hundred-dollar bottle of whiskey had left a filmy residue against the mouth of the glass. It gave the warm drink an oaky edge that helped you swallow it down. The first sip had burned through your nostrils and down your throat until it lit a fire in your belly. The second seemed to extinguish the first.

You’d kept drinking until there was a pleasant buzz across your skin. You’d rolled your pantlegs up to the middle of your calves until the fabric was constricting and swished your legs around in the dark water of the pool. The scent of chlorine mixed dangerously with the bergamot undertones of the alcohol.

The moon was full and gave you a full encompassed view of the backyard and the edge of the lake lapping at the rocky shores. If you squinted, you could see the dots of red and green as buoys molded to the tides. Fishing boats navigated their way to the docks, their rumbling alerts shaking your chest.

You lifted the crystal glass to your lips and took a deeper gulp. It was warm and unpleasant but eventually ebbed to a cynical type of comfort. You placed the glass to the side and worked your fingers numbly through your hair. They ached incessantly. Your body wasn’t built for this anymore.

There was a soreness to your jaw and the underlying taste of metal that coated your throat. Before you’d walked into your shared home, the redness had started to grow a nasty, ugly purple. I’d certainly be swollen in the morning, even if you had pressed a bag of frozen peas to it.

It was a cycle. A vicious one that you’d endured for the past ten years. You were a blade in Natasha Romanoff’s toolkit. To the city, you were a composed and elegant viper; deadly when you bit but often found wrapping yourself around the arm of Eve. The crowd parted for you. Politicians groveled and clients smiled uneasily, in a scared sort of kindness.

With a groan, you laid yourself back on the patio stones and stared up at the stars. They pockmarked the sky in constellations that threatened to spin until they turned to lines of warbled light. You’d had too much to drink, and too little to eat. You’d lay here until the light in your bedroom flicked off and you could sneak in smelling of booze.

Of course, you heard your wife approaching.

When you’d first met Natasha Romanoff, you were enveloped in eternal darkness, beaten within an inch of your life. The sound of her footfalls in heels beat against your eardrums and had caused you to jerk your head up with dizzying quickness.

Now, you could pick up noise of her bare feet padding delicately against dew-soaked grass and then leaving uneven prints against the stonework. Her scent was inky and doused in sandalwood. Something that typically brought you a wave of comfort served as a catalyst for nausea.

“If you’re going to get drunk on a Tuesday night, darling, maybe an expensive bottle of whisky is not the right avenue.”

“Mm,”

The hum tickled your throat. Natasha had lowered herself to the edge of the pool next to you, delicately dipping her feet into the warm water. Her perfectly manicured fingers pressed cooly against your forehead before carding through your hair. You sighed contentedly and leaned into her touch before you registered that you were supposed to be mad at her.

“It works all the same. I’ll replace it.”

“No need. It was a thoughtless gift from Leland Owlsley after he behaved like a prick. It’s been aging for nearly a decade now.”

You made a noise that was akin to a whimper. Maybe you had underestimated the strength of the drink. Not that you would ever admit that to Natasha. You became malleable when you were drunk, and who better to work forgiveness out of you than your wife?

You draped your arm over your eyes, slurring out “Do you know the legend of Excalibur?”

Natasha scoffed, and when she didn’t give you a verbal answer, you peaked over your arm, finally getting a look at her. She was in nothing but her silk robe, the emerald green a sharp contrast to her pale expanse of skin. It had been years, and she still rendered you speechless.

She relented and shook her head, full attention trained on you. Often, you would dive into the books that lined the walls in Natasha’s study. They were leather-bound and filled with different mythos that she hadn’t read herself.

Sometimes, you would regale her with the stories of fantastical worlds that stuck with you. Of dragons that heaved heavy helpings of fire, and sea serpents that brushed their gills along the ridged edges of boats. Natasha would curl into your side, her ear pressed against your bare chest as your words lulled her into sleep.

“The blade was said to be forged with the blood of seven dragons. Each one breathed a green fire that was hotter than brimstone, and stronger than the very core of the earth. The blade, it wasn’t meant for just anyone. It may be mighty, but it’s nothing without a guiding hand.”

You hilted yourself up until you were resting all of your weight on your elbows, the rocky patio digging into your bones and stinging enough to keep you focused. Natasha had turned her head, resting her cheek on her knees and blinking slowly at you.

“For centuries, the blade was wedged in stone. Though many men tried and tried again to dislodge it, the sword would only budge for someone who was worthy, and that was Arthur Pendragon. The two worked together for decades, warding off evil, and protecting a kingdom that eventually, they came to rule.

“Arthur was considered the greatest king in Avalon’s history and served until he became too old to do so. Excalibur was not meant to be wielded by another, nor buried beneath the earth with it’s master. So, Arthur set off on his longest journey yet.”

Natasha swallowed hard. Her fingers twitched, eyes glowing under the pale light of the moon. She looked ethereal, and the snake in the pit of your stomach coiled tighter with want. You were meant to be upset with her, but the tenderness in her posture gave away her vulnerability.

“He used the last of his strength to travel across the kingdom, through vast forests, dark caverns, and steep cliffs until he crawled his way to the edge of the lake of youth. Now, stories start to differ here. But, in each, Arthur returns to sword to the ladies of the lake, determined to protect his old friend. The only one that’s ever stuck by him.

“Some say Arthur took the hand of a young siren and allowed himself to be led into the cold water. Others proclaim that he disintegrated into dust when the hilt of the sword left his hand. Either way, he was never seen again, and neither was the Excalibur.”

Some of the warmth from the whiskey was wearing off and a chill had settled against your bones. Your fingers itched to pour more of the dark buttery liquid into the glass. Natasha had moved them from your grasp with all the subtly of a god.

So, in turn, you focused on the glassy look in her eyes and willed yourself to sit up, swallowing the oaky taste in your mouth. The world spun around twice before stabilizing on the done light at the edge of the pool.

You felt a lump form in your throat, outweighing the heated effects of the alcohol. You made it a habit not to cry in front of your wife, and she rarely ever gave you a reason to. But the tensions had been swirling wickedly for months now.

“Nat,” you whispered, “sometimes I feel like I’m just your sword.”

The argument had broken out on the way home from the city. The night was a certain type of darkness that allowed the milk-white stars to shine through. It was balmy and the air conditioner whirred enough to curb the dampening interior.

You knew it was stupid to let a small thorn in your side rip and tear at your flesh until a gaping hole was left in it’s place. Your knuckles were throbbing, and a pack of peas were pressed against your jaw where a hit had landed.

You’d stepped in front of Natasha and grabbed the handle of a steak-knife and aimed it towards the ground. Your wife hadn’t even blinked, and you had no doubt that she would have misdirected the attack from the charge herself.

It was easy to strike fear into the dishwasher that reached towards whatever he could find in an act of defense. You grasped what little hair he had on the back of his head and held him under the soapy water, letting the sanitizer cling to your lungs with it’s citrus edge.

You’d gotten the money like the good loan shark you were and Natasha had pressed her fingers to the small of your back in acknowledgement before swaying off the car. You’d exited through the back, dripping with bubbles.

There were times when the weight of being Natasha Romanoff’s wife weighted you down like a pile of bricks. She was a good partner within the walls of the house. She’d pull you against her front and lean her head against your shoulder, her cold fingers wandering under the fabric of your shirt.

There were expensive bottles of wine, and perfect cuts of meat. Quiet nights where you were tangled under the covers, whispering soft nothings. Louder nights where your back was arched and stars danced across your vision.

All of this changed when you moved past the threshold of your cultivated life. You’d married Natasha knowing good and well that her family, your family, was going to be dysfunctional. The ledger for the Romanoff’s dripped a cherry red.

You were meant to be her sword, her Excalibur. You stood a few inches behind her, arms tucked behind your back and stare cold with disinterest. Though, you paid apt attention to each movement her company made.  

Years before, you had been nothing but a waitress with a high pain tolerance. You’d let Natasha mold you into the weapon that you were, and most of the time, you were content with this arrangement.

The scent of bergamot tickled your throat as she moved closer with disquieting patience. She’d withdrawn her feet from the pool and straddled your center. Her weight was familiar, but the tenderness in her stare was often hidden by her walled disposition.

You grunted, staring up at the sharp curve of her jaw and the slight flush against her cheeks. She’d been in the sun today, freckles giving her away. Her nimble fingers brushed a strand of hair behind your ear and played with the gold charm in the center of your necklace.

“Darling, you know the problem with that legend?” You shook your head, hands going to the familiar place on her hips. “The Excalibur was crafted long before Arthur was around to wield it. The fates saw him fit because of the amount of care, and love he had for the sword.”

A sigh escaped you, “I thought you didn’t know the legend.”

“Oh, everyone knows the legend.” She danced her fingers against your collarbone, your body betrayed you with goosebumps and a suppressed shiver down your spine. “But I will be the first to admit that I’ve been unfair to you.”

You blinked up at her in shock, stilling your movements. Natasha Romanoff was as stubborn as they came and never admitted to being wrong. There were moments where she tentatively agreed to a different course of action, or quietly concluded that Clint would take the lead during situations that required a softer touch.

“While I am in constant awe of your ruthlessness, I am well aware that the woman I married has a soft touch. You were a waitress bringing in tips with your dazzling smile, after-all.” Her fingers were brushing dangerously close to the hem of your pants. You felt your muscles contract under her. “I apologize, moya lyubov', for making you feel as if you are nothing but a weapon. To me, you are so much more. To me, you are everything.”

Her words became whispered against your jaw in the slightest of warmth. Your pulse thudded against your throat and her tongue pressed close to the rhythm. You groaned softly and arched upwards. Your entire body was flushed with arousal.

A salacious moan escaped her. “Do you forgive me, malyshka?”

“Mm, you’re playing dirty, Nat.”

God- you’d forgiven her even before she had uttered the words of apology. Now that her perfectly curved fingers were pushing past the waistband of your pants, you were ready to rush out whatever she wanted to hear.

“Perhaps. I mean what I say, the mere thought of you being unhappy shatters me.”

Her lips were everywhere, plush as she kissed against the corner of your lip, breathing out apologies between each nip. Natasha trailed down your jawline, your pulse-point and the curves of your chest. Her breath was molten as if fanned against your skin.

Suddenly serious, she pulled back, bracing her hands on your shoulders. She held you down with little effort, strength pulsing through her exposed muscles. You swallowed the dryness in your throat and let out a shuttered whine.

“It was never my intention to make you feel inadequate. You may be deadly, molded under my hand to protect this family with everything you have, but first and foremost, you are my wife. We’ll make sure everyone knows it. But first, I need to hear you say it.”

“Say it?” You felt the pressure build in your chest, her palms digging into your collarbone. It was a satisfying sting that made you writhe under her heavy hand, you narrowed your eyes. “Really? Right now?”

Natasha flushed, pulling herself into a sitting position. “Not that, y/n. Don’t start something you don’t intend to finish.”

“Oh, you mean forgiveness. Kinky.”

“krasivo, pozhaluysta”

She wouldn’t dare beg in anything less than her native tongue. Natasha’s voice was gravelly, her eyes boring into yours with a desperation that usually was reserved for silk sheets and hazy mornings. You hated seeing her like this, clawing for affection that she so rarely asked for. Your heart seized, and you maneuvered yourself until you were in a sitting position, holding her flush against you.

Natasha tucked her nose against the small of your neck and nothing short of nuzzled you. Her disposition had crumbled and her fingers wicked into the fabric of your shirt. You held her close and listened to her breathing as it mingled with the shift of water.

There were moments, few and far between, when the calls got too close, where she would do this. Just sit and embrace the sound of your heartbeat. She kept her ear against your chest and counted the minutes. You carded your fingers through her hair and embraced her amenability.

You lifted her chin until her eyes met yours, reflecting the sweeping of the chlorine saturated pool. Her bottom lip was jutted out in an almost pout. You resisted the urge to kiss the expression off her face.

“I forgive you, Natty.” You whispered against her lips, “I’ll be your Excalibur.”

Natasha scoffed and closed the minute distance between you both. The kiss was soft, her lips tasting of the lingering liquor on your own. Her arms encircled your neck, tongue begging for entrance. You felt a frown on her features, she suddenly pulled back.

“Are you insinuating that you’d rather be with a lady of the lake?”

“Nat,” You groaned, dropping your head.

“No, no, I can totally take you to the wharf if you want the other woman.”

“There is no other woman, it was a metaphor.”

“You could have chosen a metaphor without a siren, and you know it.”

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]

[majoryeager104]

𝔈𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥

002

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

“𝐼 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑒𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑢𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢， 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒．𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝐼 𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑡 𝑖𝑡“

－ 𝑗． 𝑟． 𝑟． 𝑡．

Summary: an au where Touya was taken into custody after his initial fight with Shoto. Currently, he’s being taken care of in the hospital while you and his family make preparations to keep him at home with you.

Warnings: Language, loooots of angst in this one, mentions of abuse and violence and arson (ofc), mentions of implied s*icide

Touya Todoroki x gn!childhood friend reader

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

It had been a few days since you’d spoken with Touya about these new arrangements, and he’d been surprised to receive a few visits after you- Rei, Fuyumi, Shoto. He wondered at some point if would visit him too, but he then figured that his little brother most likely didn’t care to see him. Who would want to? Really, he was a murderer and a villain, so why bother. Why was any of this happening? Why try? He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Why couldn’t they just let him die?

Constant check ins from doctors, constant medications, constant frustration at his current situation. That was the life he’d been living since being taken in.

Well, mostly.

Because every day, he got to look forward to a visit from you. It wasn’t so bad after the initial tension faded away, talking to you while stuck in his cramped little room in the hospital, with a small window to the right of his bed so that the birds chirping outside could keep him company.

But you could see on his face every day that this arrangement was getting to him in the worst way. Sitting with his anger, in the silence of his locked room, it was maddening, at least for him. Every time a doctor walked in, every single one of them looked disgusted and angry, or worse, flat out scared. On one hand he was used to this, on the other hand he didn’t want to be.

Touya’s voice came out as a mumbled growl as the last physician for the day left, a look of disdain on his face the entire time he had been there.

“Next time that dickwit rolls his eyes at me I’ll burn him alive.”

“Touya that’s not funny-”

“Well that’s good because I’m not joking.”

Touya snapped with such frustration that the tension in his voice could snap a person in two should emotion be a physical thing. But lucky for you, it wasn’t, and yet his fiery tone still made you wince. He sat in his hospital bed, a sharp frown on his face, brows knit impossibly close together, and your thoughts were confirmed- he was getting increasingly agitated by his current situation. And yet, you couldn’t blame him.

Your voice, unlike his, came out soft, your fingers tugging mindlessly against your pantleg, the same way you’d done previously the last time he got this agitated.

“just give me some time, Touya, we need to make preparations for you to come stay with me, and then you won’t have to deal with him anymore-”

”wouldn’t have to deal with him either way if I was dead.”

Touya said this with a chuckle, but meanwhile you froze in place, looking up at him with wide eyes. He caught your look, his jaw clenching. “Touya… you shouldn’t joke like that-”

“ONCE AGAIN, IM NOT FUCKING JOKING, Y/N!”

His booming voice and loss of temper caused you to flinch, averting your gaze from the shock. Your mouth opened and closed a few times while you tried to speak, but you couldn’t. Nothing would come out. He watched you, wild eyed and breathing heavier now, all of a sudden those blue eyes became so menacing to you.

For a moment you thought the yelling was over, but he continued with the same force despite himself, his already sore throat aching under his rage, but he was too blinded by his frustrations to care.

“IVE SPENT YEARS TRYING TO BREAK FREE FROM MY FAMILY, AND YOU’RE NOT ONLY DRAGGING ME BACK INTO THAT HELLHOLE, BUT YOU’RE ALSO EXPECTING ME TO BE ALL CALM ABOUT IT!? GIVE ME A BREAK.”

You said nothing, your wide eyes finally meeting his as you helplessly accepted his barrage of truths you had previously been too preoccupied to face. So busy trying to save him, and yet from what he was saying, saving him was the last thing he’d wanted.

“YOU SHOULD’VE JUST LET ME DIE. IM SICK OF TRYING TO EXPLAIN THIS TO YOU IM NOT WORTH SAVING. GET THAT THROUGH YOUR DAMN HEAD…”

He trailed off, his gaze softening slightly as you broke eye contact, looking down. He’d spotted a flicker of tears in your eyes as you did so, and he wasn’t sure if he should keep going, or make you leave. All of a sudden, his rage-fueled resolve was crumbling beneath him.

“Don’t… Don’t start crying… it’s fucking annoying… just…”

He flinched under his own words, knowing how hurtful they sounded, but he’d had enough. All he wanted now was to be left alone with the sound of those damn birds out the window. Out of your presence, away from that heartbroken and scared look on your face that he wished he hadn’t put there. He couldn’t leave, he knew that, so upsetting you till you did was his only option. He’d had enough.

“leave...please…I’m done.”

He’d expected, from the way you flinched now when he spoke, and the way those little tears dripped from your downturned face into your lap, that you’d leave without saying a word. But instead, you wiped your eyes, and looked back up at him, your sad watery eyes now far more determined. Your once soft voice came out shaky, and fragile, but at the same time, it held the same convictions written on your face. “I’ll go, for now…I’m not gonna leave you here. Not ever.”

His eyes widened slightly as you moved closer, sitting on his bed now. He’d seen this look in your eyes before- back in the holding cell a few days ago. You were really gonna do it weren’t you?

You were gonna save him. One way or the other.

You sat in silence, holding his scarred hands for what to him felt like ages, before finally, you placed a kiss on his forehead. Your lips lingered a moment, and Touya couldn’t help but let his his eyes flutter shut. He hadn’t realized how touch starved he’d been until he felt your lips brush against his skin once more, but as soon as you were there, you were gone, walking towards the door.

“I’m gonna run downstairs and grab some snacks…I’ll be back soon Touya”

and with that, and the click of the door, he was left in the cold silence of his own regret, just like he wanted.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

[crimsonender]

no but like genuinely. your entire brand is tied up in attacking trans women, and the same is true of your fuck buddies. does that not bother you even a little bit or have you rationalised it as being a greater good

So like have you been hovering in my inbox waiting for me to turn anons on or did a lump of fresh shit roll down Lily's pantleg and make its way over here

[genderqueerdykes]

I’m a short, plus size trans guy. I have a pretty hard time with masc clothing due to it not fitting right or at least not how I wish it did. Fem clothes usually fit how I want them to so I stick with them, plus skirts are fun and surprisingly help with the bottom dysphoria cause there’s no indent of where my dick should be like pants do, so I have 2 questions.

1: is it ok for me as a trans guy to still be upset when misgendered while wearing feminine clothing?

2: any advice on how to find masc clothes that fit properly on a fat and short guy?

hello there, thanks for taking the time to ask this! sorry for the delayed reply, but i hope you've been doing well in the mean time!

it is absolutely okay for you to be upset for being misgendered regardless of what clothing you're wearing; cisgender people get misgendered while wearing their preferred clothing, as well, many butch women get misgendered and called men when they are very much women who prefer to dress, act and look masculine. cisgender men often get misgendered if they choose to wear feminine clothing, or even men's clothing that's too "fruity". if cisgender people can get upset over this, you can too.

i feel like it's 200% impossible to know what a stranger's gender is just by looking at them and that as a society we would truly progress if we stopped assuming the genders of strangers by how they dress and avoid using gendered terms until that person reveals that information, if they so choose.

as for where to find clothing that would fit well, this one can be a bit tricky. i am tall and fat, i'm about 5' 8" and 280 lbs, so i unfortunately haven't much experience in the height department on that end, but i can tell you that wearing men's pants can be a bit tricky if you have wide hips. i have 48" hips and it can make wearing men's pants uncomfortable. if you haven't already, measure your hips (at their fullest point) and your inseam, which is the length from the crotch of your pants to the bottom of the pantleg. men's pants are sized by these two measurements, with the hip width being the first number and the inseam length being the second. my example for myself is that i wear 48x32 men's pants whenever i do buy them.

here's a guide on measuring your inseam:

here's a guide on men's clothing sizes (in both inches and centimeters) and how to measure yourself for different garments:

i will say that in the past i've thrifted most of my clothing. i'd like to be able to get to a place where i can buy myself some new clothes but up until this point most of my clothes have been thrifted. i will say if you live in a smaller area finding good clothing in plus sizes is a nightmare and you have my condolences. however i can suggest looking into men's fashion and seeing what styles you like to get an idea of what kinds of clothes you're looking for. before transitioning into buying clothes from the men's section you can always look to see if there are similar cuts of clothing (like cargo pants, for example) that are sold in the women's section for the sake of finding clothes that fit your proportions a little better at least until it's easier to figure out what size men's clothes fit you

most shirts and tops shouldn't be too much of an issue as they're made to be pretty loose fitting and don't conform to one's figure- if sleeves are too long they can be hemmed or rolled up, tails of shirts can be tucked into pants, etc. be very careful with button-up style shirts, these fit me so weird due to being intersex and i find that a lot of bigger people in general don't fit into them super well. they're not made for our proportions they just size up the shirts made for thin people and don't take into consideration how our bellies, chests and shoulders look.

button up shirts (when buttoned up, lol) can also make one's chest more prominent and create stress on the buttons that draw the eyes to the chest- i never button up these types of shirts and instead wear them open. this is a very masculine look, especially with a men's t-shirt underneath. this was my go-to in my early days of transition.

as for specific stores to look at, this will vary wildly depending on where you are in the world. i would recommend being highly cautious of buying mens' clothing from places online like Amazon, Temu, Wish, etc. that have a lot of China-based sellers, because often times you will see a 2XL+ garment and buy it thinking it will fit only to realize that that is Chinese sizing and therefore much smaller. shopping online for clothes while fat can be very hard, so i urge you to shop in person when possible

anyone have more concrete suggestions for this guy? i'm totally blanking on good suggestions of where to look for clothes.

good luck out there, stay safe, and take care of yourself. i hope you're able to find more clothing that helps you feel like yourself! thanks for stopping by

[whats-it-mean]

Yo bestie I feel silly asking over Tumblr instead of text but it felt right to do it here so 💀

Anyways please could you write anything for Haruka Sakurai please I'm desperate and crave content for him of course if not that's fine

A late pocky day in milgram! ☆

Haruka Sakurai x Reader

A/N - NO UR GOOD i love haruka too as you know so im happy to write for him. i decided to go for a (LATE) pocky day prompt bc i missed it lmao, but there are some mentions of my own milgram ships, so i hope thats fine?? the one mentioned is 0309 because i think theyre cute <333 also mahiru would totally play matchmaker for all the other prisoners. prove me wrong i dare you

C/W - 0309  mentioned/suggested 0309

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Upon first hearing of it from Mahiru, unsurprisingly, Haruka had no idea what pocky was. He tilted his head towards the girl, mumbling out a ‘hm?’ as she rambled on about how romantic it was. It was no surprise that even in prison Mahiru would care about such things, since on valentines she had somehow roped everyone into baking cookies, but it seemed to fly directly over Haruka’s head as he listened.

“...? I- I’m confused.. So you just.. Eat the candy…..?” He asked, gently tapping his chin. “How is that a game..?” You could hear a slight snicker come from a certain red-haired boy in the other corner of the room, followed swiftly by an elbow to his stomach coming from Yuno.

Mahiru giggled. “It’s like a challenge- two people eat it at the same time.” She pulled a piece of the candy out of the box she had been fiddling with this whole time as she spoke, twirling it between her fingers before holding it out as example. “Whoever breaks off first loses. Cute, is it not?”

Haruka glanced up at the Pocky in her hand, confusion still evident in his eyes. “But.. what if nobody breaks off…?”

You should have known it would come to this.

Mahiru grinned, and from the corner of your eye you could see Shidou shaking his head slightly as she smiled at the poor boy. “Then they kiss~!” Mahiru’s cheery voice spoke, despite the way Haruka flushed red, turning to hide his face in his hands, face practically steaming.

“O- Oh…” He mumbled, voice muffled by the way he covered it with his hands. He tried desperately to look away, his ears and neck now turning pink in addition to his entire face. Mahiru smiled at him, patting his head when he tried to curl up into a ball and chuckling at his attitude towards the topic.

“Now, since Es didn’t tell us when it was Pocky day a little bit ago-” Es scoffed from the corner, rolling his eyes at Mahiru’s accusing tone. “We’re celebrating late. But celebrating is still celebrating~!”

Fuuta rolled his eyes from the corner where he sat. “And how exactly are we planning on celebrating?”

“Well- Not everyone can really participate, since Amane is a bit too young… But you should all pair up and play at least once, right? We rarely get to do fun things like that here, and it’ll be so exciting-!”

“No way I’m playing this bullshit game.” The boy huffed, standing up without a moment to waste and turning to leave, but let out a yelp when someone grabbed his pantleg, and Mikoto dragged him right back onto the floor, and next to him.

“Sounds good, Mappi-chan!” He hummed, completely ignoring the continued protests from Fuuta who was now being forcefully held against the brown-haired individual.

Mahiru let out another one of her signature giggles before turning to you, flashing you a grin. “You should pair up with Haruka here!” She patted the boy’s head, ruffling his hair slightly as he glanced desperately upwards at you from where his head sat, currently in his arms as he huddled around his knees.

“U- Um- I’m not--”

Mahiru grinned at the both of you, giving you a slight push towards the boy before placing a box of strawberry Pocky in your hands. “Have fun!!” She bounced off in another direction, probably to tease Fuuta and Mikoto a bit, before you glanced back at Haruka, to which he let out a little squeak.

You sighed, incing a bit closer to him so that you could pat his head, to which he immediately leaned into your touch. “Sorry about her… We don’t have to--”

Haruka’s voice was impossibly quiet and timid, but he spoke so quickly you could barely finish your sentence. “....B- But-... I want to.”

You paused. “You do!?”

He nodded his head shakily, partially obstructed face glowing with a rosy blush as he let out an embarrassed breath , cheeks burning with shame. “S- Sorry- I just-” He trailed off, letting out a sound somewhere between a squeak and the sort of whine you would bear from a kicked puppy as he buried his face further into his crossed arms.

“.....Don’t be sorry, I just- Didn’t expect that. Like. At all. But- It’s fine if you want to, I guess-...?”

Haruka snapped his head upwards, hair disheveled from trying hopelessly hide himself from Mahiru as he looked at you with wide eyes. “R- Really?”

“...I’d be happy to.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── End

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Shipwrecked

Summary: Written for July Break Bingo. Set somewhere after RttE. Hiccup wakes up alone, shipwrecked and with no memory, not even his own name.

Warnings: /

Rating: Teen and Up

Dead Dove: No

Words: 377

Prompts: Amnesia AU

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Characters: Hiccup

Pairing: /

Author's Notes: I had the idea to write a fic idea around Astrid suffering from amnesia and struggling to connect to her husband and children as a result. A really good idea that I really liked, but I just could not write it. The words wouldn't come and I just wasn't was motivated. :(

But then I got this idea and I like this one a lot, too. So much that I MAAAYY turn this into a multichapter, too.

Enjoy!

Fic and card below the Keep reading.

-XOXOX-

He wakes up with the ocean lapping at his feet. Though only one foot is numb from the chill. Hiccup, weak and cold, opens his eyes and finds himself on a beach. Sand covers him from head to toe, it’s in his hair and in his clothes. Clothes that appear to be ripped in certain places. His boot is missing.

Licking his dry and cracked lips and tasting salt, he tries to find the energy to at least sit up, but he can’t even do that. He’s so frozen to the bone, he can’t even shiver, his nails and lips are blue and his skin pale.

There must’ve been a shipwreck. That is certainly what all the driftwood that washed up alongsides him tells him. He would remember, except there appears to be a hole in his memories. He can’t remember what ship he was on, where it was going, can’t remember what caused it to sink or how he even survived. He just remembers nothing.

Not even his own name.

With the sun on his face and the sea slowly creeping up on him, the slight warmth helps him a little and Hiccup sits up. Well, he has to roll and curl up on his side first, a throbbing deep inside his skull and his joints stiff that make him not want to move again. He doesn’t know yet of all the blood caked in his hair, on his face and in his clothes from a headwound.

It’s the shock that helps him sit up when he realizes he’s missing a leg.

There’s panic, he wonders why he hasn’t died of blood loss yet. Until he pulls his pantleg up to find a healed stump. So this injury is not new to him. If that is the case, did he lose his pegleg? Or does he walk around with crutches?

Looking behind him, Hiccup finds high dunes and feels dread at climbing all of that with only one leg.

But if there’s a village or someone who can help behind it, than it’s worth the effort, isn’t it? Sighing, already tired before he even started, Hiccup finds the most fitting piece of driftwood to act as a crutch and clumsily hobbles his way towards the dune.

[chickensoup-4-mysoul]

herculean (drrr x f!reader) - chapter 18

Chapter 18 - Complementary

synopsis: you find yourself a new pet, run into some familiar faces, and receive an odd text message.

word count: 3114

warnings: N/A

“living in her forehead humming away leaning in and falling on anything,, small world - jack stauber

“Ack—c’mon!!”

Father never let you have a pet. He blamed it on all sorts of things; grooming, maintenance, allergies, the list went on. You didn’t press for long, opting to turn to cute videos on TV as a substitute. Out in the city, you expected to see more animals out and about. All you ended up seeing, though, were ravenous city birds, a couple of rodents, and maybe the occasional dog out for a walk. If you were lucky, you would have the privilege of a pet or two before the gracious owner had to continue on their way.

What you rarely saw was a stray cat—especially not one as adorable as the little thing running away from you. It was going so well, at first. She accepted the little bite of the snack you were eating, and even purred and leaned into your hand. She didn’t have a collar and looked a bit on the skinnier side, so you assumed that she was a stray.

Just as you were considering taking the poor thing home, the screeching of a large garbage truck scared her off. Watching her skitter off into the busy street caused you to panic, and you immediately ran after her. It was a wonder that neither of you were run over as you crossed numerous roads.

“Hey, it’s okay!!” you try to soothe her. She’s not convinced, slipping out of your grasp once more. The cat finds a narrow opening in the wall behind her and slithers through. You groan in frustration, running around the corner in an attempt to track her. It took you an infuriatingly long time to round the full span of the building. You were expecting her to be gone by the time you could round the corner.

When you finally reach your destination, however, she’s not too far gone. In fact, she’s only a few feet away, parked at a bench positioned against a storefront. She’s not alone, nuzzling into the pantleg of the young boy occupying the bench. You approach them, pouting childishly.

“And here I thought she was only sweet to me like that,” you sulk, eyeing the cat reproachfully. The boy turns to you, most likely startled by your appearance. His face is very childlike, his round, brown eyes making it difficult to place exactly how old he is. “Is this your cat?” he asks, looking down at the feline currently circling his ankle. He makes no move to remove her, but he also doesn’t look too keen on the contact.

“No, just a stray I found. I was thinking about taking her home, but if you’re a finders-keepers sort of guy…”

He shakes his head, finally pulling his leg from her clutches. It sends the little thing toppling over, rolling onto her back in confusion. “I’m not much of a cat person. You go ahead,” he says dismissively. His voice holds a child-like timbre, but it’s worn in a fashion that only age could accomplish. He seemed...bored.

You simply hum in response, taking in his demeanor. Crouching to your knees, you coo at the cat, holding out your hand. Seeking a new cuddle buddy, she rolls back onto her feet and bounds to you, happily accepting the scratches and head rubs. To your surprise, she latches onto your arm, allowing you to pull her into your arms. You can’t hold back your whispers of praise, overwhelmed by the affection.

The boy is staring at you, you notice, scraggly eyebrows raised. His eyes survey your form, narrowed and analyzing. Unperturbed by his attention, you regard him with a smile. “(Y/N) Brigall. You are?”

“...Aoba Kuronuma.”

The snort you let out is obnoxious, but you don’t particularly care. The adorably perplexed look on his face dismisses any possible regrets. “Sorry, just….Ao. Like the color blue? Seems like some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. It suits you!” In the direct light, you can see the navy tint in his otherwise black hair. Had he tried dyeing it? Perhaps it was brought out by the blue shirt peeking out from his hoodie.

He honestly doesn’t look very amused, but his baby face keeps you from taking him too seriously. “Aoba,” you breathe in, trying to steady your quivering voice, “Are you waiting for a friend?”

“No, just having lunch,” he responds, gesturing to the lunch pail sitting beside him. Not the talkative type, huh? Maybe you should leave the kid alone… “What are you going to name her?” he asks.

The question catches you off guard. He looks at you expectantly, face still fixed with indifference. Snapping out of it, you look at the cat in your arms, holding her up to get a good look at her face. She stares back at you with wide, dark eyes. Her choppy ginger fur stuck out in all sorts of directions.

“Renji.”

“Renji?”

“Yeah, like “ Orenji ”. Since her fur is orange, and…” You turn her to face Aoba. “ Ao and Orenji are complementary colors!!” Aoba chokes, pale cheeks flushing a light shade of pink. You chortle gleefully at the indignant look on his face. “Foolish...don’t name her for a stranger,” he grumbles, refusing to look at you.

“Don’t be silly! My cat chose you...we can’t be strangers.” You hold her out, a little closer to his face. He looks at Renji out of the corner of his eye. The kind part of you doesn’t tease him for the way his gaze softens. Deciding that the boy’s had enough, you pull the cat back into your arms.

“Well, I won’t keep you long. Enjoy the rest of your lunch, Aoba! Nice meeting you!” You wave him goodbye, as well as you can with a cat in your arms, and return in the direction from whence you came. For a moment, you hear no response and start to worry. Perhaps you had pushed his buttons a bit too much for a stranger.

“Yeah, see ya…,” you hear right before you round a corner. You can’t resist the urge to glance back at him one more time, smiling mirthfully. Gently grabbing one of Renji’s little paws, you pull it back and forth as if she’s waving at him. It’s hard to see from the distance, but you’re sure he rolls his eyes. Finally rounding the corner, you laugh to yourself. It had been a while since you made a new friend!

...

“Figures you’d go for the fancy wet food instead of the dry food.” The numerous tin cans clink against each other as you jostle them in the bag you hold. “Not complaining, though. That kibble bag looked heavy.” You peek over your shoulder at Renji, who’s head peeks out of the opening in your backpack. She meows happily, still nibbling the treat you had given her to tide her over. 

You wanted to splurge and get all of the essentials; a bed, toys, a tree—but there’s only so much that you can carry all by yourself. For now, you settled for food, some small toys, and a little collar. You could probably just make her a little bed for now. Renji suddenly takes interest in one of your earrings, pawing at it. The bell on her collar jingles at the movement. You swat her paw away, positioning the backpack to move her away from your ears.

“Jeez, you’re just a little trouble maker, huh?”

“Woah, she talks to animals, Kururi!! Guess Shizuo’s into the nutty types!”

“To each their own…”

Those voices, you hadn’t heard them in a while, but you recognized them immediately. Sure enough, in your path stood those twins you had met a while ago. The bespectacled one grins at you unapologetically while her companion sports a consistently blank look on her face. “Girls! Good to see you,” you say through gritted teeth, ignoring their rude comments.

The quiet one, Kururi you think, peeks over your shoulder, indifferent eyes lighting up at the sight of your furry friend. “Cute…” she mutters. Looking at the cat ears decorating the hood of her top, you wonder amusedly if she’s a cat person. You pull the bag around to rest on your front and pull out Renji, who is very content to be held. “Wanna hold her? She’s super docile.”

Kururi nods, stars shining in her eyes as she accepts the small animal. Renji, though confused by the movement, quickly adjusts to the new set of arms, nestling into the girl’s chest. You notice how the other twin simply watches, eyeing the cat warily. “You can hold her too, if you want,” you offer. She vigorously shakes her head, even holding her fingers in a cross shape at Renji.

“Nope! No way! Dogs are way better!” It matched her outfit, you guess.

“Well, if I see a stray dog, I’ll be sure to let you know,” you laugh at her childish antics. Kururi passes the cat back to you, eyes not leaving the creature as you place her back inside the makeshift cat carrier. “Anyways, we’re not here about some cat!! We’re asking if you’ve got intel on Yuuhei, yet!” You thought they might say something like that. 

After your last brief encounter with them, you actually took the time to look up this Yuuhei they were talking about. It was a little tricky with just the first name, but you assumed that it had to be Yuuhei Hanejima, an actor that was currently very popular, especially with young girls. 

How they made the outlandish connection that he was related to Shizuo was lost on you. They even had different last names, for heaven’s sake! Though, you had to admit, the two did have similar features when you looked closely. Plus, Shizuo did mention having a brother—but you think he would mention if that brother happened to be a famous movie star . A sigh tumbles from your lips, accompanied by your fingers pinching your nose. 

“You’re awfully pushy for a girl who hasn’t even bothered to introduce herself yet.” Weren’t manners a thing, here? They were still young, so you suppose you should cut them some slack. 

“Fine, fine!! I’m Mairu Orihara—that’s Mai-ru Oh-ri-ha-ra!” The girl’s hands move in enthusiastic gestures, as if she’s conducting a symphony.

“Kururi,” the other murmurs. 

Orihara. Mairu’s nonsensical antics, barely concealing a less innocent brand of mischief. Her impish grin is accompanied by a narrow stare that reminds you so strikingly of him. Kururi’s selective silence, eschewing all attention so that you don’t notice her calculating gaze, always watching and observing.

“Kururi, Mairu,” you address them both, trying to hide your sudden feeling of unease, “I’m (Y/N), a friend of Shizuo’s—nothing more. Per our last ‘discussion’, I’ve never met this Yuuhei, nor do I think I ever will.” You hope that the eye contact you make with both of them solidifies the fact that you’re being sincere. Mairu crosses her arms behind her head, humming thoughtfully. You wait with baited breath, anticipating what she could say next.

“Oh-kaaay,” she drawls, feigning great disappointment. You feel your shoulders relax, grateful that you are off the hook. “But if anything changes, you better not hold out on us!! Once high school starts, we’ll be in the area way more often. We’ll be keeping an eye on you!”

“Often.”

So much for getting these girls out of your hair. Well, if it came down to it, maybe you all could develop a positive relationship. There was a slight age gap, but if it worked out with Anri, it could work with them. Besides, they were... relatives of that man. What did that mean for them? You couldn’t quite assume, but you wondered if they needed another adult figure. “Where are you girls headed to school?” 

“We’re gonna be first years at Raira!” You light up at the familiar name. This may be easier than you’d thought! 

“I have close friends at Raira. You’ll probably see me around there!”

“Huh—what’s an adult like you doing around high school kids!?”

“Creepy…” God, on second thought maybe you should just avoid them ! 

“Well you two don’t seem to have a problem with following me around,” you shoot back. It’s not even like you were that old. How rude! Mairu titters cheerfully and even Kururi smiles. “Just kidding, kidding! We’ll see you around then, Miss (Y/N)!”

They practically dance around you, skipping past you and forcing you to turn around to see them. While you do let out a flustered huff, you find yourself chuckling. That is until Mairu says one last thing that digs directly under your skin.

“I do hope you don’t give up on Shizuo, though. The way he looks at you—Whew! I can practically feel the romantic tension!”

Curse them for being so fast! They practically disappear before you can fit in a rebuttal. As you stand there, fixed to say something, you aren’t quite sure what it was you were going to say. Don’t give up on Shizuo... what did she mean by that? Of course you hadn’t given up on him, he was one of your close friends! You just didn’t have the... relationship that the twins thought you did.

You liked the guy, and you cared about him—but ‘romantic tension’ was so far-fetched. And he looked at you normally!! Maybe you caught him staring at you, sometimes. When you were caught up conversing with a mutual friend and he just watched silently…how did he look at you then? A serene smile plastered on his defined features. Gaiety swimming in his warm, kind brown eyes…

A paw to the face from your furry friend reminds you that you’re still just standing there. You click your tongue at her, murmuring that you’ll get her home soon. Your face is embarrassingly hot for reasons that you don’t want to acknowledge. The rest of the walk is uncomfortably silent, leaving you with your raging thoughts. You tried to think of anything else; plans for dinner, tomorrow’s outfit, possible cat bed substitutes, etc.

Anything but that man’s enchanting eyes.

...

So, the makeshift cat bed ended up being your lap. Despite the lovely pillow-blanket combo you had constructed for her sake, Renji insisted on cuddling with you in bed. At first, you were adamant about keeping her out of it, considering the fact that she had been out on the streets for who knows how long. When she wouldn’t budge, you were faced with the very grueling task of bathing her. As compliant as the cat had been before, all of that went out of the window when water was involved. A lot of hissing, spitting, clawing, and splashing later, the cat was wrapped in a towel, nestled up in your lap as you scrolled through your phone. 

You occupy yourself until you’re tired enough to fall asleep, texting back and forth with Erika and Anri and checking the Dollars forums.

*ALERT* ( Unknown Number) Attachment: 1 Image *ALERT* ( Unknown Number) Attachment: 1 File

Your eyebrows raise when the notifications appear on your phone. That’s odd; you hadn’t given your number to anyone lately. Opening it didn’t seem too appealing. What if it was something weird? After a short period of trying to ignore it, the red badge quickly got annoying. Maybe you would open and close it immediately, just to get rid of the notification.

Of course, the operation was not as simple, and you got a full peek at the attachments. It quickly dawned on you that it was nothing gory or creepy. The group photo of a bunch of middle-aged men had you thinking that it must have been some sort of wrong number mix up. Out of courtesy, you shoot a quick text to the sender. The response is alarmingly immediate.

ME Sorry, I think you may have the wrong number.

UNKNOWN NUMBER I do not.

The message was so curt and cryptic, it sent shivers down your spine. You hoped that it was a funny misunderstanding and not anything creepy. Once again, your message received an immediate response.

ME I’m sorry, may I ask who this is?

UNKNOWN NUMBER No.

This is a very strange predicament. Whoever this was, they knew who you were, sent you these things, and insist on concealing their identity. It was certainly mysterious, but were you really in danger here? They looked like harmless photos; what did they have to do with you anyway?

You go back to the group photo. It was a group of men, varying in age but none of them younger than their early thirties. Upon closer inspection, you noticed that they were all dressed professionally, topped off with lab coats. The quality of the photo isn’t the best, and most of the faces are barely visible. One of the men, strangely enough, wore what looked like a white gas mask. Perhaps it was a piece of equipment? The only face you can really make out is the man on the far left and— wait…

You squint, zooming in on the man and even pulling the phone close to your face. Is that... A face thin and pale enough that his sickliness registered even through the photo. His beard was unkempt, thick and bushy. A thin pair of glasses rests on the crooked bridge of his nose. His facial hair is longer and his eyes are obscured, but you can tell.

Father was in this photo. Was this a photo of him at work? He looked so old, though. A timestamp in the corner of the painting marked the photo to be about 4 years old. Goodness, had he aged backwards? You blamed the excessive facial hair for aging him so much—good thing he wore it a lot shorter, now.

The next item was a scanned pdf of a document that you could barely read. The whole thing was basically chicken scratch. At the top of the page was written “The Herculean Project”. At least, you think that’s what it says. With the help of the timestamp from the photo, you realize that the document was written shortly before the photo was taken. It appears that the two are connected.

Quite frankly, you have no clue what any of this means. You have a feeling that this anonymous person wouldn’t be much help, either. It was all very unfathomable to you and trying to understand it befuddled you greatly. 

Renji, finally dry, emerges from her towel cocoon and leaps up to rest her paws on your shoulders. She stretches her back and legs, leaving your lap to curl into a ball at your feet. “Not mad at me anymore?” You prod her with your toe. She lets out a ‘mrp’ in response. 

“Lights out it is, then.”

[chardou15]

Shattered Memories - Ch. 2

Chapter summary: Nuyia is going to teach Miles some of the Na'vi ways. For a start - she shows him what kinds of plants are edible and which are not but he wants to hunt.

Pairing: Na'vi Quaritch x Na'vi Fem OC

[1,640 words]

Chapter 1.|

@drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed

TW: cursing

A/n: This story takes place after the ATWOW so it contains spoilers. I don't have any beta for that fic so I'm sorry if you find mistakes. English is not my native language (I wish).

“Get up!” She shook Miles. “Get the fuck up, demon!”

He opened his eyes and sat up, yawning.

“What the hell you want from me?” Miles asked, looking at Nuyia.

“You forgot? You wanted to learn our, Na’vi, way. To save your son. So, get up. And don’t forget to roll up you pantlegs.” She pointed to his dirty and tattered camo pants.

Finally, Miles stood up and did what Nuyia said. She looked at his bare feet and shook her head.

“You, demons, even not looking normal. Five fingers? Really? For what? Never mind, if you’re ready, let’s go outside.”

She didn’t look at him. Miles followed her, saying nothing.

“What about breakfast?” He asked, still following her. They were outside the house - in the middle of the jungle. “I know it’s already dawn, but ya know - we must eat something.”

Nuyia turned to him.

“So? We will find something in the forest. It is a part of Na’vi way. You must find something to eat by yourself. Meat, fruits, bulbs, fish. And you must know what kinds of that things are edible, and what are poisonous. Follow me.”            

She heard his loud footsteps. Nuyia bit her lower lip, irritated. He was too loud, but she must be patient. She has taught him how to be one of The People.

"So... We're going to hunt today?" He sounded excited. Sky People love hunting. Especially us. I shouldn't be surprised to hear his excitement.

"Today no. You're still too weak to do that and still, you know nothing about being the Na'vi." She answered, venturing into the forest. She took her little, curvy knife and looked about.

"Then what we're going to do? Walking in the forest? I thought that isn't one of the part beings Na'vi".

"Just wait. I will tell you. We are going to start with something easy." She jumped into the branch and ran on it. Miles looked at what she did, still staying on the ground. Nuyia jumped to another branch, shaped up, finally staying. She snipped a kind of fruit or bulb off the tree. "Think fast, demon!

She threw that thing at Miles. He caught.

"Nice reflex."

"What's is this?" Miles looked at fruits. One was smaller and greener than the other. The third one was purple and soft, without any yellow on it. A juice has escaped from the fruit.

Nuyia jumped to the ground and walked toward him.

"Get a closer look. Do you see? That purple is completely rotten. You can not eat that. When utumauti has that tone of purple, without yellow accents, it... makes toxins. Bad for our mind and heart." She pointed to her head and chest. "Don't even try if you want to live."

He made a disguised face, seeing that smelly juice trickled on his hand and fingers.

"This is fuckin' gross." He threw the rotten fruit. "What do you do with the rotten ones?" Miles asked, wiping the hand on his camos.

"Literally nothing. The borrowing energy has been sent back to Eywa. You should know that everything has an energy that is on loan. Me, you, that utumauti. Sky People called that fruit "banana fruit". Why banana? I don't know. When the cycle of life is ending, we must send back the energy. That circle is un... unstoppable. Did you understand me?

Miles scratched his chin.

"Not really, but you can be sure that I'll get that." He smirked.

"We will see. Okay, next one. Try that yellow one." He did that and made a face.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ!" He began to spit.

"I don't know any Jesus Christ. Completely yellow utumauti are unripe. Not toxic. Only not tasty. Try the last one.

He took a bite. His eyes have become bigger. Miles took a peep at Nuyia. She smiled at him, took another fruit, and began to eat.

"So... What do you think?" She asked, licking her fingers. A juice was sweet and bitter at the same time.

"This is..." He unfinished, taking another bite. She noticed that he liked the flavor.

"Only purple with yellow utumauti is good enough to eat. You must pay attention to that." Nuyia finished the fruit and then dug the skin, showing Miles what to do. She thanked Eywa for the food. A tall blue man tried to do the same but he couldn't repeat her words so he only dug the scraps with his foot. He still couldn't bend due to his wound.

"So... that banana is called utumauti?" He asked.

"Yes. And that tree..." She pointed at it. "Utra utu mauti."

"Utrautumauti". Miles replied.

"Ngengaìl lu skxawng. You are an idiot."

"What did you say?"

She hissed at him and then started to laugh. "Utra. Utu mauti. It's not a single word. Utumauti is. I said: 'You are a moron.'"

"I'm not a moron, sweetheart."

"Then stop calling me 'sweetheart'. I am not your mate. You have wanted to learn, so learn. Okay, next lesson. What do you feel?"

Miles blinked, surprised.

"What do I feel? Right now?"

She nodded, crossing her arms on her breasts.

"Such a stupid question. I feel the wet ground under my feet, nothing more."

"Great Mother Eywa... Close your eyes, Miles."

"But..."

"Close your fucking eyes!" He closed his eyes, and Nuyia pulled up herself to him. "I am not going to kill you so take a breath. Larger." She put her hand on his chest, the other on his back. "Okay, breathe out. And breathe in again. Slowly and deeply. That's it, Miles."

His skin was warm and wet because of the mugginess in the air. His heartbeat was strong, very strong. And fast under Nuyia's palm.

"Miles... Calm down, please. I feel your heartbeat. Breathe slowly and deeply. Just lay back. Nothing more. Don't think. Feel it."

She's been looking at him. He's become more and calm.

Time passed. After a few minutes, Nuyia asked him again:

"Now. What do you feel? Under your feet, in your nose. And answer me.

He focused. Moved his toes, and tilted his head. His little, pointed ears have moved. Miles knitted his brows.

"I... I feel the water in the dirt. I feel its smell. It's fresh and cold. And the smell of the fruit on your hand. I feel your touch on my chest and back and I hear the sound of the jungle." One of his ears twitched in the other direction. "It's prolemurs? No... Hexapedes... You called them yerik or something like that."

She smiled. Maybe he's not such a moron as I thought?

"You have got it. How many?"

"Let me think... Four. Nearby. Maybe one hundred meters from here."

"Five. One cub." She took her hands. "Okay, you can open your eyes.".

"That was... interesting. And funny. I like that." He smiled at her proudly.

Suddenly she froze, and her skin become pale.

"What happened, Nuyia?" Miles asked.

"Don't. Turn. Miles. Just don't turn.

"What is goin' on? What the hell are you sayin'?"

"Just shut the fuck up, Miles. Or we will be dead."

"What?" She turned himself seeing palulukan that was looking at them, hiding in the forest and probably hunting. "Oh, shit..." He became pale too, remembering that human Miles met that creature sixteen years ago. "Holy fuckin' shit...".

Palulukan moved into them. His claws scratched the rocks and trees.

"RUN, MILES!" Nuyia screamed, taking one of his hands. She started to run, entraining the tall blue man. "Faster!"

They both heard the creature. Miles and Nuyia jumped above the branches and roots. She knew that Miles was injured and his breath is becoming heavier and heavier and his hand wetter and wetter.

"We can fight with that!" He answered, still running behind Nuyia.

"No, we can't. We have no weapon. No bows, no blades... I have only one, a little knife! It's not enough to kill palulukan!"

Miles fell behind with an answer. He tripped over the root and fell to the ground. He moaned, looking behind himself. The palulukan was so close. He saw its sharp teeth and claws. I'm gonna be dead.

Nuyia gave his arm a pull.

"Miles, get the fuck up! NOW!" Finally, he stood up and started to run. Nuyia got him somewhere, he didn't know where, but it wasn't important. He must survive. He must survive to learn how to become a Na'vi and kill Jake Sully with his own weapon.

"Fuck!" Nuyia stopped. They were teetering on the edge of the huge waterfall. Palulukan has been closer and closer. "What should we do? What... Great mother Eywa..." She wanted to cry and didn't remember when she felt as useless as she now.

Miles was more logical. He looked around for something and finally found out. The narrow branches under them.

"Nuyia shut the fuck up and listen to me. Do you see that branches? Under us. We jump. We jump and catch them, do you understand?

She looked in that direction and swallowed.

"Are you crazy?! We will be dead if we do that!"

"So do you prefer death by it or have a possibility of saving your own life? I'm not gonna die. Not today. I count to three. When I say three, we jump. One. Two. Three!"

They jumped, feeling the breath of the palulukan behind them. Miles caught the branch because of his long and strong arms but Nuyia missed. He knew that probably he dislocated his shoulder but he snatched her arm. He felt pain in his arm.

"Gottcha! Catch a branch or we'll fall into the water!"

Unfortunately, Nuyia's hand slid off so she grabbed Mile's waist.

"Not me, woman! We're too heavy! Catch the other branch!"

"I can't! It's too far from me!"

Miles looked at his branch. It became snapping and cracking.

Finally, the branch snapped. And they fell into the water.

"Fuck!" He shouted before they underlined the water.

[sweetmage]

WIP Wednesday 2

Now here's a little snippet (rough draft) from the upcoming 7th chapter of Your Fading Light :)

Anders and the Hawkes have joined up up with Wardern-Commander Edan and the Inquisitor to pay a (rather unpleasant) visit to Adamant Fortress.

---

"Bloody Maker, that girl!" Edan saw her first, he and the Inquisitor just barely through the doorway, gazing upon what initially appeared to be a small assembly of Wardens gathered before an elevated speaker. The vague chatter drifted from the doorway, hitting Anders's ears before he decipher the scene playing out before them, whatever had Edan so shaken.

"Stop them!" A man bellowed from within as soon as they'd entered, fixing the intruders with a glare and paying no mind to the bloodied girl that fell beside him. "We must complete the ritual!"

Every muscle within their group seemed to tense, Anders's grip tightening around his staff, Marian's expression hardening, Edan and the Inquisitor taking a collective step forward, but the Inquisitor kept going, sword sheathed and arms raised placatingly.

"Stand down!" The Inquisitor called, directing their eyes to him instead. "Clarel, if you go through with this ritual—"

"Madness," Edan hissed, knuckles whitening around the hilt of his sword, cutting in before the Inquisitor could speak further, "Have you forgotten our duty is to slay darkspawn, not collaborate with them? Do you not recognize the corruption that lies within the Venatori? The one they serve--"

The quarrel between Commanders faded out, Anders's attention drawn instead to the faint glow emanating from the man on the platform's hand, the subtle tap-tap of his staff against the stone flooring. Suddenly, Garrett wrenched free of his hold, shattering his daze. Anders's heart lurched in panic as his reaching fingers caught only empty air. "Stay here! Where are you—?" A deafening roar from overhead split the sky and swallowed his words before they could reach him. "Garrett!"

Anders's blood ran cold as they were thrown into shadow by a great beast that swept down from on high, wings spread and thrashing, an inferno pouring forth from its screeching maw. It cut across the skyline in their direction, descending rapidly, its tail lashing all in its path, reducing stonework to dust and rubble and scattering the nearby Wardens like dolls.

"Look out!" Anders shouted, he and Marian throwing themselves out of the creature's path as it nearly fell upon them. They tumbled and rolled together into a heap, cowering from the assault with their heads beneath their hands, just as the beast crashed down to the earth, causing a tremor that sent Anders's stomach into his throat.

"Bloody fuck!" Marian snarled, casting her eyes upward as it swung back into the air, circling.

Anders was more preoccupied with finding his footing in the chaos, using his staff to steady himself as he righted and waited for the spinning and stars to clear from his vision.

"Anders," Marian called urgently, still at his feet and huddled forward, frantic hands shredding through the fabric of her pantleg, fighting with the straps of her prosthetic.

Concerned, Anders bent down to assist, but she pulled away, tossing her head back towards the fight that raged beyond. "Help Garrett!" she barked, giving him a shove as she pulled free of him. "I'll catch up."

His eyes roamed to where hers had landed. Garrett was already meters ahead, sprinting for higher ground, heedless of the danger overhead. "Shit," he breathed, giving in to her command, his feet flying on their own, staff forgotten as he lept over debris and gave chase.

[this-is-sen-lin]

Memory Park

Originally written in November 2021 for HIST 502: Introduction to Public History.

Synopsis: Can history be neutral? How do we treat with the past? What should we do with all those old statues? Follow the groundskeeper of Memory Park, where the past stands at eye-level and the weeds are always hungry. 1227 words

The gravel crunches beneath your work boots as you make your way along the maintenance road. The pale sky hangs blue and orange-gold above you, the gathering clouds stained pink by the slow climb of the drowsy sun. Birdsong trickles out through the dense crowns of the trees. Long grass softly brushes your pantlegs. The chain-link fence that marks the edge of the service yard holds back a flood of shrubs, allowing them to thrust a few green stems through the gaps. The world in this hour feels softly hushed, and the gentle breeze carries the faint smells of crushed grass and rain. As you push through the gate in the wall of green, you’re reminded of a fact that the girl at the visitor center once shared with you.

  “Did you know,” she had said, “that people in Victorian times had picnics in cemeteries? Yeah, and the kids would play there too. Public parks weren’t really a thing back then. Cemeteries were the only green spaces they had.”

  You check in, fill a bucket with water, and load it onto the golf cart along with your tools. You sit down behind the wheel and take a moment to savor the cool of the morning before you start the engine. The cart jostles slightly as it rolls down a dirt path beneath the arching branches of the trees. The water in the bucket sloshes. As you roll past the EMPLOYEES ONLY sign, you make your plans for the morning.

  At Memory Park, your duties as groundskeeper are relatively light. You maintain the trails and pick up garbage, but there’s little in the way of landscaping to take care of. The county’s vision for the park was of a place where nature could take its course. “Rewilding”, you think, was the term they used. You remember a message in the guestbook colorfully describing it as “a place to watch plants swallow up the statues.”

  Oh, yeah. You take care of the statues too.

  Not too much care. Just enough to not make a statement.

  If such a thing were possible.

The dirt path leads you past the scattered statues, separated from each other by waving swaths of grass and wildflowers. Once, they may have stood on plinths, but now they rest with their feet on the ground, the same height as anybody else. Some of them have names: Forrest, Calhoun, Sherman, Junípero Serra. Others you can’t immediately recall, or had no names to begin with. Four young Confederates stand in a cluster beneath a maple tree, watching you pass with hollow eyes. One of them clutches his rifle with both hands, his head at his feet and the beginnings of a bird’s nest in the cradle of his neck. Other statues you pass stand half-cloaked in creepers, or speckled white on head and shoulders from bird droppings. These you do not clear away. Nature is taking its course.

Someone has spray-painted the word “MURDERER” onto the chest of an equestrian statue of Andrew Jackson. You stop the cart, get down, and inspect it. His eyes have been X-ed out in similar fashion, and various obscenities are painted on the sides of his horse. (What did the horse ever do?) Each stroke of red spray-paint seems to throb with the painter’s anger. There was vengeance in this gesture.

Nothing some soap and water can’t fix. You grab your bucket and sponge the paint away, as per protocol. The water runs red from between the fingers of your sponge-hand and pools at Jackson’s feet. You leave him to dry in the sun: there’s a lot more park left to cover.  

In the southeast section, you pick up the remains of a picnic left beneath a chasteberry tree.

In the southwest section, you pause at the edge of the pond to watch a heron fish.

In the northwest section, you come across a statue in the middle of a clearing. At the feet of the nameless Texas Ranger blooms a crop of American flags and red-white-and-blue pinwheels. A Beanie Baby rests in the crook of his arm as he reaches for his Walker Colt. You stand for a moment, watching the pinwheels turn and the flags flutter in the breeze. Pride and patriotism bubble up from the ground in this place.

After quickly glancing around, you gather up the items and place them in the back of the cart, as per protocol. The tiny yellow blooms they had hidden peep through the grass. The flags and pinwheels are still in good condition, and it seems a waste to throw them out. You consider donating them to the local daycare.

You spend a little more time on your rounds, picking up the odd bit of trash, as well as a sticker-covered Hydroflask for the lost-and-found. You take a short break at the northern edge of the park. Rolling hills stretch before you, the paintbox dripples and brushstrokes of summer wildflowers breaking up the waving expanse of green. Some rumors had been going around about expanding the park, and you imagine bronze soldiers and marble missionaries gazing at the hazy blue mountains beyond.

The last stop on your rounds is the front gate, which you unlock and push creakingly open before returning to your cart. You unpack a sack breakfast and a thermos of coffee. The wind pushes flocks of fattened clouds across the blue field of the sky, and you watch them for a while, your eyes watering slightly from the intensity of the color.

A slight rustling to your left draws your attention. You take another drink of coffee, then get up from your seat to investigate.

In the middle of a stand of trees, a man in shorts and a gray hiking jacket kneels at the base of a statue of Jefferson Davis. He’s taking a charcoal rubbing of the nameplate at the base. After a moment, he gets up and waves to you. “Are you the groundskeeper here?” he asks.

“Yep, that’s me,” you reply.

“I just wanted to thank you for what you’re doing,” says the man. He’s fair-skinned, with big, guileless blue eyes and a full, neatly trimmed brown beard. “Like, preserving all this stuff? That’s important. I mean, I’m no Confederate or anything but… this is history.”

“It sure is,” you reply. The man turns around and puts his hands on his hips to survey the grove.

“This is a good place,” he continues. “Lotta nature here. You know, I read on the Internet somewhere that it takes 40,000 years for a bronze statue to break down.”

“Is that right?”

“Mm-hmm.” He turns to face you, then glances back over his shoulder and adds, “’Let us cross over the river and rest in the shade of the trees.’”

You do not respond.

The man gives you a cheerful wave and starts to leave. You get closer to the statue and look at it for a little while. Your eyes are at the same level as Davis’s. The man has left his charcoal stick at the base, and you consider throwing it away as you pick it up.

Instead, you call after the man, “Hey, you forgot your charcoal,” and he thanks you as he takes it back.

You sit down at the base of the largest tree and linger for a while in the shade.

[surveysand]

seventeen.

What is the most annoying noise you can think of? chewing noises.

When you dance to a song do you dance more with your head or your hands? head, i think.

Do you like the feeling of flour? no.

Do you feel the water in a pool before you get in, or do you dive right in? i always feel first.

Last time you walked around naked, or in a towel? this morning after i showered.

Have you ever switched names with a friend, and made someone believe you? no.

Have you ever touched a squirrel? no.

Do you have a fear that’s sort of uncommon? ladybugs. i'm also terrified of moths, but i think that's a little more common.

Have you ever had your hands stuck together by glue, or something else? no.

Whats better, candles or incense? candles.

How often do you make simple spelling mistakes? every now and then, but i'm pretty good at spelling and notice errors quickly.

Do you know anyone with a common sounding name but its spelled differently? yes.

Which situations are you usually in, when u tend to zone out, or space out? working on schoolwork or riding in a car.

In your school which was higher most of the time, the students or grades? the grades. we had drug problems in the school, but my school was pretty well-off despite us being a very small school that wasn't funded well.

What letter does the state you live in start with? p.

Whens the last time you’ve smelled a skunk? probably the last time i visited my hometown, so a few months ago.

How many pets have you had in your life time? six: four dogs, a cat, and a rabbit.

Which teacher was the most hated in school? my science teacher. he was so strict and also gave me major creepo vibes, lol.

Which parent do you get your eyes from? my mom.

Do you currently have some kind of alcohol in your fridge? yes, white wine, malibu, high noons, and mike's harder lemonades.

What kind of headphones do you prefer? airpods.

Whats the last thing you had to take responsibility for? not sure what this means exactly, but i guess the last responsible thing i did was transfer my utilities to my new apartment.

Do you ever untie your shoelaces, or do you just slip your foot in? untie.

Do you have anything on your fridge? magnets that are holding up photos, postcards, etc.

If you added three years to your age, how old would you be? 25.

Whats the cutest pair of pj’s you own? pajama pants with eeyore on them. they're so, so comfy and cute.

How easily do you get grossed out? not much unless it's a gross smell. i'm very prone to vomiting and strong, bad smells will push me over the edge.

Would you rather be inside, or outside? inside.

Have you ever fallen asleep on a trampoline before? no.

How often do you roll up your pantlegs when your wearing pants? never.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Hey my family out the Christmas decorations up today and it made me think of a cute little request for roosters brood? Like one where the kids tell the squad that they say mommy kissing Santa thought it would just be funny and cute 🥰

Aww that is super cute! I’m totally getting into the holiday spirit despite it being my busiest season, work-wise 😫 Hope you like this little drabble which may or may not have somehow turned into a Hannix thing.. I don't even know haha I've just been in a Jake mood lately 😅

The Secret

Rooster x Wife!Reader

Summary: One of your children confides in Hangman after he sees you locking lips with Ol' Saint Nick.

CW: just a tiny drabble, fluff, Christmas, kids, hints of Hannix

WC: 400+

“Guess what?” you hear your son say excitedly as he pulls on Jake’s pantleg while the latter is hanging a string of lights above your window.

“Chicken butt,” Jake responds without looking down.

“No!” Your son cackles. “I have a secret!”

Jake glances at him with a smirk. “Let me guess,” he says. “You’re not planning on keeping it.”

“Keeping what?” the boy asks in confusion.

Jake’s grin widens and he steps down from the stool to sit on it instead. He leans forward and gives your son his undivided attention. “Alright, go ahead.”

Your son brings his face to Jake’s ear and starts saying something when Jake jerks away from him. “Buddy!” he exclaims. “When you’re talking into my ear, whisper. You’re gonna burst my damn eardrum.”

“Bagman!” Phoenix tosses a garland at his back. “Language.”

“Phoenix!” he responds, glancing over his shoulder at her. “Can you save the violence for when we’re alone?”

Natasha’s eyes widen and her mouth curves into an outraged grin. She goes back to her poinsettia arrangement in silence.

Jake returns his attention to your son, who starts whispering feverishly into his ear.

“Oh, really?” Jake says, his mouth stretching into a wide smirk. He glances up at you with a roguish smile.

“You can’t tell daddy,” your son warns.

Jake nods, still watching you. “I agree.”

…

“What was that about?” you ask Jake later that evening after Bradley goes to put the kids to bed.

Jake turns to you with a laugh. “Apparently, you’re on the naughty list.”

“What?”

“Little Pete –”

“It was Nick,” Natasha interrupts Jake, rolling her eyes.

“Whatever, they’re practically the same person.” Jake waves his hand. “Little Nick saw mommy kissing Santa Clause.”

You clap a hand over your mouth, gasping. “Oh no!”

“What happened?” Bradley asks, coming down the stairs.

“Bradley was trying on the new Santa costume he bought,” you say with a slight whine. “I can’t believe they saw us!”

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Natasha muses. “Finding out that Santa isn’t real or thinking that your mom’s having an affair with old Saint Nick.”

You cringe. “Both are terrible!”

Bradley makes a face. “Someone saw us?”

Jake nods. “Yeah, Pete –”

“Nick,” Natasha corrects him again.

Jake sighs in exasperation. “How can you even tell them apart?”

Natasha shrugs. “Pete is shorter.”

Bradley chuckles, taking you by the waist and kissing your cheek. “Don’t worry, darling,” he mutters. “We’ll just tell the kids that Santa kisses everybody.”

Jake glances at the two of you sourly and then reaches over to take Natasha by the arm. He pulls her toward him possessively. “As long as Santa doesn’t demonstrate it,” he comments with a grimace.

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[shespeaksinsongs]

𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚜 | 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚘 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

a/n: i've had this idea since last christmas, but just didn't write it. i'm sorry i haven't been active on here. tbh, so little people are still active on tumblr, that it makes it difficult to find motivation to write here anymore! but i love you guys, and hope you love this short fic as much as i do. as always, enjoy! &lt;3

summary: scorpius is throwing a tantrum and draco disciplines scorpius by telling him that santa will bring him coal instead of the gifts he asked for, if he keeps his behavior up.

warnings/content: cute family fluff &lt;3

word count: 685

masterlist | taglist

when draco's parents had warned y/n and draco about the terrible two's, they weren't kidding.

y/n had been trying to get scorpius to eat his greens for the past thirty minutes. usually, she would just give into his aversion for spinach and broccoli, but she worried scorpius wasn't getting enough nutrients.

eventually, after thirty minutes of high-pitched "no!"'s and kicking in his high chair, y/n decided to let scorpius into his chair and get him to take a bath, since it was well past bathtime at this point.

but when she'd asked her son to go run his bath while she washed his dishes and the wall he'd managed to get dirty, she was met with an overwhelming no.

that prompted her to here, in this moment, barely holding onto scorpius by his bottom, and completely resigned.

finally, she decided to bother her husband and ask him for help.

"draco!" y/n hollered up the staircase, exasperation lacing her voice. with a squirming and unforgiving child in her arms, she called him again. "love, come down, please, i need help!"

in a matter of seconds, draco was off his business call and on his way down the stairs from his office. "what's wrong, darling?"

red in the face with frustration, y/n almost cried while explaining. "he didn't want to eat his veggies, so i gave up and told him to go get a bath running for him and now i don't know what to do or how to calm him down."

draco sighed, holding his arms out so he could take his son. instantly, scorpius stilled. "i've tried everything, dray. stories, promise of ice cream after bathtime, but he still just won't cooperate." her voice was at the brink of breaking.

draco could tell it was one of those days. it was written plainly on y/n's face. her shirt had been shifted onto one shoulder, and one pantleg rolled up higher than the other. it looked like she'd been through a war rather than one of her son's tantrums.

scorpius was a mommy's boy through and through, but with that, came his assumption that he could do whatever he wanted without getting punished or reprimanded for it.

draco gave y/n a sympathetic look and then looked sharply at his son. "scorpius," his voice was firm and disciplinary, as if the use of his full name hadn't been enough. "if you don't stop this behavior and start acting correctly, santa is going to bring you coal this year."

"no!" scorpius screamed. "i want my presents!" he kicked against draco's knees.

draco looked at his wife and mouthed an apology, wishing he'd been down sooner to help. "you know, scorp, it's a shame that you're acting this way." he said, looking at the mini him disappointedly. "mama went through so much trouble to get santa to bring you your presents a day early. she wrote a letter and sent it to the north pole and everything."

"mama!" scorpius cried, his guilt apparent in his face. "mama, i'm sorry." the little blond apologized, his r's still sounding like w's.

then, coming to sit on the stairs next to her husband and her son, y/n took scorpius into her arms again, this time both much more calm. kissing his cheek, she held him tight as he cried lightly into her neck. "it's okay, baby. but you have to know that your behavior is not acceptable. if you want something from me or daddy, just ask." she said, wiping the tears on her son's face. "nicely." y/n added with a laugh when scorp's little smile poked through his mouth.

leaning on her shoulder, draco added. "there isn't a thing in this world we wouldn't give you."

y/n nodded, holding her son tight to her chest. then, after separating herself to look her boy in his eyes, she tried reasoning again. "now, how about we go take that bath, hm?"

scorpius wiped his tears and looked sweetly up at his parents. "okay," he sniffed. "but mama and dada, you come, too!"

-

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[mane--attraction]

(minors dni)

Ego Manor is surprisingly quiet without Dark around; even when he’s clear across the building and you can't actually hear the constant sounds that surround him, somehow his presence always makes itself known. But he had no choice: there was something he had to do, something relating to his role, you think he said, so he had to leave for a few days. 

It’s been more than a few days.

He did somehow find time to message you that he was going to be gone longer, but he didn’t say why, and frankly it didn’t much matter as long as he came home safely. What did matter at this present moment is that you were a bit lonely, particularly at nighttime. You had gotten rather spoiled, sleeping next to Dark every night. 

And with Dark.

You’ve done good, you’ve held off on any substitiutes, but you know that eventually you’re going to crave his touch a little too much. Nothing you can do will compare, but at least it’d be something… Other times when he’s left, he'd sometimes send a little “gift” along, shadowy appendages that (generally) follow his will. You reckon he’s rather occupied for none to slither up your pantleg when you least expect it.

You flip the page of your book back for what seems like the tenth time, squirming in place as you think about all this. You take a deep breath, then exhale slowly. You’re not going to let this be the day you break. Your eyes slide to the top of the page for attempt number eleven.

Your phone buzzes then, startling you. You’re admittedly up later than you should, and therefore nobody should really be texting you at this hour. You don’t really have many people to text to begin with. You turn the screen back on, expecting some sale email, but your heart flutters when you see who the message is from.

“Sir”

It doesn’t show you a proper preview, so you open it up to see a simple pair of emojis:

🛏️ 

👇.

And two words:

“Let go.”

Your heart thumps, heat spreading that you were trying to suppress. He’s…giving you permission? It’s almost as if he knew how difficult this was getting. You have a few questions, but something tells you that you’ll get no response. Plus, you’d rather not look a gift horse in the mouth. Without a second thought, you dump your book on the couch and scramble off to the bedroom, latching the door and tugging your clothes off in no time, save your underwear for now. You don’t care where they end up, crawling onto the bed and propping yourself up with pillows. 

You start slow, soft touches over the fabric, but they gradually become more insistent, and you have to stop before long. You’re not actually that close, but you don’t want this to end so soon. Besides, you’re a bit impatient to get your hands on your own skin, and so you discard your underwear as well. The dampness you felt before is highly evident now, and you bite your lip at how good it feels to finally get a bit of relief. You continue on, bringing yourself closer to the edge, then backing off, never letting yourself get close enough that you could accidentally topple. You do this a couple times before finding yourself face down in the pillows, whimpering out his name and pretending he’s looming over you, encouraging you. In fact, you swear the bed dips, almost as if—

"Did you miss me?"

The words are hissed into your ear, hungry, as his hand takes over from yours, nudging it out of the way. You don’t question his sudden appearance and instead let out a squeaky gasp, and then you moan at how deliberately he moves his fingers against you, eyes rolling a little as you melt.

"I missed you. Very much." Dark presses his hips against yours, making it clear how much. You try and grind back against him, but his free hand holds you in place. He can’t resist rocking into you with a soft groan, though.

"And I intend on showing you just how much, my little pet."

[basilly]

shells of love || c!technoblade x reader

☼ a part of my series, life’s a beach!

summary: modern!au : making a small craft from nature’s love is more frustrating than it seems

pronouns/gender: gn | they/them

note:warnings: swears/cursing

not edited

"can we just go do something else?" "oh come on, you're doing great!"

techno only grunted, a small piece of twine in one hand and the other digging through a bowl of shells. to say he wasn't having fun was an understatement.

you had a grand idea to create seashell jewelry, taking the opportunity to do so while on the beach house trip. earlier that morning, you dragged techno along the beach, taking a soothing walk and collecting shells. so hand in hand, the two of you had collected a bucket of shells and a little extra. techno knew his large hands would break more than just a few.

techno had worn a pair of beige pants, the pantlegs rolled up to avoid getting them wet, and a plain white button down with the sleeves rolled up. his pink hair had been tied into a low ponytail that you had done this morning, a few pieces framing his face. a thin gold chain hung around his neck and a gold septum ring adorned his nose.

techno hadn't been too fond of the idea originally but put up with it, knowing it'd make you happy. as much as he wanted to make you something, he wasn't very good with delicate items.

so, here he was, sitting besides you in attempt to make you a necklace.

*crunch*

techno let out a sigh, the shell's crumbles between his fingers.

"i don't want to do this anymore." "it's just one-" "y/n this is like- my tenth shell that i've broken now."

he dropped his forehead on your shoulder, his hair tickling your cheek. bringing a hand up, you rub the top of his head.

"techno, you're not doing bad at all."

he only mumbled, still upset.

"it's not going to look pretty enough for you to wear."

you smiled softly, he must have really wanted to make something nice.

"it doesn't have to be pretty, i'll wear it anyway. i just want to hang out with you."

with a sigh, he picked his head back up, once again picking up the necklace.

"don't wear it around other people, it's only for you." "that or you don't want other people to see it?"

his grunt signaled his answer, sending you into a fit of giggles.

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