#bold metals collection

[griffinborn]

Ok I get where everyone is coming from when they see the design of Pavitr ‘Pav’ Prabhakar aka Indian SpiderMan as an expression of gender queerness, but let me be frank this is very typical Indian male costuming.

Even the toxic masculine patriarchal men have similar stylistic expressions or to be be more precise this is a traditional/historical/ye olde male aesthetic.

Having said that I love what design elements are being used here. So…

Let's take it from the top.

The FACE MASK

The Three Colors surrounding the eyes are typical spider man colours but they are done to evoke the image the traditional makeup done for the ancient dance art Kathakali. In which the whole face is painted and bold lines are drawn to emphasise/exaggerate the eyes. These eye mask lines are usually thin - bold-thin.

Same with the white lines on the cheek bones which are indicative of tusks or pincers of demons or Animorphs in folklore/myths.

The white dot in the centre of the forehead is the most common Hindu motif, expressed in myriad of ways all over the country .

The ARM/LEG BANDS/CUFFS

The bicep cuff is a part of Indian historic armour - made of malleable metal, its bejewelled ornate counterparts were then worn in day to day life. Here in the north Royals still wear it during big ceremonies. These metal bands are generally worn by warriors.

bangles (metal circles worn at wrists) are an important male accessory and are more daily wear even in present modern times, some religions (Sikh,Jain etc.) require the males to always wear one at all times. The ones on the suit were more in the shape of wrist guards which again were an armour accessory. In Indian male clothing the cuffs are usually emphasised.

Due to traditional male footwear being sandals metal ankle cuffs were employed to guard the shins and were worn during wars while thinner bands - ornamental accessories - were worn in daily wear.

There are so many other things I want to elaborate on like: The PATTERNS/LOGO,The LEG GARMENT (??!)(what’s the collective term for clothes for legs?), The Cat’s Cradle swinging/body animation ; but my ADHD is already acting up so imma leave this here.

SIDE NOTE:

I love how the heel and toes are bare in this design. It makes sense from the spider powers perspective - no barrier in contact allows for better manoeuvring and jump control as is seen in gymnastics. But also because in Hindu culture important tasks including some traditional sports require the removal of footwear and getting feet dirty is not discouraged (of course with an adherence to washing of the feet multiple times in a day)

I also loved how incorporated his wrist guard is in his spider style using it as a toy and a tool. This aspect of making use of something in a completely different way was so desi ‘Jugaad’ I was stunned.

[circeyoru]

Collection of Overlords _ Part 2 = Requested

[Alastor x Soul Owner of All Overlords!Reader]

Part 1 — Part 1.5 — Part 2 (here) — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5 — Part 6 — Part 7 — Part 8 — Part 9  — Part 10 — Part 11 — Part 12 — Part 13

In a room, dark and empty, the floor below encased millions of crying and pleading souls. Yet you walked over them as one would to insects on the ground. Your eyes peeked open a bit and the voices all quiet to nothing

The rows of Knight armours and life-sized wooden figures that aligned the walls all bowed in your presence. Your feet brought you to a round red table to the farther side, on top of the table was the exact replica of the landscape of the Pride Ring

In this domain of yours was a lovely creation of yours after Lucifer took over Hell, a table for each of the Rings of Hell and one each table was the exact map of everything within the Ring. From buildings to landmarks to the portals to other Rings for the Hellborns. You had it all and saw it all with your eyes around all of Hell

Your fingers hovered over the marked territories and the duplicates of your souls’ figures placed in their respective areas. Your eyes scanned over, spotting some new figures that has appeared and some areas marked with unfamiliar colours and aura. A hand waves over the entirety of the map like a fan, domains marked in red was nearly half of the place

Whispers of souls from the bodies of your provided winged creatures known as Cages flew around you. They were of your design, with black feathered bodies and wings, similar to that of a crow or raven. But with a twist, eyes red as blood, wings of blades, metal claws, and uniquely their bodies house the souls you deemed with potential to return back to their own lives

“Sinners have been brazen.” 

“Very bold. They have stolen your land.” 

“Disrespectful. Undeserving.”

“Lazy Overlords!”

“Now, now, my Cages. They have a hard time as it is, don’t give them too much pressure.” While your tone was understanding and sweet, the coldness and disappointment in your eyes told a different story. “But I suppose they have been slacking in my absence.”

“Slacking. Slacking.” 

“How dare they. How dare.” 

“Punishment. Punishment.”

“Meeting?” 

A smile formed and your eyes closed, you turned away from the table as familiar dolls floated over to you. “Yes, it is time for a reunion.” 

A soft tune played in the radio tower. You sat in the comfortable armchair while your finger swayed from side to side with the music, you hummed a bit with your eyes closed, and one leg crossed over the other. Various pages floated in the air while a pen was writing on each of them at lightning speed

Your head tilted up a bit as something came to your knowledge. With a snap of your fingers, the paperwork all disappeared and the soft tune was gone. You hummed as you got up and faced outside, even with your eyes closed you can see all of Pentagram City that was the heart of the Pride Ring

“Alastor.”

The Radio Demon immediately appeared after the shadows rose to form his figure, he bowed with hand over his heart before placing it behind his back as he straightened up, “Yes, My Dear Liege?”

“Is Vox still challenging you to random games of his?” You remained facing the view outside of the tower’s window.

“That he is.”

After Alastor had rubbed into Vox’s face that you were avoiding Vox, the insecure Overlord was keen on challenging Alastor on battles of a playful nature to one up him as a way to prove he was superior. Though all that told you was his childishness and lack of responsibility

It had been a while since your presence was made known to the other Overlords, particularly your elite collection. Your stay in the Hazbin Hotel was passed within the group, but none dare to approach you as it was against your likeness to seek you out under information passed along. It wasn’t wise to fake or arrange a chance meeting as well, for you’d know and they don’t want to face the consequence

While you were physically absent, you were not ignorant to what goes on, especially with your collection. You thought perhaps it was time for you to formally make yourself known since they have been very well behaved even after Alastor egged them so. Good that none took the bait

It’s not your intention, however, to put such test and tease for your wonderful elites, but when the opportunity is there, you can’t resist. You let things fall and observe the results. They were very amusing with their persistence to find you yet appear as though they weren’t bothered with your absence

Though the fun’s gotta end

“Arrange a meeting of my Elites,” You turned your head to Alastor’s direction with your eyes closed, “Hmm, in 6 days, let’s do it at Camilla’s place. The Witching hour would do nicely.”

Alastor bowed once more, “Of course, as you desire. Shall I broadcast it right away?”

You gestured to his chair for him to take a seat. When he did, you placed a hand on his shoulder and your eyes opened with a glow, in turn, so did his pendant with an eye design, “Please do.”

Alastor felt power surge through his form as his tower lit up with an eerie green, he spoke into the microphone on his desk, “Let this be a broadcast to the only Elites~ A special message and invitation to the Collection of Elites from Our Beloved Liege.”

Simultaneously, in various parts of the Pride Ring, targetted individuals received their broadcast. Immediately standing at alert

Zestial threw away his teacup and saucer the moment he felt the left coat pocket glow. He carefully took out his pendant and made it hover in the air while his head bowed, awaiting for the message broadcasted through Alastor’s powers mixed with yours

Carmilla raised from her seat when her chest warmed from the pendant, she pulled it out from the charm from the chain around her neck. She brushed aside the documents she had littered around her desk and placed it down, bowing with her hair down when she realized the situation, the long await word from you

Rosie shushed her cannibals, excusing herself when his pendant warmed up with a glow. She arrived at her private room and set the pendant on the couch while she seated next to it, acting as if you were present with her

Zeezi immediately threw a punch at the demon, quickly ending the fight. She kicked away the body, wiping away the blood on her hands before taking out the pendant, and bowed her head to it with eyes closed

Vox’s eyes widened, eying the pendant when Alastor’s voice came through, he was about to dismiss it but the fact that your title was mentioned meant Alastor was speaking on your behalf. He travelled through the cameras to where the other two were lazing around with the pendant in hand, putting it on the table in front of him and which made Velvette and Valentino snap to attention

“A meeting will be held in actually 6 days, at the Wtiching Hour. The meeting place will be at Carmilla’s. Needless to say, your attendance is mandatory.” Alastor relayed all the details you told him.

However, before Alastor ended the broadcast, you spoke up near the microphone, “I look forward to your presence, everyone.”

Once the news was out, the Overlords immediately got to work

Zestial went to Carmilla’s place help her prepare to your standards and satisfactory. Preparing the room to be more elegant and dignified, different from how the usual Overlord meetings were when she hosted

When Carmilla’s daughters heard the news, they were excited as well, it has been ages since they last saw you and even longer when their household was hosting your meeting place. For it was an undeniable honour for you to pick their rundown location for something so rare and sacred

After all, this was the first meeting you’ve hosted and called the others since years, it felt even longer when it was you that gathered everyone together like this. Surely, the topics of discussion was grim and serious for such an occasion

Either way, all Overlords were going to enjoy their time in your presence. Just having you near them was a gift and for you to call them was a joyious event, one worthy of celebration

Though they were very envious that Alastor got you to himself all this time. Again, the blame would be on Vox who had been causing you such discomfortable in your own world, for all their territories were yours to begin with. You were merely gracious to share your spoils with them. Lowly sinners that rose to their current standing and ranks with your support

All looked forward and dreaded the day that was to come. The other sinners and demons felt a change in the air when the Elite Overlords were more active. It was subtle but hard to ignore when the Overlords were more on edge and easy to come to anger

Zestial appearing in the streets more, Carmilla’s demand for perfection, Rosie’s increase appetite, Zeezi’s increase violent battles, and the Vees’ desperate need to produce more results

Somehow, the nobodies Overlords heard of an Overlord meeting and planned on attending as well. Yet the moment these self-proclaimed souls planned on doing so, knight armours and wooden figurines took a hold of them and the shadows devoured them without mercy

Alastor set down a plate of food in front of you, noticing the small smile on your face even when your eyes were closed. “Does something amuse you so, My Liege?”

You chuckled, “Oh, nothing much. Merely some souls begging for a good torment.”

Alastor felt his smile grow, understanding the implication. He so loved your sadistic nature to those unworthy, for he done the same. “I see. As long as you’re enjoying yourself.”

Your eyelids fluttered open a hinch, “Believe me when I say, I am.”

Note: Okay, I lied. There's more to write than I thought. In my defense, there wasn't much idea, but then it flooded when I started. So there's part 3 where the Overlords are meeting the Collector~

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland @crowleysthings @donustellaron @mistpurpl3 @plutobots @ray-rook @thealienartist @serenity-songbird @galaxydreamer468 @raynerrold @wen01203

[buckets-and-trees]

Mob Bucky walking into the kitchen and picking you up to carry you out to the bedroom when you spent whole day cooking. You argue that you still need to bake two pies and make a salad, or something, but Bucky doesn't care.

"You spent the past two days on your feet. Now you're gonna spend the next twenty four hours on your back. Maybe on hands and knees, if I feel like it."

Hahahaha! Because we WOULD. But it's our chef heart!

Collection: Devour Title: CUSTARD Characters/Pairings: Mob Boss!Bucky x female!Chef!Reader Word Count: 687

Content Warnings: referenced smut (vaginal penetration/fucking, oral: female receiving), mob boss Bucky

Logistical Notes: Takes place after the series (shh, I know I'm still working on the final chapter). Prompt from the ask in bold italics, and notching a Naughty prompt from @the-slumberparty's Naughty or Nice challenge in plain bold.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

James was calling your name, but you didn’t hear him until he was in the kitchen with you.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You didn’t register the dangerous chill in his tone either, too busy skimming your fingers back over the recipe you were studying, frowning back at the mixture in the metal bowl whipping up in front of you.

“Mmm,” you hummed, completely focused on your work, “will you taste this?” You reached for one of the small spoons in a jar on the counter, dipped it into the bowl, and held it out for your mob boss.

He crossed the kitchen and was at your side in an instant. You only looked his way briefly enough to thrust the spoon into his mouth just as he opened it to speak again. You reached for another spoon to taste the custard’s current status for yourself.

“It definitely needs the nutmeg,” you murmured, wondering why the recipe you were referencing didn’t have any listed.

“You definitely need to be out of this kitchen!” James ordered.

You whipped your head back to glare at him. “I promised I would bring pie to the brunch, James.”

“And you’ve already made one.”

“But I didn’t make that pie for the brunch! It’s the backup pecan pie, and everyone deserves to have pie that was intended for the brunch. Pecan pie is not a proper brunch pie,” you argued. “I really should make a fruit pie to go along with this buttermilk pie, too,” you added for yourself, tone dropping back to your concentrated cooking tone.

“No! I forbid it!”

“You forbid it?”

“Yes, I forbid it! Against my better judgement, I tolerated you cooking the holiday meal with our families, but you spent the past two days on your feet when you’re supposed to be off, chef.”

He pulled the spoon out of your right hand and the spatula out of your left, flung them onto the counter, and flung you over his shoulder.

“James Buchanan Barnes!”

He didn’t speak as he walked you out of the kitchen and down the hallway. You squirmed a bit – knowing with all his strength there was no way he would let you fall, but also wanting to protest over being dragged away from your task.

He tossed you unceremoniously onto the bed and was on you immediately.

His large frame trapped you beneath him, though you tried to squirm away. He took each of your hands and pinned them in one of his above your head, while his other hand grabbed your jaw and angled your face for him to perfectly capture your lips in a kiss. He forced his tongue against yours, and immediately you could taste the sweetness of the custard still lingering in his mouth. He kissed you until you stopped struggling, softening beneath him. He released your hands, and you wound one around his neck and the other through his hair. His free hand didn’t stay free for even a second before it was palming your breast through your shirt, and you moaned.

Finally, he broke of the kiss, but only moving his head back a fraction of an inch.

“Damn you,” you breathed against his lips, but you knew from the look in his eyes that he knew he’d demanded and earned your utter and complete surrender.

“You’re going to spend the next twenty-four hours on your back,” he said. He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then drew the heat along your jaw and down your neck. The desire in your core was fully ablaze, and you could feel how wet you were already growing between your thighs.

He nipped at your collarbone, and you gasped.

“Maybe on hands and knees if I feel like it,” he added as he ripped the front of your shirt open.

The audacity of this man! you thought while you could still think.

An audacity that you gladly put up with until well after midnight as he had you cumming more than once on his cock, then woke up to first thing with his head between your thighs.

I PROMISE ONE DAY I WILL FINISH THE FINAL CHAPTER, I JUST CAN'T HELP IT THAT PEOPLE KEEP SENDING FANTASTICALLY INSPIRATIONAL ASKS THAT TURN INTO THESE LITTLE ADDITIONAL SCENES FOR THEIR FUTURE!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[the-offside-rule]

Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing) - The Princess

Requested: yes

Prompt: 6) "I'm not religious, but I do think I've seen an angel

Warnings: none tbh, just more requests whilst I'm watching sprint quali

The sun was setting over the glamorous streets of Monaco, casting a golden glow over the iconic circuit as the Grand Prix came to a thrilling conclusion. Max Verstappen stood atop the podium, his heart pounding with the exhilaration of victory. As the crowd erupted in cheers, he couldn't shake the feeling of winning the prestigious race yet again. He waved down to the team before the glorious tune of the Dutch national anthem began playing.

Y/n, the Princess of Monaco, fiddled with the hem of her dress as she looked down to the huge crowd. Whilst she was royalty, crowds generally did seem to get to her. Her older brother took sick and had to cancel his plan to present the winner their trophy last minute. Hence, Miss Y/n was asked to. As the announcer declared the Princess to the crowd, Y/n stepped forward with grace, her regal presence commanding attention. She held the gleaming trophy in her hands, ready to present it to the triumphant driver. Max's gaze locked onto her, captivated by her beauty and poise. He felt a surge of something unfamiliar stirring within him as their eyes met.

Y/n smiled warmly as she handed Max the trophy, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "Congratulations, Max." She said, her voice soft and melodious. Max smirked, ignoring his heart skipping a beat at the sound of her voice. "Thank you, your Highness." He replied, unable to tear his gaze away from her. Max watched intently as the Princess walked away, applauding the dutchman before Max lifted the trophy and showcasing the newest clunk of metal he would add to his collection.

As the photographers clamored for their attention, Max and Y/n posed for the celebratory photos, their smiles bright and genuine. But as Lando Norris, another driver on the podium, playfully aimed his champagne bottle in their direction, Max instinctively shielded Y/n from the impending spray.

Y/n laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement as Max turned his back to protect her. "Thank you, Max. I dont think this dress would pair well with chanpagne stains." She said, touched by his chivalry. "When someone like you is wearing the dress, I dont think anyone would care." Max replied, his voice tinged with sincerity. "And plus, I couldn't let you get soaked." Y/n beamed at the subtle compliment from the race winner.

As the champagne-fueled celebrations continued, Max found himself walking by Y/n's side, unable to resist the magnetic pull she had on him. "Oh, here. Let me help you." He offered her his arm, guiding her down the steps of the podium with care as she navigated the stairs in her heels. "Well aren't you just so lovely." Y/n smiled as her arm linked with his, leaning onto him. "You looked stunning up there." Max remarked, his eyes lingering on Y/n's radiant smile. "I'm not religious, but I do believe I've seen an angel today." Y/n blushed at his words, her cheeks flushing with color. "You're bold, arent you?" She asked, a tinge of amusement lacing her voice. "I'm a racing driver, your Highness. You need to be bold." Y/n rolled her eyes. "Of course, but I don't see any other drivers making moves on me, Mr Verstappen."

"Well, I think they see we are having a conversation. It would be rude to interrupt, no?" Max smiled. The pair stood for a moment,him towering over her as she simply looked between his eyes. "I'd like if we continued our conversation." Y/n whispered. "So would I. How about we return to this conversation later?" Usually, Y/n wouldn't like how suggestively the driver was being, but her gut trusted the man. She sighed. "Where do you suggest we have our little rendezvous?" She smiled. "How about dinner?" The dutchman suggested. Y/n arched a brow. "You know, for a Monaco race winner, your idea of a celebration is very boring." Max didn't really know what to say. It wasnt until Y/n leaned towards his ear.

"I'll be meeting you ag some stage tonight." She pulled away and winked. For the first time in a while, Max felt butterflies in his stomach as the Princess walked away with her security surrounding her, while he stood there wondering when he would bump into her next.

[theoxenfree]

OF FLESH SIN

vampire priest x reader | 2.6k | 18+

you're the child of a monastery groundskeeper and come to find out that one of the senior clergy, father marius, was brutally maimed in his chambers overnight. you're approached by the monastery's new recruit: father shaw; who claims he had witnessed the scene of the crime and invites you to his chambers to tell the tale.

warnings; dark content bc of descriptions of gore and violence towards the end, obsessive behaviors, theological themes, probs inaccurate representation of monastery life lmao, outdated + deragatory mention of psychiatric care to fit the narrative, very brief mention of animal death, classism (mc getting shit on for being poor and coming from an "uneducated" family), kinda honestly cheesy if you think about it, roughly proofread, vampires are monsters y'all—that's the only way I write them

shouldn't have to say it, but: none of this is indicative of my personal viewpoints. it's just fiction, folks.

second prompt fulfilled for my lil' october writing project! this won the second poll! please reblog + leave feedback to be kind and help a sister out 🥹💕

Father Marius died in quite some awful way last night, as reported to you by the nuns hanging fresh washed garments on the clothesline in the waning, purpling daylight.

“A look of horror! Utter terror! So frightened that his jaw had become dislocated in forever a scream,” shivered one young nun, Lucy; recently a convert from the slums. “I, well, I didn't see it myself. Neither did the rest of us, actually. They say it was that new Father Shaw who found him at dawn.”

You had been raking gravel out of the yard, tiny stones kicked off of the path into the kempt lawn by prancing horses and wagon wheels, when Lucy and the other nun, Esme, had caught your attention with their hard, dense gossip. They regarded your approach with less caution than they would have had with their other sisters, as gossip was deemed inappropriate, a violation, a flickering serpent’s tongue carrying covert temptations leading to luscious sins and debauchery.

They saw you—poor, morose, the groundskeeper's only child and reminder of loveless trysts—and thought nothing of snaking you into their prattle. You were not the sort to divulge anyone's secrets without gain, without reward, and you knew that the nuns kept nothing to their names once they took their vows and donned their habits.

“Father Shaw,” you continued the discussion with some intrigue, mostly from the fact that he was very new, very young, and modestly handsome, “why was he awake so early? Why was he in Father Marius’ chambers? Curious to me.”

Neither of them gave much caution to your questions, shrugging as if to dismiss your ambivalence and accusatory tone. You were bold in the way that the faithless and lost always tended to be: asking senseless things, always concerned with the wrongdoings of others, always suspicious, always inquiring—forever inquiring.

“Oh, my, you're so defensive,” Esme fanned a yellow bedspread out with an oncoming breeze, catching the wind beneath the fabric so it billowed and rippled midair. “If that’s how you're going to be, then: why does your father stumble around the yard at night with a lantern, swinging around a pistol like a madman? Won't he hurt someone?”

Because he's a godless, superstitious drunk. Perhaps, even, a bit disturbed in his mind, but you couldn't bear to think that way, that he might be the type to need his head locked in a metal cage, gagged, arms bound, and padlocked in some damp, distant corner of an asylum.

“He's a good man,” you relented, taking your hands from the top of the smoothed out, worn handle of the rake and resumed your task. The gravel made an awful, grinding sound as the teeth of the rake collected pieces of stone and led it back to the rest. “He's served this monastery well. I don't mean offense about Father Shaw, I'm simply curious about what transpired is all.”

“No offense taken,” came a voice from behind, startling both the twittering nuns and yourself at the same time. They saw it to be Father Shaw standing there, hands cuffed behind his back with a particularly demure disposition, hiked their skirts and whisked themselves away back inside. “Ah, am I really such a frightful figure? I couldn't really find an opening during your conversation to invite myself in. I apologize.”

You were of a similar fretful nature, quickening your clawing and the reach of the rake. “Nay, Father. I think it's simply because you're a strange man to them still. A handsome face, a warm voice, mysterious; give them time, they'll come around.”

“Have you?” Father Shaw asked, taking measured strides in a half-circle around to your front. He concentrated on where the teeth of your instrument struck next, tips temporarily wedged into the soft dirt before being ripped up with chunks of earth and gray gravel. “It wouldn't do for me if you… were still ill at ease with me as well. I consider you my one, true friend in this place.”

Your father held a certain destestation towards Father Shaw that you'd never witnessed before, saying nothing else than that something was terribly wrong with him and not to place yourself in a position to be alone with him. This you attributed to his unsoundness, but it was always the sudden flicker a sharp breath against candlelight—a jarring shift in his demeanor when he spoke about the Father, neurotic and prone to throwing things about the cottage interior, that caused you to pay some mind to what he told you.

“And, you're a great friend of mine as well,” you hoped you sounded coherent and paced your words evenly enough. “I'm sorry if you thought I was accusing you of something, sir. I really meant nothing to it.”

Father Shaw’s lips sprawled tight and pale into a fond smile, never showing his teeth, though the imprint of them seemed massive and the skin of his lips startlingly thin across them. “I know. You have nothing to fear. My feelings were not affected. If you'd like, come to my chambers later, we may pray together first, and I'll tell you everything you wish to know about what I saw to sate your curiosity.”

“That seems improper, sir.” You said.

“How so?”

“Inviting someone to your chambers at night seems an unbecoming venture for a pious man of status, such as yourself,” you continued, now standing upright beside your rake, “if any of the sisters were to witness it, worse another priest, aren't you afraid you'd be horribly chastised? Even worse, excommunicated altogether?”

Although Father Shaw’s dark eyes reflected no light, holding such demanding depth to them that it was hard to keep your bearings whenever you realized you'd been staring, his entire face was alight in amusement.

“Wherever did you learn to speak like that?” he asked candidly, still glowing despite his pallor. “Forgive me when I say, but your father is not an educated man. I mean no offense, please don't look at me in such a way. You are so well spoken, I only wish to know more about you.”

“I've lived here my entire life,” you told him. “The nuns taught me how to read.”

He looked impressed. “You can read?”

“I can!” From a near distance, you could make out your father’s haddard form, bent sideways on a walking cane and limping towards the pair of you. You looked up at the priest’s smooth face. “It'd be best for you to leave before my father can speak to you. He isn't the kindest soul after a long day.

Father Shaw didn't react with any semblance of worry, but agreed that there were other things needing to be done and began away. Just as he passed you on his way towards the monastery, he let his hand rest atop of your shoulder and leaned you towards him to whisper in your ear: “come to me tonight. I'll be waiting for you.”

There was something so luxurious and cooling about his voice; fine silks sitting in the shade during autumn gliding across your bare skin, wrapping your neck, your chest, your nether parts. His voice was a fine, chilly mist after the first rains in spring which felt refreshing and new after a glacial winter, yet still had capacity to soak you to the bone. It was a nighttime breeze caressing your cheek, sweeping through the hairs of your scalp, making your skin burst all over with bumps.

“I don't like the way he looks at you,” said your father with a mouthful of porridge you'd seasoned with herbs of the season. It was wonderfully fragrant and warm during nights that were still a bit too uncomfortable to sip anything cold. “He looks at you like you're a slab of meat! Some prize after a hunt. I don't like him, love. Not one bit. You'd do well to stay to mind yourself and do your chores and nothing else, y’hear?”

After dinner, you cleaned up, swept the floors with hard bristles, and snuffed all the lights except for the fireplace where your father sat in his old chair, fiddling with his favorite pistol.

“It's time for bed, old man.” You watched him fit a couple of small bullets into the loading chamber. They glinted against the orange flames. “Goodness. What have you gotten this time? Something new?”

“Aye!” he grinned, nearly toothless and in a sickly sort of way. “Went to market the other day while the nuns bullied you and picked out some fine bullets from the silversmith,” he cracked the two halves of the pistol shut. “Better to be prepared.”

You waited until sometime later once he was finally asleep, possibly after midnight, before leaving the humble cottage sitting on the fringes of the massive monastery yard and rushing across the grounds to get inside.

Once, they'd kept a guard dog on the property, one of those meaner breeds that were used for gambling, but the poor thing wound up shot dead in the middle of the night by a traveling friar who'd come to seek refuge at the monastery. The sisters, and yourself, were horribly distraught by the entire ordeal and all vetoed the consideration of bringing another dog here.

Since then, it was no task for you (or anyone else) to get inside the building and shuffle along the shadows through the corridors. At night, the place stirred with patient insects, feral rodents large and small in the pantry, and hungry owls tamely whining from the rafters when something startled them away from their hunt of vermin.

Your feet were a light sound on the masonry below, padded by thin leather soles which alerted you to your enthusiasm as the thwap thwap thwap became louder, aggressive as you closed in on a wall and turned down another hallway for a sturdy wood door at the end of it.

As your knuckles rapped, hoping the sound wouldn't disturb the animals’ nighttime caroling, a swift darkness moved across the floor from behind the door, briefly blocking out the soft light seeping out from underneath.

The next moment, you were being pulled inside and sat at a small table tucked to the side of Father Shaw’s rather generous room. It was a simple space, sparsely furnished for the barest of comforts—only for what was needed to live—but what had been made for him was of exquisite craftsmanship, some made of teakwood, which Shaw assured you was remarkably durable and highly resistant to rotting.

“It's wonderful for boats,” he said, pouring a light amber colored brew from a metal kettle he'd heated a short while ago. “It’s good for all elements, really. Exceptional longevity. I've heard it has become a popular option in the city for burying the deceased.”

“Will Father Marius be buried in a teakwood coffin, then?” you asked, sipping politely from the cup even though you had no appetite for it. You already felt ill at ease enough having disobeyed your father by sneaking into a priest's personal chambers at night. The things the sisters would say about you—

“He will be entombed underneath the monastery with the rest who have served here and passed. I believe that is all stone down there, my dear.” Father Shaw smiled tepidly, kettle aside, no tea of his own. “But, I know that your curiosity led you here to me with questions, yes? About the state I found Father Marius in, yes?”

You tried to disguise your intrigue by drinking more of the tea, of whatever it was he had given you, and listened to the sounds of your fingertips sticking to the porcelain from sweat and steam.

“If you wouldn't mind sharing…”

“I wouldn't!” he leaned on his arms on the table, closer towards you as though with a secret. “As I've said, you are truly the only soul here who I can confide in. You are not a sheep. And you do not fear sin as the rest do. So, you can ask me anything and I'll tell you everything.”

“Tell me about Father Marius, then.”

Father Shaw reached across the table for one of your hands; his far larger, fingers much longer and colder than your own and held it as he recounted the event.

“Dreadful sight, it was. It was, oh, perhaps sometime after three o'clock when I heard a massive racket. A struggle. When I knocked, all of the noise subsided at once and there was complete stillness. Silence, my dear, silence so deep, dark, and damning that I knew something awful had happened.

“I didn't knock again, I was too afraid to! But, Father Marius was getting on in age, so I couldn't just stand by, either. I kicked the door in—just once was all it took—and I rushed inside to see the room was a complete mess. A fight had clearly taken place, and the walls—oh, the walls—”

His remorse was carefully placed, stiff, and uncertain and he couldn't be seen in the vastness of his black gaze. You were moved by the vulnerability he was trying to show you, going as far to abandon your drink to place your warm hand on top of his.

“The walls, my dear, were a mess of blood. Something vicious and awful had happened in that room. But, then, I found Father Marius lying there on the ground next to a broken window. I think he'd tried to throw himself through it. His face was shredded to pieces, his eyes gouged. When I got closer, I noticed that his tongue had been severed from his head!”

You were holding Father Shaw’s hands in a bloodless grip, face ashen, teeth chattering behind your lips. “What on earth! That is not only horror, but cruelty!”

“Oh, my love, it gets worse!” Father Shaw held you mesmerized in his gaze, the conviction and anguish with which he told his story. “Closer still, Father Marius’ face was locked in one of pure terror, I've—I’ve never seen a human react in quite a way such as that before, to fear. The man unhinged his own jaw in a hideous scream, and it seemed to me he was skeletal. By that, it's like he was, well, quite dry.

“So, I crouched down so much lower and inspected him all over. Do you want to know what I found?”

“Yes.” You spoke breathlessly.

Father Shaw had moved out of his seat and was on one knee in front of you, both of his frigid hands on your face to smooth across your cheeks, pushing away pieces of hair obscuring some part of you he'd wanted to see.

“My love, I saw marks in his neck. Two, beautifully, wonderfully symmetrical marks that were far too clean to be of any animal that we know of. The bite was clean, it was patient and cunning. And the fangs that had sunk into his tender flesh had drained him of blood, of the very essence that kept his heart beating until the very last.”

“Sir—” your stomach plummeted, falling forever, when he smiled, teeth longer than any humans should be shown through to you. He wouldn't let you go when you went to move out of his hands, away from him. “Father Shaw, please—”

“I wish you could have seen it, my love. It was a breathtaking sight and I long for someone else to admire the beauty of my work alongside me.”

It was unthinkable that a vampire could walk on these holy grounds and in the bright of day, yet Father Shaw had for countless days. Evil held you sweetly by the cheek and in your hair, kissed you with a corpse’s cold lips, and laved the skin of your skin with a long, serpentine tongue.

“O’, my merciful lord…”

Father Shaw bent your head back with a fistful of hair and spoke from your throat:

“There is no God, only me. Come into the endless night with me, my love.”

[evilgwrl]

TW: Intended cannibalism (DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT)

He was warm, eyes a deep pot of old coffee, beans ground and soaked in now lukewarm water that no one would drink. You laughed at the sight of his crinkled mask, the strings a flimsy fit behind his ears, murmuring about how they’re not necessary to wear anymore. He only shook you off.

You mingled together under saturated lights, a bottle of Shiraz between the two of you, blonde lashes dipping to your lips every time the stained glass was brought to your lips. Skin tore as you nibbled away at it with your front teeth, scraping the residue of toxic metallic into the warmth of your mouth.

“Do you want to come back to mine?”

It was simple. Bodies tangled between one another, lips interlocked, the empty slot filled by his sheath as subtle praise ran through you, tearing you apart limb from limb as you submitted solely to the man in front of you. Gentle mumbles about how good you taste, slick strung between his lips as he nuzzles against the delicacy of your cunt.

The clock passed, arms ticking in the background of shuffled moans as he laid you down, bringing a glass to your lips as you laughed, tongue stained a deep red, the scent of tobacco entwined down the passage leading to your demise as he kissed you, pulling away to admire you.

“You’re beautiful.”

It was simple. Eyes fuzzing over with delicate static as you whined, stumbling into open arms that should’ve comforted you. Numb lips smacked against one another, the taste of nothing gutting your insides as you succumbed to the irritable slumber you never asked for.

He was cold, eyes a bewildered stain of brown, the distant memory of mangled limbs buried upon fields of dirt evident through the estranged look on his face. Gentle strokes provided faux comfort as dazed eyes adjusted, concrete walls caving in as you whined. The lights were white, the purity of them a sick metaphor as you cried out.

Tender flesh worked against his mouth, your eyes a dull strain of melancholy, converting you into nothing but a poster, bold red words displayed on community bulletin boards until they eventually rot away, an ironic but brutal joke at your expense. Your ears fell silent at the praise, mask removed as he revelled in your taste, ivory plucked from his mouth as he planted a kiss on your forehead, leaving nothing but the stain of crimson.

Gentle eyes stared at the girl before him, taking in the familiarity of her features, an uncanny mellowness bringing him a sense of achievement as he held the milk bottle out, murmuring about how devastating the loss was for everyone. Hushed whispers would be shared by the two of them over a bottle of Shiraz, the look in his eyes stagnant as he placed whatever was left of her among you, the collection of pearl-coloured hulk buried as one in the same field you found in his eyes.

[r0-boat]

Mirror Mirror (part 2)

Whb!Lucifer x reader x Obeyme!Lucifer part 2

Across the Demonverse lol

A lot of yapping before sex lol

Let me know if you guys want more of this AU...

Link to part 1

Cw: biting, spit roasting, degrading

You weren't unconscious, But you weren't registering what was going on either cradled in the arms of somebody. You wake up in familiar silk sheets. The sense of lilies and vanilla suggests that You made it home too Paradise Lost.

You smile to yourself as you shifting in your bed eyes still closed. Beginning to drift off once again.

It must have been a dream, at least It felt like one. A deep voice calling your name breaks you out of those blissful thoughts.

"what's going on with them? They almost passed out. Better yet what's going on here?"

You felt cold metal press on your shirt as you felt a hand on your forehead.

"I am just as confused as you are. I have heard of God creating multiple worlds not just this one but I have never seen it for myself."

"So it is true. You are me?"

The voices began to get clearer and clearer as you began to stir more.

"I don't lie. I have no reason to. You felt it too, didn't you?"

"How could I not? Despite our physical differences, I felt like I was looking in a mirror."

The blurry figures finally turn to you as he begins to gain consciousness. They call your name at the same time as they get closer.

Feeling a gloved hand caress your cheek, you lean into it before realizing who it belongs to. Your eyes met with red ones and his familiar black hair. Instantly realizing that no, this is not a dream, You flinched.

"Lucifer!?"

"Yes child of Adam?"

You heard a voice from in front of you. Your heart sank as you looked at him.

The other one.

"no not you- why are you here?"

"I live here?" He stated calmly, raising his eyebrow

"no not-" The other Lucifer rolled his eyes He shook your hand a little getting your attention.

"That's what I would like to know I followed you through the portal you created... When and where did you learn that magic And who taught it to you?" His face got more stern with each question he asked. You were going to open your mouth to say something until you felt all that weakness hit you at once your body shakes as you struggle to catch your breath. He felt your body weakening as he leaned closer

That's when Lucifer sat up walking toward you. "In this world Hell's air is poisonous," He stated

He had no time to bring equipment He had to use magic as he pressed his hand against your chest it's not as accurate to humans as giving you a physical exam but he had no time.

"mh. It seems there's also something else, It was small before but now I can't ignore it... It seems like Hell's Poison but it's different."

Lucifer knew a little bit of what His mirror self was saying It was one of the many questions he asked.

"So the Devildom is killing them?"

"More like she's not used to it. And I can also sense They are over exerting themselves" Lucifer rambled and his mirror half speaks up his eyes staring at the artifact.

"They are using magic that isn't theirs..."

"Will they be okay?"

His face scrunched up, seeing the normally calm collected Lucifer look like this made you worry.

"usually when they're feeling like this we just give them our energy. But I'm afraid it might not be enough."

Not knowing what might happen to you, Lucifer's heart squeezes You are very important to him more than you know, and more than he's willing to admit. He failed to protect you before, He will not let you die again "I'll do it, I'll do anything"

Lucifer smiled relieved that his other self was just us protective of you as he was. "All right take your clothes off."

You coughed as you almost laughed your ass off You tried to stifle yourself as Lucifer went silent.

"excuse me?" In his tone of voice and the look on his face He looked as if someone was playing a prank on him but Lucifer as bold into the point as ever just explained.

"We have to fuck them to give them devil's energy, since you're in this world and since you do have magic you should have devil's energy-"

Lucifer just interrupted him "No shut up! I get it..." This was all too real to be some sick prank made by Satan and belphegor, Plus they would never go out of their way to harm me like this so this is real as much as he does not like this.

His eyes widen as he saw his mirror self immediately getting into bed He didn't strip his clothes yet but he tenses when his lips fall upon yours. You whimper but immediately leaned into it as if you knew this, As if you expected this.

Lucifer knows that it's still another side of him but still it feels so wrong to see another demon touching you.

Red eyes met shining ones Lucifer knows that look, it's holding back, it's hesitation. Lucifer has an inkling of why This one is holding back They are pride, As much as he doesn't like to share he knows that your safety is a top priority. And he knew just how to encourage him a little bit.

All devils cannot resist temptation, All devils cannot resist competition. So he pulls your limp body away from him pulling you into his arms His fangs graze against your shoulder his hand placed upon where he found Lucifer's pact mark on your body.

"mine." He hisses. And he watched as Lucifer's pupils began to shrink into slits. Hearing you whimper as he sunk his teeth into your shoulder finally made Lucifer act. He let out a low grow, getting into bed with you, pressing his body against your back. You felt a gloved hand possessively grip your thigh. His breath tickles your ear.

"How long have you been doing this? Getting dicked down behind my back? I thought you were just this innocent human turns out you are just a slut."

Lucifer chuckled at his mirror half's words. "You have no idea."

Lucifer clicked his tongue you felt his hand gently caressed the back of your head before grabbing and pulling you back He growls. "I think you should be punished for going behind our backs to be a whore."

You felt the hand from the demon in front of you slide beneath your pants, His hand cupping between your legs, applying pressure.

"I like the sound of that." Lucifer Licks your neck, trying to find the perfect spot to bite down while sleeping off his coat. The other Lucifer does the same with his.

"please! I need it! I want you both! Please Lucif-!" A hand smacks your thigh hard cutting off your sentence with a whimper.

"Sinners like you don't get to call beings like us by name You will use sir." He hisses before finally sinking his teeth into your neck.

'Sinner?' huh... Has a nice ring to it that term he'll be stealing that.

The two demons break away from you as Lucifer orders you to get on your hands and knees. As much as they want to take their time with you, you have no time.

So focused on the pleasure you're about to get and how your throat squeezes as you struggle to breathe. You didn't know who was behind or in front of you. All you heard was belts unbuckling and the shifting of the bed. Until you felt that unmistakable leather against your ass as someone groped it and forced it apart to get better access to his prize. You squealed, grinding your ass against whoever treated you like a toy to be played with.

While you felt someone's soft hand run into your hair and caress your cheek, he treated you gently as his thumb played with your bottom lip but encouraged you to open it. You kept your eyes closed until you heard a voice. "Look at me. Let me see those eyes when we both enter you." You had no choice but to obey. You didn't even want to know what would happen if you chose to be bratty now when two demons of Pride looked so horny and impatient. The moment you looked up ahead of his dick pressed against your lips; You didn't have time to process, only felt your walls squeeze down on a cock slamming inside of you. Lucifer had waited long enough for you to adjust. He needed your mouth to open right now.

"Open your mouth, Sweet thing."

You hesitated for 2 seconds before you felt a harshest slap on your ass. "He said open your fucking mouth!" Lucifer growled. Ending his sentence with a harsh thrust of his hips. Immediately you opened your mouth wide with your tongue out for the Lucifer in front of you, and he slowly slid his dick into your mouth

The two demons whisper praises at your ability to take both as they slowly begin to move well. The one in front, at least, was treating you more gently. As the Lucifer behind you was already fucking you so hard, you were bouncing forward and swallowing Lucifer deeper.

It was all too much, The huge cock down your throat and the other cock slamming hard and deep inside you. You felt yourself being overwhelmed with pleasure and pain your body began to shake as they practically used you like a fleshlight. One Lucifer was enough to make you cry, but two of them? Tears are streaming down your face. Your throat is tightening as you try so hard to keep your composure.

Seeing your pleasure being overrun to the point of tears, Lucifer seemed to have changed his gentler tone as he began to grab your hair and fuck your throat. But what surprised you is how the Lucifer behind your pace began to falter, drilling your poor hole recklessly. He wanted more, and he wanted you to fall apart until you're nothing. His other self was so lucky to see you cry; oh, how he adored when those pretty little tears fell down your face when you're so overwhelmed with pleasure you can't take it.

His hand wrapping between your legs to touch you.

They fucked you through your orgasm as you squeezed and milked them. Lucifer wiped your tears only to lick his fingers clean.

They weren't even close to being satisfied and you could do nothing about it but take it.

Take it as they use you how they pleased.

Take it as their claws dig into your skin marking you as theirs.

Take it as they bombard you with both praise and demands.

Take it as you feel come shoot down your throat and deep inside you.

Your limp when they finally pulled out of you, you felt arms around you. You're not sure from who. As you were already so exhausted you couldn't stay awake. Someone was holding you His gentle hand petting you to soothe your slumber as you bury your nose deep in his chest is familiar scent lulling you to sleep before being tucked into bed.

Lucifer watched You snuggle with his jacket. He couldn't help but smile, but that smile soon faltered, remembering what his mirror self had said to him.

This was your original world... Your home. He had so many questions, but Lucifer couldn't answer any of them.

As if on queue, He felt his presence behind him.

"I can't let them go. You understand that, right?"

"I understand. I'd feel the same way you do."

"if there is one of you that, there must be others... What do we do with them? What do we tell them?"

"if I tell my 'colleagues there'll be no certain, it will just lead to more trouble. We have a lot going on as is."

Lucifer's sighed pinched his nose's bridge because he was in the same boat...

"I don't think it's their fault," Lucifer spoke up

He just shook his head. No of course not, there was someone else...

"I think I think I know who might know something."

The other Lucifer didn't answer. Instead, he was slipping off the artifact while you slept peacefully.

Harnessing it's magic he conjured a portal back to his own world. Before throwing it for Lucifer to catch.

"Will you keep in touch?"

He looks back at his mirror self. He gives him a nod before stepping through. "How could I not after knowing what exists?"

[fairszy]

# — oral ! 🕊️ (part two)

how : childe, neuvillette, kaveh, itto, + dottore give head ! find part one here ! ♡

disclaimers : you give neuvillette head too ! oh also he has two dicks. bottom!itto drabbles teehee !! medical play with dotto !

afab!reader, no pronouns used ! mdni 18+ ONLY ‼️

# 001 — CHILDE !

being in a sexual dynamic with childe was quite the wild card. things were always changing and the sex was never consistent — except for one thing.

ajax is obsessed with oral, he needs to give it to you even when you have no plans to have sex. he starts by trying to sweeten you up, kissing your neck and gently squeezing at your thighs until before you know it, his tongue is gliding against you.

he loves when you sit on his face, bright baby blue eyes watching your body intently while you use his face as your own personal object. he whimpers — whines pathetically under you. his cock is so hard it’s painful and leaking. his heart continues to race for you. ♡

— “more . . please — fuckin’ give me more.”

#002 — NEUVILLETTE !

the ludex is calm and collected . . unless it comes to you. usually, neuvillette was someone who always followed the rules, he’s the face of justice after all. due to his nature it was no suprise he attracted someone like you.

someone who was a rule breaker, someone who marched to the beat of their own drum. which is how he ended up with you under his desk, tongue licking all over the tip of his primary cock, hands happily stroking the secondary. the grip on his desk was intense as he listened to the conflict one of his dear assistants provided him with.

the longest ten minutes of his life went by before neuvillette was panting, chest heaving slightly as he motioned for you to come out from your hiding place. before you could even stand up properly you were shoved onto the same desk he just gripped his nails into. biting and nipping at your thighs he left sloppy desperate kisses against your hole. ♡

— “such a bold brat . . aren’t you ? my my . . a lesson you shall learn today, little étoile.”

#003 — KAVEH !

since he’s an artist, everything that kaveh does is meant to be an artistic expression. sometimes he doesn’t even realize it.

sometimes, kaveh will have you on the expensive 500,000 mora couch he has. he watches you struggle to stay still under his touch. he watches the way you drip onto said sofa in need. silently he drops to his knees, ruby eyes staring intently at your heat.

his tongue paints a beautiful and erotic picture. the architect takes his time gently running his tongue through every single fold and nerve he can find. his chest practically heaves when you grab his locks, shoving him in even further. ♡

— “fuck . . your taste — you’re so . . ethereal, my muse.”

#004 — ITTO !

big strong arms always keep you close. the oni treats you as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever possessed. he would walk to the edge of the world and back if you told him to.

which is why him being the usual submissive in the bedroom was one of your favourite things. itto waited for every single order like a puppy eager to please it’s owner. the muzzle around his face made your much large boyfriend grunt in annoyance.

ittos face shoved right up to your cunt causing you to hiss from the feeling of the cold metal of the muzzle. itto had a problem with biting and marking you from head to toe, so you had to compromise. however he also just looked incredibly sexy while he whimpered — tilting his head in every way possible to get his tongue flat against your holes. sometimes he was successful! ♡

— “pleasepleaseplease !! come onnn sugar ~ just a little taste yeah? fuck . .”

#005 — DOTTORE !

the doctor is quite the tease when he’s not completely engrossed in his work. he wouldn’t ever admit it but you are one of his weaknesses.

so when you come to visit dottore during one of the periods where he’s completely locked himself in his laboratory it’s only a matter of seconds before your being lifted and spread against the cold metal lab table. all of his previous experiments had been disregarded as non important as his hands explored you.

silently he used black gloved fingers to poke and prod at the most delicate parts of you. sexual reactions was truly something dottore was interested in. he dips down, parting his lips to prod his tongue against you. he’s by no means gentle, using his razor sharp teeth to gently bite down on the skin. his free hands is taking messy notes on a clipboard. a skill he’d learned to do from each and every one of these meetings. ♡

— “interesting reactions . . every day i get closer to figuring out all your secrets, little dove.”

[idliketobeatree]

dead boy detectives characters as art objects and sculptures; extended ---

hello, i remembered i made some subjective explanations and notes on few of my choices for this post, and i thought some folks might enjoy it. soo let's get into it.

1.

monty finch

author: anders krisár

pretty self-explanatory; it's a moulded male torso with visible inprints on its skin.

anders krisár’ artistry explores the themes of loss, separation, and the condition of the psyche through the lens of a human body in duality: perfectionism meets unsettlement, skin meets marble and bronze and polyester, to create sculptures spanning geological time far beyond the living's capabilities.

monty's creation by esther was already stripped of any human agency. "he was made a boy, not a person", small, almost doll-sized, with a singular purpose: to seduce and entice the chosen dead boy into their doom. the naked skin and specifically the position of its arms are mildly erotic, but in a way that makes your skin crawl. the imprints are intimate, placed possesive; notice the thumbs digging close to especially sensitive areas like nipples and the belly button.

the latter seems to connect the "creator" to the subject, the navel here as a symbol of cruel, invasive motherhood. the fact that the torso is cut off in the middle and at the neck furthers the uncanny valley feeling of a young male body, but then again. this is a realistic portrayal. so was it ever a person? what does it have inside to make dents so profound? how deep you can press until it breaks?

--- i'm leaving out crystal and edwin (for now?), but @nicheoverhere brilliantly noticed that it was the same author for both. that was intentional! because glen martin taylor is all about taking kintsugi, which is a beautiful art form of repairing fine china and generally delicate things with veins of precious metals, but with materials like— nails. scissors. barbed wire. all ugly. the repair after a great shattering is seldom pretty after all, they really are similar in this regard. ---

2.

charles rowland

author: robert hudson

okay, strap in. this funky dreamy world belongs to robert hudson, and i picked it for charles rowland because it's all first impressions. the colours? the composition? they give you the 80s vibes, almost; like something a kid would design if you asked them what a time machine would look like. it could probably move in several ways. the pieces seem mismatched, but hold themselves together surprisingly well. or maybe you underestimate it?

it's neither big nor small. you can't tell its size at all. it's a bit overwhelming to look at, at first, and at second, and after a while, but it carries that comfortable familiarity and nostalgia for— well, nothing in particular, because the longer you look, the sadder its past seems. the bold pops of contrasting colour are fighting for your attention. they want you to like it! and yet, the major material seems to be just. rusted steel. made from tools.

and look at that botched up sphere, it wants so badly to be a perfect sphere and it knows it'll never be one. fine!! perhaps it could be a football ball instead! or maybe a head. if you close your eyes, that is. and this facing-up horseshoe? a lucky charm, made to collect good luck and keep it from falling out cause god, it needs it.

---

3.

niko sasaki

author: justin cloud

---

niko sasaki, now how do i describe her? let's start by saying— she's cleary a her. this one is a she. and there's something to be said about blooming, and femininity, and delicacy, because pink is a hopeful girly colour and a surprise and a delight.

what are you doing in a gallery, little flower, shouldn't you be at home? in a field? look how pretty you are! mind you, of course there's something wrong with her as well, but you're not sure if that is because someone messed it up, or because of a different entity alltogether. was it always half-electric? its elegance seems purposeful— the iridescent metal fits all too well with the white-pink petals— but also uncanny. and oh suddenly you can't stop looking at the stigma from which a pollen should release aaany time now.

when i look at her, at her black artificial stem and the small leaves imitating the real ones, i wonder if she doesn't want to lure me into a trap. is it her fault?

the beautiful petals seem like the only thing left real of the flower. whichever way she turns, it will probably mean— death. and flowers are ephemeral. what is a flower mounted to a wall, fortified with steel, connected with cables and enfused with electrical energy, then?

i think she's a self-preserving survivor. ---

4.

the night nurse

author: elizabeth turk

---

now. the night nurse.

of course it's the only piece in the collection where the background needed to be dark. no one here is older than her. there is no inoffensive, fading-into-background white for this absolute pillar of truth. or maybe something like a totem, quite protective in nature. and it's terrifying, 'cause you're immediately hit with the feeling that you're looking at something out of this realm, something you're not supposed to witness. the perspective is all wrong. is it downwards or upwards? why does it seem unstable when the pieces are so perfectly centered and seemingly well-balanced? child, you should calm down, it's not like you will destroy it with a stronger puff of air. will you?

this sculpture is called "tipping point — echoes of extinction", and it's actually a mix of technology and sculpture and sound, with elegant visualizations of the lost voices of birds and sea mammals. the author said it "was conceived in reverence to the astounding lives the species which envelop humans have lived and the mysterious ways they have contributed to our well-being. the shadows of their memory, whether a shape or a sound, have inspired this project." so the piece deals with death. moreover, it deals with murder. it records the harsh reality and makes sure the ones that suffered horribly at the hands of humans are, in a way, celebrated. but also— categorised. like epitaphs. the birdsong, once a living sign, is only visually represented by the lines of varying lenghts in 3D, and you can do nothing about it anymore, right, you can't bring back the dead, you can't help the innocent dying in any way other than— stacking them on top of each other and moving on.

---

so that's for now, i might someday write more if anyone's curious. :")

[katyawriteswhump]

Can I help you? (steddie holiday drabble, day 10)

For @steddieholidaydrabbles day 10 prompt, shopping; and @whumpcember day 10 prompt, “Let me help you.”

WC: 985 Rating: M; CW: self-harm (wall punching); Tags: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, established steddie, sexual content. Summary: After a crappy day serving holiday shoppers, Steve is gonna explode… or curl up and cry. Fortunately, he’s also got the best boyfriend ever.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

As the final customer left Scoops, Steve balled his fists. He was already late closing and still they’d been a dick about it. He hauled down the shutter, muffling the chaotic din of late-night-shoppers and the jangling hell-loop of holiday music.

Festive shoppers were fucking feral. And when Robin was off sick, work sucked.

He bagged the cash from the register, dumped it in the box, worrying about Robin, though she swore it was ‘only a super-disgusting cold.’ Plus, it was Hellfire night. His dream of catching five-minutes with Eddie beforehand was dead. It’d take hours to finish up without Robin, and… Fuuuuuck!

His foot flew from under him. He crashed backward, elbow whacking the counter. Pain bloomed then screamed, and worse…

…he’d dropped the cash box.

Coins rolled off toward every corner of the store, while Steve gawked at the villain of the piece—a banana skin. Like in a dumb cartoon, which figured. He was dressed like Popeye.

He slid down onto his butt, dumped his face into his hand, non-bruised elbow supported on one bare, hitched-up knee.

How did my shitty life come to this?

He’d worked non-stop for ten hours. He trembled with exhaustion, felt bruised inside and out—like he’d been repeatedly punched in the gut. Astonishing how many ‘merry’ customers proved hellbent on making him feel like dirt, and he shouldn’t care. He didn’t want to care, and yet…

…now he had to get up, collect the cash. Tough, when all he wanted was to curl up and cry.

The unlocked shutter creaked up. Steve’s chin snapped up with it. Dustin ducked under first, then Eddie, both in their Hellfire t-shirts.

“Woah!” said Dustin. He wasn’t pissing himself laughing. Yet. Steve figured he must look fucking hilarious, slumped against the counter. He didn’t even say ‘hi,’ instead scrunching his face against a snarling sob.

“What the hell happened?” Eddie rushed over, crouched beside him.

Steve’s sweary rant only made him feel dumber and more inarticulate, self-loathing skyrocketing till he smacked his fist into the nearest hard surface. Would’ve done it again, wrecking his knuckles, had not Eddie caught them—gently yet somehow inarguably, stroking with his thumb. “Steve, you’ve done amazingly. It’s gonna be okay. Dustin?” The kid zigzagged the store like a pinball, collecting scattered coins. “Call Gareth. We’re postponing Hellfire.”

“No way! I’m being a fucking muppet. You never postpone—”

“Tonight, the schemers of Baldor’s Gate will remain unprobed by bold adventurers!” boomed Eddie, those darn chocolate-button eyes managing to laugh and be soul-destroyingly sincere. Eddie jumped up, offered a hand: “Let me help you.”

Steve slipped his fingers into Eddie’s warm clasp, mouth quirking toward a ‘screw-it-all’ smile.

Dustin counted the float and takings. Eddie handled the paperwork, being used to similar crap at the bar where he worked. Steve left them to it, mopping the floor, rolling his eyes at himself when his bruises bitched.

After Dustin scooted off, Steve eased himself into a seat beside Eddie, who’d finished the banking. “Nice job,” Steve swept gross sweaty hair from his brow—Ugh, he was wrecked. “That could really be my handwriting.”

Eddie pulled a face, daftly adorable. “Forgery is, tragically, carved deep as metal into my bones.”

“You’re a fucking angel,” whispered Steve, suddenly unable to meet Eddie’s gaze. “I feel shitty. You shouldn’t have postponed Hellfire.”

“Yeah, I should. I have zero doubt you’d roam waaaay farther from your plotted route for any of your friends. Tho’ half of them are snot-nosed brats who’d never thank you.” Eddie rose and started massaging Steve’s shoulders, heels of his hands working the meat of Steve’s tension, thumbs tenderly caressing his nape. Steve’s snarled-up muscles didn’t exactly turn to putty. Still felt so nice.

“Anyhoo, I got me a shady ulterior motive.” Eddie’s breath drifted balmily across Steve’s cheek, sending a delicious shudder down his spine. “Not gonna miss out on an evening when my boyfriend is literally screaming-out to be dragged to bed.”

Steve’s smile spread slowly. This time, he felt it, warming his heart and the pit of his belly.

My boyfriend. Hearing that never got old.

“And… hark!” announced Eddie, in his best Dungeon-Master tones, “there’s also the not- insignificant-fact that I love you.”

Now, Steve was genuinely laughing, then sniffling, because he was choking up. He grabbed Eddie’s hand, bringing it to his lips. “Love you too.”

Soon, they huddled nose-to-nose under the tepid trickle of their shower. “Showtime,” beamed Eddie, as he glided his fingers up through Steve’s hair, lathering up the bubbles. Steve’s scalp tingled and he sighed, shivered. The graze of Eddie’s fingernails, even the slight burning-tug of the snags…

“How the hell do you make this feel so sublime?”

Eddie answered by brushing Steve’s parted lips with his own, then repeating over and over—which managed to be stupidly erotic—and their tongues tangled and touched.  Eddie’s relentless kisses sent Steve’s blood rushing south. On cue, Eddie’s sensual hands traced down Steve’s flanks, arrowing towards Steve’s needy dick.

It was a wonderfully lazy hand-job, but Steve couldn’t quite relax—this was too one-sided! He kinda squirmed, reaching for Eddie’s dick. Eddie batted him away, growling jokily into Steve’s mouth. “What do you not get about me taking care of you?”

“Whatever… fuck… you slay me, man… Gnnng!”

Steve flopped back against the tiles, arms flailing, knees turning to jello. Eddie flopped into him and stroked them both towards super-hot-messy orgasms.

“Hey, Eds,” Steve murmured, later, after they crawled into bed. The live-wire hum in his brain had faded, for sure, but he still wasn’t sure he’d sleep. “I wanna make up for Hellfire. Let’s fu—”

Eddie’s soft snore ruffled through Steve’s still-damp hair. Steve smiled tiredly. He had to face christmas shoppers again in eight-and-a-half hours. Life still kinda sucked… tho’ not all of it. At least Robin called, to say she’d be back. He watched Eddie sleep, until the entire crappy world crumbled to dust.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

tags: @wheneverfeasible 💚 My stranger things fic on AO3

[iliketangerines]

I saw that you've been writing for a handful of MK11/MKX characters lately. Would you ever consider writing for Erron Black? That cowboy has had me in a chokehold for a while. Maybe he and the (afab) reader are *partners* in service to the Kahn (either Kotal or Kitana) and thus they have a close "working relationship" *wink*?

Love your stuff, glad you're writing for this fandom!

a working relationship

a/n: save a horse, ride a cowboy

pairing: erron black x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI) cowboy, gun kink, creampies

you take a slow drag from a cigar and let the smoke settle in your lungs before breathing it out into Erron Black’s face

he grunts and brings his hand back to his own face, taking his own breath of the cigar and breathing it into the air as you take another sip of the whiskey in your hands

it had been a hard night, keeping the unruly Outworlders off of Kotal Kahn

the protestors were growing more bold with their attacks, taking more attempts to assassinate Kotal Kahn, and today had been the worst offender so far

but, for now, you’re in his room, wearing nothing but a flimsy nightgown and panties, and you get a break to drink some liquor and let the haze of nicotine fill your brain along with Erron Black

you glance at him to see how he’s feeling, and he’s got his hat tipped back as he takes a sip from his own whiskey, blowing smoke through his nose as he lets the cigar light the air

it was ridiculous how he always wore that hat, even in just his boxers, but you supposed that was part of the cowboy charm

you finish off the last of your whiskey and stand up from your chair and go over to Erron Black to straddle his hips, dipping your head into his neck and pressing your lips to his skin

he chuckles and places a steadying hand on the small of your back, and he finishes off the last of his whiskey and places the glass down as you start to grind down on his hardening cock

you lick the sweat from his neck, humming at the taste, and your hips grind down on his, needing some friction on you

he taps his cigar to get rid of the ash, and he takes a long drag before gripping onto your face and kissing you, blowing the smoke into your mouth

you moan at the taste of the ash in your mouth and press your tongue into his as your hands come up to cradle his face in your hands

his hand keeps a tight grip on your face as he kisses you, but soon both of you grow impatient, frustration and anger pent-up from the day starting to bubble up inside the both of you

neither of you bother to strip of your clothes, you just slide your panties to the side while Erron black slides down his boxers, his cock slapping against his stomach

you grip onto it and grip onto it, ready to sink down on it, but he stops you and tells you in a raspy voice that you’re not ready, that you haven’t been properly stretched

you slap his hand away, mumbling underneath your breath that you want him to fuck you now, and Erron Black growls and stands up, making you slip off his lap and stand up to avoid falling off

you mutter at him, a little frustrated that you’ve just been cockblocked by your fuck buddy, but then he drags you to the large bed in the large room and bends you over

he tells you to stay still, leaving a firm slap on your ass, and you sigh but oblige to his order, waiting for him to do something

a click fills the air, and you feel the cold metal of his gun press against your cunt, collecting your wetness on the barrel

you whine as the ridges and bumps of the metal rubs against your sensitive clit, and your hips grind down on the material

Erron Black takes another drag of the cigar and watches as you grind against his gun, your wetness coating the barrel and making it shiny and bright

your back arches, trying to get more friction, and he slips the barrel inside of you, fucking you on the barrell

you whine, mind filing with adrenaline and pleasure as he fucks you with his weapon

it’s a sick sort of pleasure the both of you indulge in, and yet neither of you ever stop, clearly Erron Black enjoys it with the low rap he lets out praising you

he fuck you slow and steady on his gun, watching as you squirm and fist the sheets, and he finally pulls his gun out of you, admiring how your wetness drips off the gun and onto his hand

he tells you to stand up and get on the bed, and you crawl up onto the bed as Erron Black also gets up on the bed, sitting against the head board

gesturing to his lap with the gun, you crawl onto his lap, grinding your cunt into his cock, and he groans at the feeling

he raises the gun and slips it past your lips, watching you suck on the metal as he takes another drag of the cigar

you line yourself with him and sink down on him, whining around the barrel of the gun as you ride him slow and steady

he’s thick, and he knows it, smirking at you and leaning his back into the headboard as he lets you fuck yourself on his cock

you let him blow smoke in your face as you clean his gun of your wetness, and you pluck his hat off his head and put it on yourself as your start to move yourself faster

one of your hands go down to rub at your clit, and your hips slap against his as you reach your high

with the way Erron Black groans and the cigar slightly falls from his fingers, you can tell he’s getting close as well, and you remove the gun from your mouth and lean forward to kiss him

he drops the gun and cups the back of your neck to bring you closer to him as your pussy clenches down on his thick cock, creaming around him as his seed spurts up into you

you grind onto his hips, clit grinding deliciously into his pelvis as you ride out your high and press your tongue into his mouth

he parts from your lips as the high dies down, and he lets you take one last drag from the dying cigar before he reaches over and puts it out on the ashtray

he holds you in his arms as shuffles down on the bed so that you’re both laying flat, his cock still inside of you and plugging you full of his seed

he pets your hair as you both drift off to sleep

when you both wake up, you get off him and clean yourself up as if nothing’s ever happened

but then he plucks his hat off your head and leans in close to tell you that you look in his hat before he exits the room to find Kotal Kahn, leaving you speechless in the bedroom

[kaizokuniichan]

Attention Part 5 - Even Exchange

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro/AFAB Reader (referred to as she/her)/Trafalgar Law

Summary: You and Law finally come together in the most complete way.

Also known as: The chapter where Dev’s music nerdery is overwhelming (seriously there are an obscene amount of music references

CW: Mutual mastubation, oral sex, vaginal sex

Previous Chapters: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Word Count: 4.8k

Author’s Note: Slight spoiler for Law’s new awakened technique. I’m not sure of the exact logistics of how it works so I took some liberties for the sake of plot.

MDNI; 18+ READERS PLEASE

Divider by @/cafekitsune and banner by @/eelnoise

As you blinked yourself awake and took in your welcoming surroundings your stomach twisted into knots. For a moment you believed you’d been tricked by your overactive imagination—god knows how many times you’d dreamed of him bringing you here. Unsurprisingly it was cozy and dimly lit, slightly fragrant with the spicy scent of incense. The walls of course were metal but that didn’t make it feel unnaturally cold. A grand, Cedar wood desk stood proudly across from the bed with well-worn books and various articles strewn about in a disorganized heap.

“What’s with the mess?”

Striding over to join you, he quickly stacked the books and shuffled his papers.

“You damn Strawhats have been a constant pain in my ass even more these days.”

Giggling, you slid off the bed to admire the shiny coins displayed on the shelf above.

“You collect these?”

With a start he looked up, ears burning as you leaned closer to inspect them.

“Uh yeah. Just a little hobby of mine to pass the time.”

Your chest tightened as it inflated with affection.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I think it’s cute. I like knowing you have something that helps your uptight, nonexistent ass unwind.”

He peered intently into your eyes and you suddenly felt shy, as you always were around him. His stare was always so intense.

“Feel free to take a tour around the place. It’s not much but I’m happy to share it with you. If you’d like to stay.”

You cocked a mischievous brow.

“Are you planning on ravishing me tonight Law?”

He smiled without any skin-crawling lecherousness.

“I would love to, but we certainly don’t have to. You don’t even have to stay here tonight if you don’t want. I just wanted to show you my room and spend some time together since we’ve...had to keep a lower profile these days.”

“Not that it really matters considering Jean Bart keeps making suggestive comments about how his captain won’t stop drooling over me.”

His cheeks tinged a soft pink, yet he was bold enough not to deny it.

“Well…he might not be wrong.”

He gave you a crooked smile as he looked you up and down, letting his eyes drag over your bare legs exposed by your sleep shorts. As your body heated you felt a distant second heartbeat in your pelvic floor. You’d never not be amazed by how openly he desired you. How someone like him could desire you. You were someone whom he lusted after, and while it was exhilarating, it was also quite intimidating.

It’d been hard being so near him when you couldn’t touch him the way you wished. Onboard the Sunny you’d been nothing short of a stubborn barnacle at his side—shamelessly sidling up and wrapping yourself around him in an immovable grip. You’d been cautious during the early days of your tentative connection, but the more time you spent together—and after your very passionate excursion in the aquarium—you found him more than willing to allow you to handle him however you pleased, even responding in his own way. A secret squeeze of your thigh under the table and a brush of fingers when you were out in the open were his subtle showings of reciprocity. And of course the many secret kisses. Those were the best.

“Is there uh, a bathroom nearby? I’m a little warm. Wanna splash some water on my face.”

“Am I making you nervous?” He teased, eyes still twinkling with mirth.

“Um. Yes?”

He was so smug you wanted to kick him—he really could be such a bastard when he wanted. Sometimes he liked to be cheeky, and you loved those rare moments where he was laid-back and playful. How it made the cadence of a snare drum kick against your ribs.

“There’s an en-suite bathroom just to the left of the bed.”

“Oh how fancy.”

He stepped closer and in a mild panic you leaned to the side and rolled across the bed to where the bathroom stood. His soft laugh became muffled as you closed the door behind you.

The bathroom itself was nothing extravagant, but you hadn’t expected it to be. Perfectly practical, it was minimally furnished with nothing but the bare essentials. Two towels hung on a wooden rack, two toothbrushes sitting in a cup on the small counter. A grey bath mat lay at the foot of the shower stall, and from what you could see inside the shower, containers of liquid soap, shampoo, and conditioner.

As you walked up to the sink you noticed a small bottle of what appeared to be an oil cologne. Opening it and taking a sniff you were stricken with the same heady aroma he always carried on his skin and clothes. The scent, blended with a hint of antiseptic, always lingered after your brief hugs, and you’d spent many a night breathing it in whilst your hands played between your legs. Just a small whiff brought an immediate wetness to your panties.

Setting the bottle back down, you faced your reflection in the small mirror and pondered just how fuckable you looked. Your deliberation was tireless but necessary, and you wondered what it’d be like to fuck him. How he’d look. What he sounded like. What he tasted like. Were you going to fuck him tonight? You very much wanted to, but you were so anxious as to whether or not you’d even be good enough for him. You’d never had any complaints from previous partners, but Law seemed like someone who was difficult to please. What if it made things awkward? He was already such an awkward man, you’d hate if things became even more awkward.

“I hear you thinking in there, so I’ll just send you back to your room if you want.”

You bounded for the door and flung it open in a panic.

“Don’t you dare.”

He sat on the bed facing away from you.

“I don’t want you to feel any pressure.”

“I don’t feel pressured. I wanna stay here with you tonight.”

He turned to face you skeptically, refusing to move an inch from his seat.

“Law just get comfy. And take off those damn heeled boots.”

With another small smile he rose from the bed and crossed over to a closet you hadn’t noticed. Kicking off his shoes and pulling his sweater over his head, he revealed inch by inch the dark ink on his back contrasting with his tan skin—slightly obscured by the white tank top he’d been wearing underneath. You growled in frustration as he sat back down.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, turning his body to look at you.

“Nothing, it’s just. You spend all day with your shirts almost fully unbuttoned so I get a full view of your tits, but now that we’re alone you won’t even let me get a proper look.”

He turned back around and you were utterly mesmerized by the way his shoulders and biceps were accentuated by the flimsy fabric.

“I don’t do free shows, you’re gonna have to work for it.”

“You give enough free shows every day with those slutty clothes of yours.”

His breathy laugh filled you with tendrils of honey.

“Maybe if you’re good you’ll get something special.”

You hoped the sound of your gulp was only audible to you.

He observed with amusement as you stumbled over to the other side of the room, reaching your destination back at the desk. When you rested your bottom on the edge your fingers played with the grooves in the wood.

“I think we’ve done enough talking today Law.

His bouncing leg halted when you leaned back on your hands.

“I think so too.”

“Then…come here.”

If you could find a word to describe the way his body moved you’d settle on saunter. His lithe form beheld true majesty as he glided over to you—a little terrifying and absolutely thrilling.

He now towered over you, heavily sunken eyes filled with an almost primal, commanding lust. The tips of his fingers touched your cheek as he stepped closer, and the front of his legs pressed into yours.

You scooted back when he softly ordered you to sit. Immediately you spread your legs to allow him to accommodate the space between, and you looked into his eyes as he cradled your face. Blown wide irises roved endlessly as he studied you, mapping out every delicate feature. You placed a hand on his chest while the other reached up to play with the small hoop earrings in his lobe, tracing your thumb along the smooth surface.

You felt his body shudder as you tickled his sideburns, running your pads down his jawline where they met with his goatee. An indecipherable sound rumbled in his chest when he stepped deeper into your space, and he tightened the hand around the back of your neck as he leaned down.

There was no fanfare when your lips melded into a careful kiss. Your hand on his chest tightened it’s hold and wrinkled the fabric of his shirt while the other wrapped around his neck. It was uncertain whose tongue slipped into whose mouth first but they soon became entwined.

His hands slid down your sides in slow reverence as a whine curled in your throat. When he pulled you closer to bring your center flush with his hips, you marveled at how perfect he felt. Far better than what you could ever have imagined. Despite his lanky appearance his body was sturdy and solid. Carefully crafted as a means for survival.

Your hands continued to caress each other as he dug his fingers into your hips. Unsurprisingly (or maybe surprising to you) he was hard, and you felt a quaking in your thighs that would’ve made you crumble to the floor if you’d been standing. He continued to grip you with more assurance — much more demanding than any other time he’d touched you. Slipping his hands beneath your shirt to fondle your breasts, his thumbs rolled lightly over your nipples as he spread his fingers over your ribs. Throaty whimpers pierced your lust-filled haze as your hips undulated against his, desperately seeking relief.

His lips slipped from yours to make a drunken voyage down your jaw, teeth catching on your skin and licking flames of heated passion behind. He clutched you impossibly close and you wrapped your legs around him.

“You’re crushing all of my papers,” he murmured, voice low and dipped in chocolate.

“Good. Fuck those papers.”

Your hand began a journey to the top of his jeans, unfastening the button and pulling down the zipper. His hand came to grasp yours as if to stop you, and when you looked up you were met with a question lining his golden irises. You reassured him with a nip at his bottom lip, sliding his pants down just enough to comfortably slip your hand inside. His body was hot and trembled with restraint, and he let out a hiss when you swirled a thumb over the already wet, flushed head.

The air in the room suddenly felt cold when he stepped back.

“I...I want you to watch me.”

Your mind became waterlogged as he took a seat across from you on the bed.

“If you really want to hold my attention take that shirt off.”

He smirked, shifting back and pulling his jeans down to the middle of his thighs.

“You first.”

You hadn’t expected this level of sultry confidence from him. Normally he was especially careful when the two of you were alone—never wanting to make you feel as if he was taking advantage. He’d always allowed you to lead.

Yet the basis of your relationship had always been an even exchange, and you were more than willing to comply.

His breath hitched when you slipped your shirt over your head to reveal your bare chest and pert nipples, and his eyes kept yours leashed as he began to stroke himself. You’d never felt more assured of his attraction to you than when your eyes were tethered to his.

He allowed you a moment to admire his dick as he removed his shirt, and you were almost too eager to have it in your hands. Or mouth. Or pussy. Anywhere he wanted to put it really.

He leaned back, allowing dribbles of pre-cum to leak onto his abs, and you wrestled with your mind to accept the reality that this unbelievably gorgeous man was pleasuring himself to the live image of you. With his shirt tossed aside, he allowed you to feast on the hilly planes of inked tan skin and sinewy muscles, all converging into a delectable point between his pelvic bones.

“Law...do you even realize how sexy you are?”

His mouth quirked with pride, still languidly stroking himself.

“I’m glad you think so,” he replied, the soft tenor of his voice making you throb.

“I refuse to believe I’m the first person to tell you this.”

He sucked in air through clenched teeth and moved his hand faster.

“Well, you’re the first person it ever mattered to hear it from,” he sighed, the flushed head poking between the middle of his fist.

“You want it?” he asked.

“God yes,” you breathed as your pussy clenched.

He leaned over to grasp the rolling chair at his desk and dragged it over in front of him.

“Sit here.”

Almost immediately you complied. Pulling off your shorts and opening your legs you felt the cool air seep into the dampness of your panties.

“Are you gonna put on a show for me Law?”

His hips stirred and he picked up the pace, lips parting as he took in short breaths.

“If that’s something that you want.”

Your center continued to pulsate and you went to snap your legs closed when he grunted a sound of disapproval and shook his head.

“No. Let me see you.”

You’d heard him be commanding before—he was the Captain of a notorious pirate crew after all. But this new authoritative tone he directed at you suggested he wasn’t to be defied, and it excited you. So you opened your legs for him.

“What would you like for me to do Law?”

He breathed shallowly as he pumped himself—liquid pearls dribbling over his knuckles.

“I want…you. All of you. But first I’d like to see how excited you can get for me.”

You let your hand drift between your legs as a sumptuous chill trickled down to your toes.

“Why won’t you touch me?”

He huffed, spreading his legs wider as he bucked his hips.

“He’s already done that for you, hasn’t he?”

Heat fanned across the back of your neck as you were brought back to your kitchen dalliance with Zoro several days prior.

“I wanna do things differently.”

You huffed in frustration. “Well…at least let me put your dick in my mouth.”

His hand stilled as a surprised chuckle escaped him.

“We can do that in a little while. Spread your legs and pull your panties to the side for me.”

You wanted to protest and move things along far more quickly but you understood his need to move at his own pace. And the slow-burning foreplay was definitely not unwelcome.

It was almost embarrassing how slick-saturated your panties had become as you tugged them to the side. Cautiously you looked down and swirled your finger around your bud, releasing a sigh of relief.

“Look at me.”

It’s not that you’d never had an audience before, but Law’s presence made you incredibly self-conscious and unsure.

But as you looked back to him you remembered what made you fall for him in the first place. He’d been so insistent on fixing a part of yourself you’d believed to be broken—like the worn binding of an aged book—and he’d repaired you good as new. Your heart bloomed with achingly sweet love.

Your eyes fluttered while slipping a finger inside yourself, and he groaned as his fist moved faster.

“Fuck. Never seen anything so pretty.”

You melted.

“Oh Law.”

His brows furrowed as he tugged himself, adam’s apple bobbing with every gulping breath. You clenched when you added another finger.

“You want me to eat that pretty pussy of yours?”

You whined louder than you’d intended.

“Yes. Law please.”

“Slip another finger inside.”

Your body was wracked with shudders that had nothing to do with the cold air. A stone sunk into your belly as you eyed his dick still being fisted in front of you. He was much thicker than what you were capable of providing for yourself, even while pumping the three fingers inside you without being told to do so. Finding it difficult to keep contact with his probing eyes you dropped your head back with a shameless moan.

“Law I want you so badly.”

You heard him grunt as he halted his movements.

“I wanna give it to you love.” Suddenly his eyes flew open.

“Um..I mean...”

You lifted your head back up and smiled.

“Did you just call me love?”

“I didn’t mean…that’s not what I meant to say.”

His scrambling was impossibly cute and completely fruitless. Sliding off your seat you knelt down and settled between his legs. When you looked up his lips were parted and glistening as his chest heaved imperceptibly faster.

“You know, you called me baby that one time too.” He rolled his eyes to hide his embarrassment but you saw it anyway. “I never took you as the type to give pet names.”

Covering his scorching hand with yours, you gripped his fist and guided him, squeezing it in with reassurance.

“It was just a slip of the tongue. I didn’t mean to say it.”

“Oh didn’t you?” You gave him a pout. “Am I not your baby? Am I not your love?”

He cupped your cheek with his other hand, tilting your face up to look at you properly. What a sight you must’ve been, nestled between his legs as he pulled himself closer to release. You hoped it was everything he’d dreamed of. He leaned down to give you a kiss, gripping your jaw tightly.

“I’ll call you whatever you like. I’ll give you whatever you like.”

You shook your head and you leaned back.

“I’m gonna give you something first. Straighten up and watch me.”

You could see him wanting to argue but your sharp look held him back. He sat up and watched as you leaned closer to run your tongue along the trail of dark hair leading to where both your hands held him. The pheromones of his desire left you intoxicated as you transformed into a feral seductress for him—burying your head between his legs. After swatting his hand away you wasted no time. Despite the saltiness that stained your tongue it was mixed with a decadent sweetness. Slowly you picked him apart as you licked along the underside.

The heavy hand gripping the back of your head was welcomed, though he still made no move to force you down. For now he was weakened by the endless weeks filled with pining and yearning, and he allowed you to take control. The wait had proven to be worthwhile as you slid further down until your nose met his pelvis. He felt heavenly in your mouth. As he tickled your esophagus you were brought back to a supposed trick given to you by a friend that was said to prevent gagging. Tucking your thumb into your fist you sucked him slowly, bobbing your head up and down gently. His other hand came back to rest on your cheek in a moment of tenderness that counteracted the sublime sin in your mouth.

Evidently the supposed trick was proven to be false for when he poked the back of your throat you gagged. His hands attempted to pull you off but you remained in place—resigned to keeping him completely encased in your warmth. Taking one of his hands off your face you tangled your fingers together and breathed through your nose, resuming your hedonistic suckling.

The faster you sucked the more his breaths became ragged. He was a fairly respectable man when he wasn’t a merciless pirate, though his careful respectfulness only encouraged your mouth to service him more provocatively. He deserved it. You let your saliva run freely as trails of drool dribbled past your lips, lapping your tongue sloppily around the shaft. With an erotic hum you slurped him down your throat. He panted as more of your mouth juices coated your fingers, and he gripped your head tighter as curses tumbled from his lips.

“Fuck. You love having me in your mouth, don’t you?”

You removed yourself from his length and sat back on your knees, eyes wet from your fervent efforts.

“I love it. I love it so fucking much.”

He shifted to lean his arm on the mattress, cocking his head to the side.

“You want me to fuck your pretty mouth?”

You were unable to answer, too preoccupied with rocking back and forth for some relief.

“Well?”

You took him in your hand and stroked idly as you carefully considered your words.

“I wanna shove you so far down my throat that I can hardly breathe.”

The hand still on your head tugged you closer until you were a mere centimeter away. Your tongue poked out to swipe kitten licks along the head.

“Go ahead and show me how much you want me”

Molten molasses dripped into your panties as you gobbled him up, consuming him completely. You pulled more grunts from his lips, licking, bobbing, and slurping noisily. You made it nasty, showing how much you hungered—how much you craved him. No longer holding himself back he groaned and began thrusting into your mouth. Holding you in place he bucked his hips, shoving himself further down your throat. All hesitancy of his vanished as he used you, tugging his pants down his knees and squeezing his thighs around your head. His ragged breaths grew heavier as you brought him closer and closer to the edge, and you prepared yourself to swallow his milk when he forcefully pulled you off.

“Law please, let me...”

“Get up and lay on the bed.”

You wanted to continue protesting but you were still in an agreeable mood and did as you were told, sitting down on the plush mattress and scooting back against the pillows. He stood to remove his pants and boxers in one fell swoop, making the mattress dip as he mirrored your previous position between his legs.

“I’m gonna give you something he hasn’t, and I want you to picture him watching as I make you cum.”

An icy fist clutched your heart as flashes of green skittered across your mind’s eye. You could almost feel the other stolen piece of your heart toss you a look of amusement as Law slid off your panties. A warm and dexterous tongue flicked between your lower lips and you let out a whimper and covered your mouth.

“Lemme hear you,” he murmured into your skin, nosing your bud.

“I don’t want my voice to bounce off the walls. What if someone hears?”

He considered your words before sitting up.

“Room.”

An invisible, spherical barrier of chantilly lace enclosed your bodies in a noiseless cocoon.

“Silent.”

“What the hell was that?”

He laid back down and kissed your folds.

“Now no one will be able to hear you except for me.”

A thrill of electricity sparked as he hooked your legs over his shoulders—your heart thundering in your chest as his breaths puffed against your sex. A slick river of ambrosia trickled down towards your ass and he licked it clean, groaning as he buried his face into your pussy.

“Fuck, you taste so sweet. I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you.”

You wished he hadn’t brought up your eventual departure as your eyes prickled with unshed tears.

“Law, please don’t.”

He licked a long stripe between your folds, wiggling his tongue inside to lap at your juices. Your head fell back as he devoured you, strumming the strings of your longing and playing a ballad of burgeoning ecstasy. The frolicking staccato of your moans married with the symphonic melody of your panting—crescendoing louder when he thrust three fingers inside. Notes of D, E, and A pulled a debaucherous allegro from your walls. He tuned your body to the very key of his choosing.

You clambered closer and closer to your peak and you knew you’d be too exhausted to continue if you prematurely toppled over the edge. With laborious difficulty you pulled him off your heat, shuddering as your body somersaulted back down.

“Law I need you to fuck me. I can’t wait anymore.”

Danger flashed in his eyes and you flattened yourself into the bed.

“I hope you know what you’re asking for. I’ve been holding myself back all this time.”

You knew he wasn’t just referring to tonight. Shuddering from the threat you opened your legs wider and parted your pussy lips with your fingers as an invitation to him. He covered your body with his and lay wet kisses on your face.

“Law. Please.”

His hand cupped your jaw and turned your head to the side, licking sloppy swipes of his tongue along your neck and down your throat. His hips ground against yours as he coated his dick with your juices.

Taking hold and positioning himself at your entrance, he poked your puffy flesh with his head. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he surged forward, halfway sheathing himself inside. He filled you more and more as he bucked his hips forward, further enveloping himself inside your wetness. As he settled at his hilt you brought your knees up, opening yourself completely for him to take.

“Law I want you to use me”

He throbbed and slid his arms beneath your back to grasp your shoulders and hold you close.

“I’m not going to use you. I’m going to pour everything into you that I’ve wanted to give to you all this time.”

You gasped when he thrusted roughly, the slow and steady rhythm of his balls slapping against your ass making you quiver. His mouth hovered over yours as his fingers dug into your flesh, and the harmony of your moans smoothed over the carnality of your want. Your sweat-slicked bodies glided against each other, and the squelching sounds of your slick ricocheted against the walls of your sonically concealed bubble. Senseless babbling urged him on as he fucked into you faster, knocking himself into your hips and pressing your knees up to your chest.

“Fuck, I wanna keep you. Wanna keep you right here with me. Can’t let you go.”

Goose-pimples freckled your flesh as you gushed around him. He’d hit your fleshy and sensitive center sooner than you’d hoped, and you arched off the bed with a wail.

“Law…Law…Law…” you chanted, curling into him when he released his bruising grip on your legs. As he continued grinding his hips the springs of the bed squeaked in exhaustion, and you were endlessly thankful for his versatile technique.

“Can I have you? Are you mine?”

“I’m yours Law. I’ll always be yours.”

You felt a moment of guilt knowing there was still another piece of your heart being held by another man, but you were soon distracted when the stilted pap, pap, pap of his hips grew rougher, and his hand lunged forward to grip the headboard. Your world was filled to the brim with watery sobs and heady groans, rising into an amalgamation of calcified bliss.

You came before him when his calloused fingers slipped over your bud in messy circles—quaking and shivering as your toes curled. Your body continued to shake as his skin slapped into yours, filthy promises of ruination filling your ears.

He soon pulled out and fucked into his fist in a frenzy, spilling himself on your stomach and thighs. Your heaving breaths intermingled with his as he dragged his dick filthily along the trail of his spend.

You were fucked. Physically and mentally so. The words you’d locked away in a carbon coated safe threatened to seep through the cracks as you tangled your fingers into his messy, onyx locks. He cradled your face in his hands, his new favorite thing to do, as he traced your lips with his thumb and littered kisses along your lips and cheeks. A painful sob threatened to escape, and you were frustrated as tears spilled from your eyes.

“Law I…”

“I know. Me too.”

Your happiness was bittersweet as you drew shapes along his back before he finally settled down beside you and covered you both with the covers. Turning to face him you slipped a leg between his and wrapped an arm over his waist, enjoying his heat seeping into your body.

With a flick of his wrist he muttered a “shambles” and your privacy dome disappeared, golden lights dimming as you both succumbed to a delicious, dreamy slumber.

[everythingelseisextra]

Commit to the Bit

Part One: Everything Is Fine

Part Three: Treasure The Memory

Description: Your first real meeting with Thomas Shelby does not go quite as planned. Warnings: Language Word Count: 1751 Author's Note: Each chapter will be progressively longer. PLEASE let me know what you think. Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @look-at-the-soul

You wake up a little before dawn.

The night air surrounds you, the windows open, as you sit and eat your pitiful breakfast in your pitiful kitchen, the cabinets stopping your chair from going too far back, the sink a little too close to the table. You wear the same clothes as the day before. Your body aches and your head rings from a faint hangover, and exhaustion ripples through you like chills. Through the windows, you can still see the moon, hovering above the horizon, faint in the gray light. 

You leave your house before the sun is fully up. Pale light filters into the hayloft windows, giving you some sight as you open the barn doors. The horses nicker to you, expecting their grain, weaving back and forth in their stalls or bobbing their elegant heads. You mindlessly fill their buckets with each individual’s specialized diet, mind elsewhere. 

Expect me tomorrow morning. 

When? How would he find the barn? You gave vague directions, hoping it would deter him. And, most importantly, what would he want once he got here? You couldn’t give him anything. You barely had enough to keep yourself going, to keep the days going. You worry that, although you have nothing to give, he’ll still decide to take. He’ll come with that bold intensity you saw the night before, and you’ll find yourself trapped, invisible walls closing in, with no strength to stand up.

Horses fed, you move on to saddling and riding your first horse. A stallion, with a sweeping, arched neck and muscles filled out to perfection, chestnut coat shining. He’s your stud, and you make some money off of selling his coverings. His registered name is Speed of Fire, ironic considering he was never fast enough to race, even before his injury, but you affectionately call him Draco. 

Dressage saddle girthed up, you swing your leg over his back and start your ride in the arena. You work through his warm up, making sure he stretches his body in the proper ways, then start asking for more intricate movements; canter pirouettes, passage, piaffe. Your breath comes short, your muscles tense and relax, your hips move with the motion of the horse, swinging. The sun rises. Faded warmth washes over you. It’s during these moments of synchrony when you forget who you are, forget your worries and the unsteady nature of your identity, and you get to focus solely on connection with another creature, communication so subtle it’s as though you’re reading each other’s minds. 

Halfway through your ride, you stop to give Draco a walking break and catch your breath. Your eyes scan the horizon above the hills, where deep pink and purple and bright, unending orange blend together as the sun makes its way up the sky. You glance towards the barn, where some of the horses watch you ride, having finished their hay, waiting for their turn. You look away, gathering your reins, preparing for another workout. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, and you halt your horse, head on a swivel to check around you. There, at the side of the arena, leaned up against the dusty metal railing, Thomas Shelby watches you quietly, his head tilted slightly, eyes tracking Draco’s movement. Your eyes meet, you on the towering stallion, but him taking up just as much presence with his expression alone. Air thins out around you, and you suck in a slow breath, not breaking contact with the stranger on your property. 

Then, as if possessed, your outside leg shifts back, and Draco steps quickly into a canter. Without thought, without planning, you find yourself doing what can only be described as showing off. Extended canter, collected canter. Tempi changes, canter pirouettes. You’re a finely tuned machine, each tiny movement a conversation with the horse, each silent shift eliciting a full response from him. 

By the time you’re done, Draco has sweat dripping down his neck, breathing hard, and lightheadedness swirls around you, making you take in slow breaths to steady yourself. You can feel his eyes on you, pointed, judgemental, and there’s a faint tremble in your hands gripping the reins. Staying on the horse gives you some protection; there’s not much someone can do to you while on horseback, unless he decides to shoot you, in which case, there’s nothing you can do. You trust Draco. He has a habit of pinning his ears and showing his teeth to strangers, snaking his neck towards them, though you’ve tried to train it out of him. Some stallions always have an edge to them.

You walk Draco to the arena gate, reaching out to push it open, but Thomas is already there, pulling it back to allow you out. You nod your head to him, voice once again stuck in your throat, branding you with the poetry of all the words you couldn’t speak. This time, though, your heart doesn’t jolt, your mind doesn’t go blank. He’s on your turf now.

“Beautiful animal.” He nods to Draco curtly as you walk by, as if unimpressed by your show of talent. His words defy him. “Beautiful ride.”

You nod again. Thanking him feels like handing him your power, like bowing your head and allowing him to judge. This is a game of reading silence, and you know how to win it. After a moment of hesitation, you dismount. You bring your horse over to the cross ties and tie him, giving him a treat from your pocket once the bit is out of his mouth. Thomas’ footsteps follow you, but you refuse to look at him, focusing on undoing the girth and pulling the saddle off. In your periphery, he stands, a dark figure surrounded by the grandeur of a sunrise in full force, undeserving of the golden outline it gives him. His hands in his coat pockets, his gaze on Draco, his cap pulled low over his eyes. Again, you catch a glint of metal along the rim. 

“Is he for sale?” He walks up to Draco’s neck, running a hand along the sweaty length of his neck. 

“No.” You turn and carry the saddle to the tack room, hefting it onto a rack and placing the pads on the rail underneath it to dry. You return to find Thomas by the horse’s head. You pause, watching them, hoping to go unnoticed. As usual, the stallion’s ears go back, his nose wrinkles, his neck arches. Thomas nods, continuing to stroke his neck, and says something you don’t understand. Another language, perhaps, one that sounds smooth, lyrical. Draco quiets, his liquid eye softening, though his ears stay pinned. Protective, not aggressive.

“He doesn’t trust you.” You walk over to grab a hose, waiting for Thomas to move so you can rinse the sweat off Draco. 

He doesn’t. “Name a price. I’ll meet it.”

“No.” You step forward, raising the hose, trying to make your intent clear. 

“Horse like him could get you out of a little house like that.” His fingers toy with Draco’s mane, still gentle, still looking into the horse’s eye. “Got no reason not to sell him.”

“He’s not for sale,” you insist, taking another step forward. 

His eyes shift to you, clear, icy blue and unreadable. “You don’t know who I am.”

“No. I don’t.” You point the hose towards him, a clear threat. “Move, please.”

“I’ll take you into town, then. Help you recon—”

You turn on the hose. A deluge of water sprays onto him, square in the chest, and he skitters out of the way, spooking Draco into a prance. You stand there, shocked by what you just did, then, in a spark of bravery you didn’t know you had, decide to commit to the bit. 

“You don’t get to intimidate me into selling my horse. You don’t get to decide that I’m going into town with you. Those are both my choices.” One hand on the still-running hose, the other preparing to kink it, you shift your shoulders to stand square in the soaked face of Thomas. “I don’t care who you are. Someone who doesn’t treat me with basic respect doesn’t deserve my time. Are we clear?”

Your heart pounds in your chest as his furious eyes turn to you. Holding his arms away from his dripping body, the layers of the suit completely wet, his hand slowly reaches up towards his cap. 

You step back, readying your hose, your only weapon. Blood pulses in your temples, all air seems to leave your lungs, and your hand begins to tremble as you wait for him to lunge. 

Instead, he wipes his face with it, then nods. “Really fucking clear.” 

“Good.” You kink the hose and shakily walk to turn it off. Back turned to him, you hold out your hands, watching them shudder with the spike of adrenaline. Then, slowly, you walk back, catching a moment of hilarity as Thomas attempts to squeeze water out of his suit and fails. You don’t quite feel safe enough to smile, but, at least, you feel a little better. 

“We can turn him out,” you say, nodding to Draco. “And I’ll get you a towel.”

“Turn him out,” he repeats, tense brow furrowing. 

“Put him in the arena and let him be a horse for a bit. No expectations.”

“Never heard of that.”

“Apparently you haven’t heard of much,” you snap. 

His eyes flick to you, almost brooding. You’ve never seen light eyes hold so much darkness. “Don’t bother with the towel. I’ll go.”

“Fine.” You turn back to Draco. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Shelby.”

He scoffs, and starts off towards his car, parked in the dusty valley your property sits in. In your mind, a dialectic is born. You feel relieved, glad that you’ll never see him again. And, deep down, you’re disappointed. Maybe this could’ve been something more. Maybe you could’ve won a friend out of it. 

No. Stupid of you to have expected that. You are constantly looking for hope, expecting it to be soft and gentle, when in reality, hope is something with sharp teeth and a bloody, battered body. Hope is something that’s born of isolation. Hope is something man-made, purposeful, something you keep in a jar like a butterfly, and catch more once it dies. 

Hope is a man speaking gently to a fearful, aggressive horse, instead of punishing him. 

You shake your head. Stupid. 

But you can’t help but watch as the car drives off, hoping it will turn back. 

[sassenach77yle]

|| COUNTDOWN || SEASON 1 EPISODE 05 || RENT ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

It was a week after we had set out, in a village with an unpronounceable name, that I found out the real reason why Dougal had wanted Jamie.The village, though small, was large enough to boast a tavern with two or three tables and several rickety stools. Here Dougal held his hearings and collected his rents. And after a rather indigestible luncheon of salt beef and turnips, he held court, buying ale for the tenants and cottars who had lingered after their transactions, and a few villagers who drifted in when their daily work was completed, to gawk at the strangers and hear such news as we carried.I sat quietly on a settle in the corner, sipping sour ale and enjoying the respite from horseback. I was paying little attention to Dougal's talk, which shifted back and forth between Gaelic and English, ranging from bits of gossip and farming talk to what sounded like vulgar jokes and meandering stories.[...] Lost in my own thoughts, I had not noticed that Dougal had been speaking for some time alone, as though making a speech of some kind. His hearers were following him intently, with occasional brief interjections and exclamations. Coming gradually back to an awareness of my surroundings, I realized that he was skillfully rousing his audience to a high pitch of excitement about something.I glanced around. Fat Rupert and the little lawyer, Ned Gowan, sat against the wall behind Dougal, tankards of ale forgotten on the bench beside them as they listened intently. Jamie, frowning into his own tankard, leaned forward with his elbows on the table. Whatever Dougal was saying, he didn't seem to care for it.With no warning, Dougal stood, seized Jamie's collar and pulled. Old, and shabbily made to begin with, the shirt tore cleanly down the seams. Taken completely by surprise, Jamie froze. His eyes narrowed, and I saw his jaw set tightly, but he didn't move as Dougal spread aside the ripped flaps of cloth to display his back to the onlookers.

With a look at Dougal that should by rights have turned the older man to stone, Jamie tossed the ruins of his shirt into a corner of the hearth and left the room in three long strides, shaking off the sympathetic murmurs of the crowd.Deprived of spectacle, their attentions turned back to Dougal. I didn't understand most of the comment, though the bits I caught seemed to be highly anti-English in nature. I was torn between wanting to follow Jamie outside, and staying inconspicuously where I was. I doubted that he wanted any company, though, so I shrank back into my corner and kept my head down, studying my blurry, pale reflection in the surface of my tankard.The clink of metal made me look up. One of the men, a sturdy-looking crofter in leather trews, had tossed a few coins on the table in front of Dougal, and seemed to be making a short speech of his own. He stood back, thumbs braced in his belt, as though daring the rest to something. After an uncertain pause, one or two bold souls followed suit, and then a few more, digging copper doits and pence out of purse and sporran. Dougal thanked them heartily, waving a hand at the landlord for another round of ale. I noticed that the lawyer Ned Gowan was tidily stowing the new contributions in a separate pouch from that used for the MacKenzie rents bound for Colum's coffers, and I realized what the purpose of Dougal's little performance must be.

There was a general gasp at sight of the scarred back, then a buzz of excited indignation. I opened my mouth, then caught the word "Sassenach," spoken with no kindly intonation, and shut it again.Jamie, with a face like stone, stood and stepped back from the small crowd clustering around him. He carefully peeled off the remnants of his shirt, wadding the cloth into a ball. An elderly little woman, who reached the level of his elbow, was shaking her head and patting his back gingerly, making what I assumed were comforting remarks in Gaelic. If so, they were clearly not having the hoped-for effect.[...]

Rebellions,

like most other business propositions, require capital.

The raising and provisioning of an army takes gold, as does the maintenance of its leaders. And from the little I remembered of Bonnie Prince Charlie, the Young Pretender to the throne, part of his support had come from France, but part of the finances behind his unsuccessful rising had come from the shallow, threadbare pockets of the people he proposed to rule. So Colum, or Dougal, or both, were Jacobites; supporters of the Young Pretender against the lawful occupant of the throne of England, George II.

Cap 11 conversations with a lawyer ~outlander

[cloverthebarbearian]

Could I request a Rolan little one-shot where he realizes he has feelings for Tav/reader (your choice!) like hits him like a freight train kind of realization?

Thank you for the request! I bestow upon you my holiday tidings with a gift I hope you enjoy hehe

Thank You (Rolan x GN Tav)

He didn't think it possible, and yet… Here he was. A well known, well respected Master of Magic, thriving in the city of Baldur's Gate. Successful, secure, and safe. Surrounded by family and friends alike. It truly is nothing short of a miracle. To think 6 short months ago, he would have been ignorant enough to have thrown everything away all for a huff of Lorroakan's dust.

Rolan chuckled to himself. Were the bastard still alive, he couldn't hold a candle to him now. He stood proud atop the balcony of Sorcerous Sundries, watching patrons and practitioners peruse the enchanted wares. Now more than ever, business was booming. With the help of fellow magic adept Gale of Waterdeep and Tav - the very Hero of Baldur's Gate themselves - they had managed to uncover quite the trove of hidden knowledge within the depths of Ramazith's Tower. After setting aside what they together deemed too dangerous for public exposure, they gathered the remainder of the collection to add to the Sundries shelves.

Were it too bold to believe this would usher in a new era of magic for the common mage? Rolan had been juggling the thought. After everything he'd gone through - everything Tav had done for him - he had been trying to catch himself in moments like these. Reminding himself to remain humble. He was a proud man, why shouldn't he be? This was something to be proud of! But he knew all too well how easily pride devolved into arrogance, and arrogance to hubris. And he didn't achieve any of this alone. Were it not for that queer collection of intrepid adventures, he would still be under Lorroakan's thumb. Still the punching bag of a cruel and selfish Master.

His grip tightened on the banister before him, until he heard the familiar woosh of a transportation portal activating nearby. Soon followed by the unlatching of the locked metal doors, and the spilling of said adventurers from the upstairs offices. Hands full of tomes and scrolls and bits and bobbles collected from within the tower chambers.

"Don't mind us!" Gale stated once he caught Rolan staring, his chin just barely peaking over the stack of supplies in his arms, "Just one last restock of the shelves below to keep this fortuitous business of yours flourishing and we'll be back on our way!" Nearly tripping over himself in the process, he managed to make it down to the ground floor of the establishment without any disastrous spills occurring.

Cal and Lia came shuffling through the doors next, bickering with themselves, significantly more manageable amounts of potions and alchemical ingredients in their own arms to add to the storefront collection.

Tav came from the small room last, a bundle of wands and staffs strapped to their back. After turning to lock the office door behind them, they caught Rolan's eyes with a smile. Joining him by the terrace edge, they too overlooked the bustling crowd below.

"Pretty remarkable what you've managed to do with this place," they commented. Rolan smiled and shook his head.

"What I've managed-?" He scoffed, "I don't think any if this was independently my doing. But... Thank you," he replied, still watching the patrons beneath them.

Tav nodded, smiling once more before stepping away. They had barely made it three steps down before Rolan called after them.

"Actually-!" His voice caught as Tav turned back and looked up at him. Rolan bit his lip in thought, tilting his head as to motion for Tav to return. They made their way back by his side, and he shifted to look at them.

"Actually, Tav… I don't think I've ever thanked you. Properly, thanked you."

Tav smiled, friendly and goofy, "Actually, Rolan, you have thanked me before. Quite a number of times," to that, Rolan smiled sheepishly.

"Sure, sure. I've thanked you for saving my and my family's lives a dozen times. I've thanked you for saving the city. But I don't think I've ever thanked you for… well, This," he gestured back out towards the bustling business.

Tav looked out, smiling once more in sincerity. Taking a deep breath in, they turned to Rolan again, "I would say 'you're welcome', but I'm not sure why I'd have anything to do with your trade being a success. You're the wizard here, not me," they nudged at the staffs on their back, "If anything, I'm your glorified errand-boy. Thank me by giving me a pay raise," they joked.

Rolan laughed, "You're much more to me than an errand-boy, Tav. You know this."

He looked them in the eyes again. For a moment, he felt as if he were seeing them for the first time.

The events of the Absolute incursion took their toll on everyone in Baldur's Gate - in Faerûn as a whole. But Tav was at the center. Rolan wasn't sure he'd ever see a day when they managed to drop their seemingly perpetual state of being Battle Ready. But in this moment, they seemed so relaxed.

Their hair was down, their clothes were loose and comfortable. Save for a small dagger on their belt, they carried no weapons. And more than anything, Rolan could feel the energy around them was… Calm.

Tav wasn't much for magic. They knew a few handy cantrips, but they were no seasoned spell-slinger. Perhaps it was simply Rolan's attunement with the Weave itself, but he always felt the energy surrounding Tav was… Bristling. Like a consistent build up of static shock one bad touch from being released. However, before him, in this moment, Tav was calm as the Gray Harbor at the break of dawn.

"Uhm…" Tav cleared their throat, breaking the silence Rolan hadn't even registered was building between them. Snapping back into reality, he noticed his skin was warm. Palms clammy and fingers tingling, "I'm going to put the supplies up. Maybe once things settle for the evening, we can discuss my salary over a pint," they joked, winking as they turned to descend the stairs once more.

Rolan watched them go, blinking as their words caught up with him, "Ah, u-um, yes! Let's do that!" He called out, likely not even loud enough to be heard over the crowds.

His heart was racing. Why was his heart racing? Why was he watching them maneuver the crowds, assisting guests as they unloaded supplies? Why was he so enraptured as loose hairs fell into their face, and they ran their fingers through the wisps that framed their travel worn features? Gods, why was he noticing their travel worn features?!

Rolan swallowed deep, though his throat was dry. Tav was indeed so much more than an errand-boy.

And oh, how his cheeks burned as he realized… He may have incidentally agreed to a date with them. Tonight.