#but life would be a living hell without them

[the-raindeer-king]

(anxious reader x roommate Simon Riley)

It’s always been a thing with you: men that are strangers make you nervous. Being around men makes your anxiety ramp up, and you do your best to avoid them if you can. You hated the way your previous roommate would bring random men home without warning, scurrying to the safety of your bedroom when you caught sight of these hookups alone in the kitchen. 

Which makes your current living situation so incredibly difficult. 

It hadn’t been an easy decision, choosing to move in with Simon Riley. A man. A stranger. But money had been tight, and the amount he wanted for rent had been far cheaper than your current situation. Plus he had said he’s out most of the time due to work, and that you’d have the apartment to yourself for weeks on end. 

Which is true. Sometimes it’s just a few weeks. Sometimes it’s for months. It’s blissful and quiet, having the entire apartment to yourself, not a single worry in your mind.

But it’s the weeks that he is home, that he’s physically in the apartment, that make you second guess the choice to put your name on the lease. Just seeing him has your heart dropping to your stomach, blood rushing in your ears until you scramble back to your room, hiding behind a locked door. 

Simon has the right to be in the apartment, of course. It was his before it was yours, but if you’re being honest with yourself, if not for the cheap rent, you would’ve moved out months ago. Hell, you probably would’ve never agreed to move in. 

Of course, none of that matters right now. Simon’s deployed, shipped off half way across the world, and you’ve got the whole apartment to yourself right now. Horror movie on the tv, curled up on the couch with a blanket and a stuffed animal, a coloring book on your lap - you’re having a wonderful time all by yourself. That is, until the front door opens. 

You’re so engrossed in coloring that you don’t hear it. Lost in your own world, until you hear footsteps in the foyer, and a voice, rough but not entirely foreign calls out your name. Your heart stops in your chest as he rounds the corner, eye black still streaked around his hazel eyes, hair grown out since you last saw him. 

“Simon,” you choke his name out like it physically pains you. 

His lips curl upwards in the ghost of a smile, and then he’s moving further into the apartment. Panic grips you for a moment, convinced he’s coming closer to you, before he’s moving down the hallway, disappearing into his room. You hear him exit a few moments later, before moving to the bathroom, and then the shower turns on, water rushing through the pipes in the walls in a sound that should be soothing, but it isn’t. It only serves as a reminder that there is someone else inside your apartment. 

Part of you feels like this shouldn’t be a problem anymore. You’ve lived with Simon for nearly two years now! He’s your roommate! But… he’s almost never around, gone off to some war-torn country, away more than he is home, and he feels more like a stranger than a constant figure in your life. Which makes it hard to feel comfortable around him. 

You’re back in your room by the time he exits the bathroom, much to Simon’s dismay. 

He’d been hoping to talk to you. Not to outright confront your behavior, but to ask if there was anything he could do to make you feel more at ease around him. Because, while he knows it has nothing to outright do with him, it’s killing him to see the way you tense up around him. Reminds him of his childhood, of things he’d much rather forget, and he wants to nip this problem in the bud as soon as possible. 

It’s why he stayed on base, forced himself to sleep in the barracks for a week, despite being home. That time had been needed to decompress, and to try to figure out how to break this nasty habit of yours. 

Maybe he should’ve gone to Price, asked the old man for advice. But that requires too many personal questions, admission to things that Simon’s not ready to face yet. Besides, Price’s been divorced at least twice now, and while Simon looks up to the captain, he’s not sure that he trusts him with this kind of problem. 

Sure, he could’ve asked Gaz. But the sergeant is a horrible gossip, and rumors of the infamous Ghost having trouble with a bird off base is the last thing Simon needs right now. 

And asking Johnny is absolutely out of the question. Not only is he just as bad a gossip as Gaz, he’s also a terrible flirt, and that’s not the kind of approach that Simon needs to take in this. 

As soon as he’s gotten dressed, towel slung over his shoulder, nerves braced like he’s approaching a bomb, he makes his way to your room, knocking gently on the door. A pause, and then he calls softly, “Luvie?”

Debating between knocking again or calling it quits, Simon’s just about to let the latter win, when the door creaks open, revealing you. Staring up at him with wide, nervous eyes, hands fidgeting with the sleeves of your hoodie, intentionally oversized and swallowing you whole. Fuck, you’re so cute, and you seem to have no idea. 

He’s fucked up before he’s even began, watching the way you stiffen up as he says, “We need to talk.” It makes him want to take the words back, rewind time and steal the sentence from his own brain. Instead, he pushes forward, ready for this to be done and over with. 

“You’re… allowed to exist. Here. Don’t have to go running every time I’m home,” he continues, waving a hand in the air. 

You stare up at him, blinking slowly, before lifting your hand to your mouth, nervously chewing on your fingernail. The only reaction he gets, the only thing that tells him that you’ve heard him is a soft, almost inaudible, “Oh.”

“I just…” he shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. This type of thing has never been Simon’s forte. Give him a gun and a target, and he’ll get the job done. But talking about his feelings? Trying to be soft when the world has left him with nothing but jagged edges? Yikes. 

“If I can do anything to… help, I guess, just let me know,” he continues. 

It takes a moment before you respond, smiling shyly at him. Because even if you don’t know Simon all that well, you can tell he’s trying, and the thought puts you a little at ease, even when his general presence makes you clam up. 

“Okay,” you reply softly, before quickly adding, “Thanks.” 

***

It takes two weeks before any shift in behavior seems to actually take place. You’re still flighty around the brickhouse that you call a roommate, and he’s giving you space to sort yourself out. At his core, Simon is a patient man. He has to be in his line of work. Even if it’s killing him to see you so close and yet so far away at the same time. 

He’s in the living room, half paying attention to the movie on the TV as he thinks about… well, as he thinks about you, trying desperately to come up with some kind of plan to help you feel more comfortable around him. Simon’s so lost in thought that he almost doesn’t register you tiptoeing into the living room, blanket wrapped around you like some kind of shield. 

As if he could ever not notice you. 

When you first moved in, you’d bought this chair, this big circle chair that Simon never thought looked all that comfortable. In his opinion, it looked more like a satellite dish than a chair, not that he’d ever tell you that. But now? Seeing the way you curl up inside, letting out a soft sigh of content, Simon decides that it must be the most comfortable chair in existence. 

This is a big move for your relationship with your roommate, and Simon doesn’t comment on it. As far as you can tell, he doesn’t even seem to register your presence in the room. Something that can’t be any farther from the truth. 

Unbeknownst to you, Simon’s acutely aware of your presence, always keeping an eye or ear on you. You remind him of a hurt animal, wary and cautious, and if he comments on you joining him, he knows you’ll leave. And that’s the last thing he wants. So he sits almost inhumanly still, careful not to breathe too loud, for the remainder of the movie, paying more attention to you than to the film; watching the way your body relaxes as you get comfortable, the way you snort through your nose at something funny. His eyes snap to the tv when you turn to glance his way, far less subtle with your staring at him. 

Part of Simon wonders what you see when you look at him. A man? A soldier? Your roommate? Potentially something more? The last thought has been worming its way into his brain for the last few months now, and he’s given up on shaking it off. But you’re not ready for that kind of admission, and Simon’s more than willing to wait for you. 

***

It’s almost painstakingly slow, the progress in your relationship between you and Simon. But it seems to be improving, little by little. You’re willingly spending time in the living room with him, and at least once a week, you have dinner together. And Simon’s ecstatic by the improvement. You still tense up when he first gets home, but it’s the way your shoulders relax when you realize it’s him that feels like a victory.

Honestly, everything feels like a victory, and it’s taking everything that he’s ever learned to stop Simon from scooping you into his arms. For now, he’ll take the shy smiles, the way your eyes light up, the sight of you relaxed on the other end of the couch. But if he could have it his way? 

He’d kiss you senseless. Pull you into his lap during movie night, and let you hide your face against his chest when the movie gets too sad. Carry you to bed when you fall asleep in the living room and keep you tucked against him all night long. But he can’t do any of that. Not right now. 

The next shift in your relationship with Simon happens a few weeks after the first one. Things have been moving along just fine. He’s been home more than usual, giving you plenty of time to get gradually used to his presence. 

“You’ve been home for a while,” you comment, curled up in your chair. There’s a coloring book in your lap, but you haven’t touched it, consumed by the show you’re watching and talking with Simon. 

“Yeah, the last deployment was a nightmare,” he replies cautiously. You’ve gotten a little better at reading Simon, and you can see the tension in his shoulders. What you don’t know is that one of the guys on his team had been injured, and it had been Simon who carried him out. 

“Oh,” you reply quietly, knowing better than to push. You might not know everything about what Simon does, but you know enough to know that it’s not easy and that some of it haunts him afterwards. Afterall, the walls of the apartment are pretty thin and there have been plenty of nights that you’ve been woken up due to one of Simon’s nightmares. Not that you’d ever say something about it. 

“Be out of your hair next week,” he adds nonchalantly, draping an arm over the back of the couch. Your eyes follow the movement, watching the way his muscles flex, following the curves of his tattoo, before his words sink in. 

He’ll be gone again next week. 

A thought that once brought you peace, only fills you with anxiety. You can’t quite place why dread fills your heart, painful in your chest. Maybe it’s because you’ve come to enjoy Simon’s presence, a calm constant over these last few weeks. It feels weird, knowing that come next week, he won’t be here, won’t be in his spot on the couch for movie night, won’t be snorting at your poor attempt at comedy. 

The only thing you can think to respond with is a soft, “Oh.” 

Simon stares at you for a moment, giving you time to continue, but there’s nothing else you can think to say. Not when worry and dread have filled your heart and head. You look away from him, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. And Simon - endlessly patient Simon - doesn’t push you either. 

“Don’t seem so excited,” he jokes, amusement creeping into his voice. 

You huff, looking back over at him with the ghost of a smile on your face. “Don’t be an ass,” you shoot back. 

He grins in response, glad you’re not completely lost in whatever anxious spiral your brain is trying to send you down. “Thought you liked it when I was gone,” he replies. Not an accusation, but more of a casual comment, something you both know used to be true but might not be anymore.  

“I do like being alone,” you agree, and then hesitant - shy, sweetly, absolutely adorably - you admit softly, “But I like your company.” 

Fuck. Simon could die a happy man, right then and there, heart swelling in his chest, and if he wasn’t so in control of himself, he’d be grinning from ear to ear. Instead, he keeps it calm and collected, cool as a cucumber, as he replies, “I like yours too.”

[dragon-kazansky]

Symphony of dreams

Morpheus x Female Reader

Times are changing, and nothing is as it once was. The Dreaming is being rebuilt, but much is happening. The siblings reunite once more, Hell becomes vacant, and Delirium seeks out their missing brother. Dream faces his past, and his wife questions her place beside him.

WE'RE BAAAAAAACK!!!!

{Masterlist}

{Next Chapter}

Season One

Chapter Eleven - Family reunion

The Dreaming. Home. Life was finally returning to the palace after Dream's absence. After Rose Walker, Morpheus was able to focus on his realm once again.

Lucienne, Matthew, Mervyn, and yourself all stood on the bridge leading to the castle. You were all watching Dream rebuild his home.

Your heart felt full. There had been many ups and downs between you and Dream, but through it all, you still stood beside him, even when you didn't agree with his methods. Now, you two could live in your home again together and make new dreams.

You watch as the palace is put together as it once was. No, perhaps even better.

“If I'd known he was building a new palace, I wouldn't have spent so much time repairing the old one,” Mervyn complains.

“But then you'd have nothing to complain about,” Matthew replies.

You chuckle softly. “Let him work.” You smile as you watch his powers rebuild your sanctuary. It felt like home again.

You leave the others and walk across the bridge, wanting to join your husband in his work. After all, he is not the only one with power here anymore. You brush your hand along the barrier of the bridge as stardust falls from your fingers. The little sparkles of dust fall down below, each one creating fish in the water below. The particles that float further away become animals and flowers.

You enter the palace and walk ahead, determined to join Dream in his throne room. He stood in front of his throne, focusing on his task at hand. You do not wish to disturb him, merely join him.

He knows you're here.

You approach the stairs and begin to climb them carefully, letting the gusts blow around you as the kingdom heals. As you reach him, you come to a stop beside him. Morpheus does not say a word as he continues to work, but you do spot the smile at the corner of his lips.

You open your mouth to speak, but another voice takes your place. Both you and Dream lift your gaze up where an image of Destiny now stands.

“Siblings. I stand in my gallery and summon the family to me. It is I, Destiny of the Endless, who calls you.”

Dream stops his work. “Destiny.”

You turn your attention to your husband and look at him curiously. “Your brother is calling a family meeting?”

“Yes. It would seem so.” His blue eyes turn to you. “It has been so long since we gathered.”

“Long before your capture.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “Come, we must go.”

“We?” You look at him curiously.

“You are family by extension. It is a family meeting.” His hand slips into yours. Long pale fingers holding onto you with a firm grip. His thumb brushes along your skin gently.

“He referred to your siblings.”

“Are you not my wife? Sister-in-law to my siblings?”

“I didn't think that counted to the Endless,” you say, gazing at him softly.

“Of course it does.”

His hold on your hand is still firm. He is not going to back down from this, you can see it in his eyes. He wanted you beside him while he faced his family. He needed you there. So many unspoken things were becoming obvious to you as you looked at him.

“Alright, my love. Let us go.”

Dream does not let go of your hand as he leads the way down to the gallery. You stand in front of the sigils and look at your husband. “You first.”

“Are you frightened?” He asks.

“No…”

He looks slightly amused as he peers at you in the corner of his eye.

“It's just been a while since I last saw your siblings in one room.”

“You need not leave my side. We shall see what it is Destiny has called us for.”

You nod your head softly.

Without letting go of your hand, Dream leads you into his brother's realm. He steps out of the portrait first, and then guides you through. He appears with longer hair and a cloak around his shoulders. You're so distracted by his sudden change in appearance that you don't even notice Destiny and Death right away.

“Hello brother, sister,” Death greets you both. Sister. She does think of you as family. It made your heart skip a little beat and made you feel all fuzzy on the inside. “You look wonderful,” she compliments.

You look down to notice your own attire has changed too. More fitting with Dream and Death's attire. “Thank you.”

“So, a family meeting.” Dream speaks up. He turns to glance at the covered up portrait that once belonged to their brother. You give his hand a squeeze. He lets go of your hand to walk up to the portrait.“The first since our brother announced he was leaving us. It will be interesting to find out why you've called us here.”

“It will, indeed,” Destiny responds. “Perhaps for you more than any of us, my brother.”

Dream turns to look at Destiny. “Why?”

“In good time. Once we're all assembled.”

Destiny walks over to the next portrait. You walk over to Dream and take his hand again. He looks at you quietly, contemplating the meaning behind Destiny's words.

“What have you done?” Death asks, coming over to you both.

“Nothing,” Dream responds softly.

Death gives her brother a look.

Destiny calls upon Desire. Oh, wonderful.

Desire steps through the portrait wearing… very little, yet it was hard to look away. Desire had that impact on people.

“Oi!” Death exclaims. “Why doesn't your dress code apply to Desire?”

“Dress code?” Desire questions. “He's wearing a burnoose.” Desire walks over to their twin's portrait. “Now, where is Despair?”

Desire stretches their hand out toward the portrait and a gloved hand reaches out and takes it. Despair steps from her portrait wearing a lovely dress. “Has he said why we're here?” She asks.

“Not until we're all together,” Dream answers her.

“Well, two of us are still missing,” Despair responds.

Desire and Despair join the rest of you where you stand.

“There is only one left to gather, Despair.” Destiny corrected. “Wherever the other one is, he made his feelings on the matter perfectly clear.”

“I suppose I was hoping he'd called,” Despair says, disappointed. “Tell us he's changed his mind. I miss him.”

They all missed him.

Dream is still holding your hand as you watch Destiny turn to the portrait of their youngest sibling. “Sister, youngest of the Endless, I stand in my gallery, and I summon you.”

Nothing happens.

“Sister, your family awaits you. Come.”

The image of her in portrait appears to melt from the canvas and forms a puddle onto the floor. A moment later, she steps out of the painting. Delirium is not as she once was, though that isn't a bad thing per se.

She smiles and looks at her family. “Hi. It's me.”

Delirium, other than Death, was probably a favourite of yours among his siblings. Though she was the youngest among them, she sometimes had the wisest of views. Plus, you liked the butterflies she would create.

“Delirium. How you doing?” Death asks her sister.

“Well, yesterday I did some terribly bad things. But today I did some good stuff, so. I mean… I don't know.”

You smile at her. She smiles back.

With that, everyone approaches the table. Each sibling takes a seat. You go to stand beside Dream's, knowing they'll leave the other one vacant for the missing brother. However, Morpheus does not sit. He looks at you and places his hand on the back of the chair. You silently sit down and he stands beside you, eyes trained on his older brother.

You glance around the table. Desire grins at you from where they sit. You lower your gaze and move them over toward where Destiny stands.

“Now that we are all assembled, there are things to discuss. I know you're wondering why I called you all here.”

“Yes,” Dream speaks softly.

Destiny lowers his hood. “The three sisters visited me in my garden earlier this day.”

“The fates?” Dream questions.

“In one aspect. The Gray Women.”

“And?”

“Look, everybody.” You turn to see Delirium creating butterflies. She lets them go and they flutter above the table.

“As for what they wanted, their pronouncements were unsurprisingly oracular and ambiguous.”

“What did they say?” Dream asks. You glance at him for a moment, seeing the serious look in his eyes.

A king will forsake his kingdom.

Life and death will clash and fray.

The oldest battle begins once more.

“Well, that's just a lot of words smooshed together,” Delirium comments.

“What does it mean?” Despair asks.

“I consulted my book,” Destiny answers. “It detailed my encounter with the Three. And clarified that something important will happen. An occasion that sparks a chain of events causing much change and upheaval.”

“What's the occasion?” Death queries, looking at her brother.

“This meeting. That is all.” Destiny sits.

“What kind of change and upheaval?” You look at your husband as he asks his question. He seems almost desperate to know.

“I have told you all I have to tell you,” Destiny states. “The rest is up to the five of you.”

You glance down at the table. This really wasn't something for you to be involved with. It felt weird being around family business. You feel Dream's hand on your shoulder. The weight of it has you turning to look. He's still looking at his brother, but he knows your inner turmoil. He knows you better than anyone.

“But what are we meant to do?” Asks Despir.

“Drink the wines, eat the fruit of my garden, talk to one another.” The siblings glance at one another. “It has been centuries since we were all together. We… must have much to discuss.”

“You are saying you summoned us here because it is necessary for us to be here at this time,” Dream speaks, irked by the whole ordeal.

“Exactly.”

“This is foolish.”

“Dream,” you say his name, but he doesn't look at you.

“I am rebuilding my kingdom. Our home,” he squeezes your shoulder. “There is much that must be done. We will leave you now.” He goes to remove his hand from your shoulder but you reach up and grasp it gently.

“That will not happen yet,” Destiny says, looking at his brother.

“Come on,” Death attempts to sway Dream, who's busy looking at you. You're stopping him from leaving. “Hang out with us for a bit,” his sister smiles. You nod at him. “What's a little lost time? We have all the time in the world.”

“I lost some time once. It's always in the last place you look for it,” Delirium says, cutting in. You chuckle softly at her remark.

“Here, have a grape.”

“I do not want a grape.”

“I can make you want one,” Desire speaks for the first time since they sat down. You turn to look at them. Relaxed. Wine in hand. Amused. You know they'll say something to set your husband off. They always do.

“Careful, sibling,” Dream gives them a warning look.

“I'm Desire, am I not?” They continue to grin. “That is what I do. Where I touch, things want… and need and love.” They raise their hand and both of Delirium's butterflies flutter around their hand. You watch them closely. “Drawn to one another like butterflies to a candle's flame.”

“Moths,” Despair corrects. “You mean moths.”

“Butterflies,” Desire whispers. With a soft wave of their hand, the butterflies fly into the candles and burn to nothing. You can feel Delirium's mood dropping from where you sit.

“They're yours now, sister.”

Death hoods two dead butterflies in her hands. “Yes,” she says, unimpressed with her sibling.

“Those were mine.” Delirium frowns. “You didn't have to do that, Desire. You really didn't have to.” She sounds very upset.

“But that is what Desire does,” Dream says.

“Here we go,” Desire sighs.

“Interferes. Corrupts. Destroys.”

“Dream finds it convenient to blame me for his failed relationships, when instead he should be thanking me.” Desire chuckles.

“For trying to make me spill family blood?”

You drop your gaze to the table. You let go of Dream's hand, realising you had been holding it that entire time. You place your hands in your lap.

“Will you stop it?” Despair scolds them both. “We shouldn't argue. We shouldn't fight. After all, there's only six of us now.”

“We never argued when he was here.” Delirium stares at the empty chair with longing.

“Yes, we did,” Desire replies.

“Yeah. But he would have made a… a joke about it or something,” Despair says softly.

“Don't you ever wonder where he is?” Delirium asks. “Or if he's even okay or anything?”

“All the time,” Despair responds.

You remember him. He was kind to you. He used to make you laugh. You miss those days.

Desire looks at their twin and Despair corrects herself. “Sometimes.”

“Why didn't we ever try and find him?” Delirium asks them.

“Because he explicitly asked us not to,” Destiny replies.

“Yes, but sometimes that's just what you say when you want to find out if anybody cares enough not to listen.”

“Well, that almost made sense,” Desire comments.

“Don't make fun of me, Desire,” she responds defensively. “I know what you all think of me. But I know things that none of you knows. Things about us. Things not even you know!” She says to Destiny.

“Calm yourself, little sister.”

“I am calm! God, I'm calm!” She exclaims. “I'm calm,” she says more softly.

“Is this what you meant when you said we should talk to one another?” Dream asks Destiny.

“Yes.”

“What have we to discuss?”

Desire puts their feet on the table and looks at him. “Well, what about you, my brother? Tell us. How's your love life going?” Desire glances at you.

You look away. Dream glances at you and then back at his sibling.

“Haven't killed this one yet. Haven't condemned her to Hell?”

You lift your gaze back to Desire. Dream glares at them. “What did you say?”

“Surely you remember Nada, Dream.” Desire grins. “The queen of the first people.”

Despite how long you had been with Dream, there had been others before you. Less happier times. Why must Desire mention them now? Was it because you were here?

Nada. She was the first. He loved her dearly. More than he should have. That was the problem.

“The mortal that made the fatal mistake of falling in love with the Dream King. And what did you do? Because she wouldn't stay with you until you grew tired of her, so you had her sentenced to Hell.”

“Enough!”

You flinch when Dream raises his voice.

“But you would never, ever interfere in the lives of mortals.” Desire mocks him.

“If you say one more word, I will-”

“You will do nothing in this place, brother,” Destiny warns him. “Except, perhaps take a moment to collect yourself.”

Dream falls silent for a moment and then says, “please excuse me.” He leaves without even looking at you. You release a shaky breath as he walks away.

After a few moments, you rise from your chair and look at Destiny. “Thank you for letting me come… I should go.” You circle the table and make your way back toward the portraits. Death wants to call out to you, but she doesn't. Instead, she goes after her brother. The others sit there silently.

Desire looks pleased with themself.

@missdreamofendless @kpopgirlbtssvt @thoughtsfromlayla @errantsomnium @heavenlybluegirl @rousrm @bes2005

[thatnightlamp]

Hii! I love your writing so much! I just wanted to drop by and say that everything you've written about Dorn makes me want to scream into a pillow about that stoic ass man.

I digress though, may I request a Corvus x reader fix where his spouse is determined to wring some noises from this man? He feels like he'd be so quiet just as a default setting.

P.s I love you female primarch OC so much, she's so pretty and I like to imagine that the sisters of battle treat her with extra reverence.

CORVUS CORAX FLUFF.

You had known from the very beginning that marrying Corvus Corax meant a quiet life — well, relatively speaking, for a Primarch. He didn’t stomp like Vulkan, didn’t grumble like Perturabo, didn’t monologue like Guilliman, didn’t melodrama like Fulgrim.

No, Corax was silent in ways that made even empty rooms feel too loud in comparison. He moved like smoke, rarely breathed loud enough to hear, and when he spoke, it was in low, concise tones that made every sentence feel like a cryptic prophecy. Which was all well and good, very mysterious and noble and tortured, but you were, unfortunately, a gremlin of a spouse who had decided, without pity or hesitation, that today was the day you would get a noise out of him. A proper, stupid, involuntary noise. A laugh, a yelp, a snort, hell, a squeak, if the Emperor willed it. Just one. You had lived with him for long enough to know he wasn’t mute, and dammit, you were going to crack that composure like an egg.

Corax, for his part, was suspicious from the very moment you entered the room with that look on your face. The look that said I’m up to something and I’ve accepted the consequences in advance. He was sitting with one leg folded under the other, reading something probably full of war crimes and deep gothic metaphors, and he only lifted his eyes for a second before returning them to the text with a soft “no.”

You hadn’t even said anything yet.

“No what?” you asked, already prowling closer, grinning like a fool.

“No to whatever you’re planning. Your face is louder than your footsteps,” he muttered, turning a page delicately, like it would scream if bent wrong.

Which, honestly, rude. If anyone was allowed to sneak, it was him. You didn’t let the wounded dignity show. Instead, you dropped onto the couch next to him with an exaggerated sigh, then subtly shoved your foot under his cloak like it hadn’t been a calculated move. The man didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. You poked his side. Nothing. You poked again. Still nothing. You wiggled your toes against his ribs. A faint exhale. Maybe the ghost of a smirk. You narrowed your eyes.

“Do you even have nerve endings?” you grumbled.

“I had them removed for efficiency,” he replied flatly, still not looking at you.

Fine, you thought. If subtle wasn’t working, you’d escalate. Over the next hour, your methods grew increasingly deranged. You tried flopping dramatically across his lap while quoting the worst lines from Imperial propaganda vids. You tried narrating his book out loud in a bad fake accent. You tried stuffing your hands under his armor and declaring war on his armpits, which, frankly, should have worked. But Corax, stoic, shadowy, infuriatingly composed Corax, endured it all with the serene patience of someone who had once faked his own death and ghosted an entire galaxy just to get a break from people.

It became personal.

You pulled out the secret weapon: your fingers, ice-cold from the drink you’d just retrieved, slipped under his shirt and pressed into the small of his back.

He gasped.

Not loud. Not dramatic. But a sound. A real sound. You froze. His eyes cut toward you in immediate regret, but you were already shrieking in victory, clambering onto his lap like a goblin who had just stolen a diamond.

“You breathed! You gasped! That was a noise, don’t lie to me!”

“I reacted, not vocalized,” he muttered, face suspiciously flushed. “There’s a difference.”

You leaned in, close enough to kiss but with the menace of someone about to deliver tickle based war crimes. “Corvus,” you whispered. “Sweetheart. I’m going to make you laugh.”

“I haven’t laughed since...forever.”

“Then baby, it’s long overdue.”

You tried again, soft touches, sudden pokes, teasing kisses to that one spot under his jaw you knew made him twitch and for the first time in recorded history, you heard it: a low snort, cut off too fast, like he’d strangled it in his throat the moment it escaped. You paused. He stared. The silence was charged.

“…Was that a laugh?” you asked, voice trembling.

“I sneezed.”

“You don’t sneeze. You’ve never sneezed. You’re genetically impossible to sneeze.”

“Then I coughed.”

You pressed a hand to his chest, over the steady rhythm of a heart that was probably trying not to race. “Corvus. My darling. The love of my life. You just snorted like a tired crow and tried to cover it.”

“…It was an accident.”

“Victory,” you hissed, victorious. “I have made the Raven Lord giggle. Someone call the Remembrancers.”

To your astonishment, a quiet chuckle, genuine, amused, and a little tired escaped him, brief as birdsong. Just once. But it was unmistakable.

“I’m going to regret this,” he murmured.

You beamed like a lunatic, already plotting round two. “You’re going to marry me again is what you’re going to do. Because now that I know you can laugh, I won’t stop until you’re wheezing.”

He sighed, dramatic as ever, but you saw the way his eyes softened, how his hand found your wrist and held it, gentle and fond and utterly resigned.

“…Fine,” he said, voice warm with quiet affection. “But no tickle attacks during war councils.”

“No promises.”

[saezip]

ACT. I　　 　　　 　　　　　　　　 　　　　　 　GIRLS

　　　" she can't be what you need if she's seventeen ! " 　　　filed under　 　 　 　band desired reality

　　ㅤㅤㅤⓘㅤㅤ　　WHO IS　@　WESTENDED　?!

　　ㅤㅤㅤgreat question … where do i start ? the biggest van mccann fangirl in mainstream media , public frenemy number one , ryan asa albarn . yes , you heard me right , albarn . ryan just so happens to be the stepdaughter of one of the pioneers of britpop , damon albarn . aside from that , ryan’s known for being best friends with inhaler’s elijah hewson , nepo babies who leech together , stay together ! elijah and ryan have been friends since the dawn of time , or that’s what it feels like . it’s not like they intentionally became friends , but when your parents force you to hang out with the weird kid your dads friend brought into your home without any prior notice , you sorta just … do it ?

　　ㅤㅤㅤbut when she’s alone , who is she really ? ryan’s bizarre , borderline camp if you really look at her . she’s unapologetically herself , sometimes too much for her own good . she’s creative and chaotic , the mastermind behind more than just the music she releases . mentally , ryan’s still a sixteen year old girl that gets a kick out of sneaking off to a gig she was strictly prohibited from going to , riding off the high that she got from making eye contact with the bassist for a second longer than she would consider accidental . a poet ? if writing poetry meant spamming her friends with concerningly creative threats directed towards the “ horizontally challenged bastard “ that stole her parking spot . okay , maybe not a poet . but she’s one hell of a good songwriter .

　　ㅤㅤㅤⓘㅤㅤ　　JOURNEY AROUND　THE SUN　?

　　ㅤㅤㅤfrom the moment she found out what “ real music ” was at the young age of nine years old , ryan knew she wanted to be a singer . neither of her parents were entirely supportive of her entering the industry , especially with a role model like damon . he may be a brilliant musician and an even better stepdad , but god , he got himself into some amount of trouble in his day . alas , ryan and three of her best friends , soren , hiro , and lottie decided to start a band ! except , instead of rehearsing , they ended up throwing their instruments to the side and ordering a takeaway . not ideal .

　　ㅤㅤㅤin 2017 , after weeks , no , months of begging , ryan finally managed to convince her friends to hop on a train to liverpool to see catfish and the bottlemen live . a dream she held onto for years . could they have gone to see them in london ? yes ! did the tickets sell out before they could get them ? yes . the day leading up to the gig was a mess , the three almost backed out at the last minute , only agreeing to go after ryan started bawling her eyes out on facetime . speaking of her phone , she may have smashed the screen while running to catch the train they almost missed . thankfully , her phone kept working so she did actually manage to record the gig , which was the only thing that mattered in her fifteen year old mind .

　　ㅤㅤㅤⓘㅤㅤ　　I KISSED　THE BASSIST　!

　　ㅤㅤㅤding ! in january 2018 , ryan received an instagram dm request from none other than … gene gallagher ? son of oasis’ frontman ? how peculiar … who would’ve thought ! they bonded over a shared love of music and similar sense of humor , and before long , romance was in the air … timeskip , after four years of on and off dating , far too many tears , and plenty of nights walking home at midnight after another one of their fights , they finally broke up . it was public , it was messy . the reason ? gene accused ryan of cheating on him with elijah  , a seed planted by gene’s dad , liam . before she got to defend herself , the damage was done .

　　ㅤㅤㅤmonths had passed , july was steadily approaching , and ryan had completely sworn off dating . that was until a certain irish man stumbled his way back into her life . and no , we aren’t talking about elijah this time , rather his dorky bandmate robert . i’ll spare the details , you don’t care about all of that anyway , right ? on this particular night , ryan found herself holed up in the corner of the nunnery ( a.k.a. inhaler’s hq ) at a listening party the band had thrown for themselves , a week before the release of their debut album . at some point throughout the night , a very drunk robert collapsed into the seat beside her , sparking up conversation . it started with small talk , escalated into accidental life confessions , uncontrollable laughter , and that reckless kind of bonding that sorta feels like emotional whiplash . ryan doesn’t remember most of that night , all she knows is that after the party she left with a big fat teenage crush on robert keating , and his number scribbled on the palm of her hand in bright red pen .

　ㅤㅤㅤ　ㅤㅤㅤ　ㅤㅤㅤ　ㅤㅤㅤ　ㅤㅤㅤ　　　ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 　ㅤㅤㅤ　ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ©　saezip

[vyxcondessa]

── Coming In Hot; 3/9

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ03. DON'T LET GO NOW

PAIRING: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

SUMMARY: "You're early," says Bucky, stopping his work to give you a small smile.

"The crew was ready when I got there," you shrug, doing a weird little dance blow with your legs when he smiles back pleased at you.

Bucky laughs at you, entirely delighted. It makes you blush, but he's become quite good at that, even if he doesn't know it.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎✎﹏﹏﹏﹏

It takes you a few more days to organize everything you want, but once everything is set and ready, the photos you take for your page that week can be easily classified as some of the best work you’ve done so far.

Thanks to tricks taught to you by a photographer friend and the few videos you gathered the patience to watch on Youtube years ago, transforming any space — small or big — in a good scenario for pictures came easy to you, and that definitely helped you build up such a clean, “professional” image.

Artistic bullshit aside, the shots were stunning.

You spend a good hour hyping yourself up to the fact that these are the same shots as before, but it’s evident in the lighting, the posing, the sheer sensuality that each of them owns.

You were inspired.

It was impossible to deny when the evidence was frozen in time.

Pictures of your foggy breath against the bathroom mirror, bathtub pictures with water dripping on your skin, and a few props around the house and you had enough to content to last you at least two months.

Between one scenario and another, you catch yourself thinking about a stain of grease running down your back.

Maybe on your cheekbones, matching the black lace covering your body.

Fuck.

That was a dangerous road and quickly, you shook yourself out of those thoughts.

Bucky has nothing to do with this is clearly the first bullshit you try convincing yourself of, but as soon as you do, you flop back onto your mattress with a defeated sigh.

The fact that you wanted to take that excuse in said it all.

At least whatever flame Bucky lit up under your skin resulted in all those nice shots.

You may not have a model’s body, but your page, as well as many others that you followed which did the same work as you, did wonders for body acceptance and positivity, unlike what many people would expect.

The point was that the more you felt sexy in your own skin, the more others tended to do so, too.

You meant what you’d said to Sarah when the two of you met—employing other people with the job of liking or finding beauty in you never existed in your dictionary.

Your life’s biggest blessing was, perhaps, that you enjoyed your own company.

After you finish editing, saving in their respective folders, and creating a schedule for posting them, you sit on your kitchen counter still in panties, bralette and a robe, a sandwich in one hand, and a lecture being played on your ear pods.

The heavy textbook on your hand is a good reminder of why making an extra few hundred bucks (nearing a thousand, depending on the month and your inspirations) every month meant everything.

You had a long way to go, and unfortunately living on this earth costs a lot, all the time.

Until the end of the week, you’d have another large bill to pay and you’d rather be able to do it without having to live off of noodles for the foreseeable future.

(Buying a new gloss since yours had ended before you saw Bucky again didn’t sound half bad, either.)

◦➳◦

i have something extremely important to ask u

that sounds ominous and v serious. is it srs

bc i’m under a car rn and i dont fancy hitting my head

are u abt to hit me with existential crack again

i havent had coffee yte hold on

lmfao theres no need for coffee

i was about to ask who on earth typed

those first messages of yours to me. ‘cause it sure

has hell wasn’t you. proper punctuation, capital letters and all…

do u use siri sometimes or what

i’m curious

…

i’m sorry that’s so funny to me somehow???

how tf do u notice these little things is beyond me lol

it was peter. i was under a tight spot in a car and

asked him to type the messages for you

ah! makes sense.

speaking of the young padawan: has he

solved my riddle yet?

no and i am loving every sec of this lol

he went from ‘riddles are just LoGiC , BuCKy’ to

‘why is lady bullet allowed to write things on the

office board through you, anyway???? no one else

is allowed to do that’ and today morning he was screaming inside my office ’

THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE I REFUSE

TO BELIEVE THERE’S AN ANSWER’ so yeah

thanks for the entertainment

you all figured it out, right? :D

yup. gabe was the last one. now he passes peter and

laughs under his breath like an asshole

it’s awesome

i think the kid might have a heart attack soon if we dont tell him the answer

let him marinate for a little longer!

as paramore once beautifully put

‘that’s what you get’ <3

you know, when i asked u for a tip on how to punish

him for calling my favorite book dumb i didnt think you’d

actually find something but i am glad you did

it’s hard to find someone as smart as peter

me n all the boys all thank u v v much.

he needs an ego trim every now n then

happy to help, sarge :D

◦➳◦

Some people thought what you might hate the most in the subway was the crowd and the dirtiness — everywhere you looked, it seemed like a health hazard — but instead, it was the fact that you were under the ground.

Small or confined (or heaven forbid, both) spaces were not your thing.

“Thanks for coming with me, S.”

Sarah adjusts her coat on the seat by your side and gives you an easy smile. “Duh.”

Standing in front of you, AJ turns his GameBoy screen to you.

“Like this?” He asks.

You analyze the game screen and note with excitement that he followed your instructions and got himself in the hidden spot you were so familiar with. “That’s it!” You lifted your hand for a high-five, which he gave with a smirk. “Nice job, kiddo.”

“Thanks, TT.”

“Can we go for ice cream before you two drop us off at uncle Sam’s?” Cass asks, bumping his sneakers into your boots.

“Your ma and I told you we’re taking you both for burgers and milkshake before we go to work, mister,” you smack your teeth at Cass, and squeeze his cute little chin for good measure. “This is what you get for walking around with those damn pods all day and not listening to us.”

“Hear hear.” Sarah eyes Cass with ’I told you eyes’. “He knows very well what’s gonna happen if those things seem permanently stapled to his ear very soon.”

“I’m sorry, I was watching the new One Piece episode,” Cass shrugs apologetically, and you and Sarah exchange looks at his sheepish and adorable face trying to gain sympathy with pleading eyes.

“Am I a bad TT for buying him those instead of that book I know he was gonna like?” You ask Sarah with a pout.

“Nah, he just needs to learn how to use his present without excluding himself from the world, which we’ve talked about for the last time last night, right?” Sarah asks Cass.

Cass nods dutifully, and AJ shares a look with you above the exchange, then goes right back to his game.

Those small little looks are one of the things that make you feel the most at home in the city that feels too big for you sometimes. Truly being Sarah’s friend meant being close to her kids, too, and being her best friend came with the benefit of being seen as an “auntie” for the cutest kids you had ever met.

“I can listen to music on the way there, right?” Cass asks, buttering up a sweet smile.

Sarah rolls her eyes. “Duh.” Cass puts the ear pods back on and Sarah looks at you, sensing that their attention is fully on their little world now and she can go back to the conversation. “So—what was the reason again? The excuse you were giving me about why you can’t invite him to your celebration day?”

You sigh deeply, feeling that anxious flutter inside your chest at the coded hidden question about Bucky.

“S. He’s a life-saver and we’re definitely… acquaintances, but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna want to come next month to a barbeque to celebrate ‘little old me’.” The last bit is a jab at Bucky’s constant reminders of how much older he is than you, but Sarah doesn’t know that.

“Why not? He’s super close with my brother, you two now know each other,” she prompts with an indulgent tone.

“Would you invite Amree for your birthday?” You ask her in return, changing your tactics.

Sarah was about to talk but stops with her mouth half-open at the mention of the handymen from her building.

You’d seen him the last time he was there, exchanging googley and dopey eyes at her.

The way she stuttered in the kitchen looking for the ingredients despite claiming she “doesn’t need help to bake some cookies, babe, please”.

“That. Is a completely fair point.” She shuts her mouth and looks ahead of the subway.

A little part of you feels bad for being so surgical to get your point across, but Sarah was the only person in your life currently able to see right through you.

The only reason she still threatened waters around you to ask about Bucky, despite having seen on your face the clear signs of a crush, was because you were logical and as far she knew, you and he were mere acquaintances.

For some reason, how much you two have been talking is something you keep to yourself.

You nudge your arm against hers. “He’ll just forget about me and my pretty car as soon as we’re outta there today, S.” You make an effort to sound playful, and not downright disappointed at that fact. “I don’t wanna invite him for something he’ll feel outta place in weeks. You told me he likes company that he knows, right?”

Sarah nods, a small pout on her face. “Yeah.” She pulls AJ out of the way of a musician walking with an instrument and almost knocking it on the boy’s head without meaning to.

Supermom.

“I’ve only seen him around the unit.” Sarah looks at you. “He always comes to stuff Sam asks, but that’s probably ‘cause he’s best friends with Steve and Sam and Steve are… well. You’ll see.”

You recognize in her scoff and tone that this is something you must see or speak of when not in the presence of already sentient and smart younger ears.

“But even then I’ve heard him say he’s not big on parties.” Sarah sighs. “Guess you’re right, then.”

An announcement for a cool super-hero movie pops up in one of the screens close to you both, and the rest of the way is a pleasant and fun conversation about movies that at some point, AJ and later Cass end up joining.

That’s how you four arrive at Barnes Auto—nerding out, bundled up in cozy jackets for the chilly October air and with flushed cheeks from laughing.

The first one to see you guys is Peter who, this time, is standing at his working place.

“Sergeant! Incoming for you.” He yells loud and clear, smiling at all of you. “Steve, get here,” he adds in a voice a little lower, but loud enough to be heard through the noises of the mechanic shop.

“Hi Peter!” you say, echoed by the same greetings from Sarah and the boys.

He’s coming around from behind the receptionist counter to say hello to the boys when you finally get to properly meet the infamous Stevie.

Out of the room behind the reception comes a blond man as tall and built as Bucky, with a thick beard and beautiful sand-blond hair.

His smile is contagious, and he waves excitedly at Sarah and the boys before pinning his piercing blue eyes on you.

After cleaning his hand on the rug on his shoulder, he extends it. “You must be Y/N. Nice to meet ya, I’m Steve.”

“Neet to meet you, Steve.” You shake his head, ignoring the hollering and laughter coming from behind you from Peter and the kids. “Last time I dropped by you were stuck under a beautiful 60s Camaro with a painting gun on your hand, so I didn’t wanna bother.”

“And also Buck told you to ignore the idiots in his shop, so,” he points at himself with a doofus-grin.

Before you can find a way to reply to his teasing, the boys come to wrap around Steve’s legs.

“Hi uncle Steve!” says Cass.

“Uncle Steve, Y/n taught me how to pass that phase I told you about, d’you wanna see?” AJ asks excitedly.

“Of course I do, little guy!” Steve gives you a nod with raised eyebrows that kind of says ’nice one, Y/n’ and then he’s guiding both of the boys back inside the reception room, keeping up with both of them speaking at the same time.

When you look at where Sarah and Peter are still standing, both of them stop their conversation to look at you.

“Oh! Sergeant’s waiting for you, Y/n.” Peter smiles at you. “You remember where it is, right?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I’m gonna catch up with Peter, you go ahead,” Sarah tells you when you direct your gaze to her.

With a nod to the both of them, you turn around and walk further inside to the back patio you’re growing used to.

Madeleine Peyroux is the first thing you listen to as you get close to the place where you know Bullet is parked.

That’s from your pen-drive, and you know it.

When you finally cross the arch separating the shop from the open back, you can see Bullet shining on the left side, and Bucky sitting behind the open door of an old Volkswagen beetle.

His eyes widen at the sight of you, and you smile up at him.

You’d texted earlier ‘it’ll be at least a couple of hrs till i’m there. gonna stop by n get S and the kids!’ But once you got to Sarah’s house, everybody was dressed and ready to go, already, which meant you were at least an hour earlier than he expected.

“You’re early,” says Bucky, stopping the work he’s doing to give you a small smile.

“The crew was ready when I got there,” you shrug, doing a weird little dance bowin with your legs when he smiles back pleased at you.

Bucky laughs at you, entirely delighted.

It makes you blush, but that’s something he’s become quite good at even if he doesn���t know it.

You turn around to Bullet, thankful he probably can’t see it from this far. “I see you’re still enjoying my sound system,” you gesture towards your car blasting Etta James now at full volume.

Bucky’s garage is well-built enough that the rooms feel like separate atmospheres.

On the reception and the first two areas of the shop all you heard was modern rock’n’roll that you, unfortunately, failed to recognize, but here at the back, Etta singing “Stormy Weather” was all that could be heard.

“You have a really good taste in music,” Bucky nods and kind of bows to you with his upper body. The approval over your music makes you giggle.

“I can’t lie, that’s a pretty straight-up fact,” you nod back at him.

Bucky laughs again, his eyes crinkling at the corner. You start moving closer to Bullet, wanting to take a better look at her.

It’s clear the boys had washed and pampered her up.

“I had a pretty good crash course with her, I think.” Even without seeing him, you can feel Bucky getting up from behind the car he’s working and start moving to where you are as well. “I saved all the new artists I heard on her on my playlists.”

Tracing your fingertips over Bullet’s hood, you look back up at him.

“Many new choices?” You smile.

“Many,” he stops right in front of you, and opens that side-smile that makes your heart a little weak. “I listened to pretty much the same stuff since I was kid before I went overseas, then I spent a good few years without listening to the top 40s if you know what I mean, so I was really out of the loop.”

For someone who, according to others, loves being in silence or keeps as short as possible, Bucky sure seems willing to offer you a lot of information, willingly.

“Not anymore.” You knew from all the back and forth you two have had the past week that Bucky absolutely adores Paramore, Hozier, Frank Ocean, among many other artists.

Bucky nods along to you, a smile intact on his face until he seems to remember something and exclaims. “Oh! Steve’s not trapped under a car today. He said something about talking to you about your good car choices, so don’t leave before I’ve gotten a chance to introduce you two.”

“He was at the reception room, I just did,” you chuckle. “AJ and Cass have stolen him, unfortunately.”

“Ah.” Bucky smacks his teeth. “Their Uncle Stevie has to give them attention before he’s allowed to spend time with the adults.”

“They seem to really like him.”

“They do. Steve won them over before they learned how to talk,” Bucky scoffs, looking fondly in the direction where they all are. “I still remember the first time they called him uncle Steve,” he adds with a far-away tone, smiling turning softer. “That man was so happy.” Bucky scoffs again, chuckling to himself. “Punk.”

Sam and Steve are… well. You’ll see.

Ah.

“Oh!” you exclaim out loud, a pin suddenly dropping in your brain, connecting one snarky comment to another.

The memory of Sarah on the first year you two met each other, sitting on a balcony staircase during a party and telling you all about her stupid brother and how he and his stupid best friends were stupidly in love with each other, but blind as a bat to that fact.

Bucky snaps his head to you.

“It’s him!” You stage-whisper, leaning closer to Bullet and to where Bucky is. “When I met Sarah at Nila’s party she was talking about her brother’s best friend, who he served with after Riley decided to drop out of the course, and who—” you stop talking, altogether, shutting your lips tightly together. “I’m not going crazy, right? It’s Steve?” You whisper to Bucky.

Bucky’s looking at you with a funny expression, and when he answers, it’s in a whispering tone, too. “His best friend who…”

“C’mon, you know,” you giggle.

Bucky licks his lips, and looks away from you with a chuckle. “Everyone who knows those two knows, yes.” When Bucky looks back, it’s with a know-it-all smirk. “One day they’ll figure it out.” He shrugs his shoulders. “And I’m Stevie’s best friend.”

You roll your eyes at him. “God, I can hear the fights you and Sam have had about this,” you chuckle.

“Only a couple. Until one of them decides to leave the idiot zone and smack the other in the face with a kiss, he’s gotta be content with being best friend number two,” Bucky widens his smile at you. “I met him first.”

“Called dibs on him, did you?” You tease.

“Sure did, darlin’.” Oh, lord. There it is again. Darling. “Plus—one day Sam will be ‘husband’ and I’ll be the one having to deal with his smug ass and his husband dibs, so I’m getting my fill while I can,” Bucky adds with a snicker.

“How long have you and Steve known each other?” You ask.

Bucky hums and leans with his back against Bullet.

“I… have lost count.” He chuckles, quickly locking eyes with you. “We met when we were kids, then I moved with my dad for a while, but I went back to my ma’s and since then Stevie and I have had each other’s six.”

Even if you wanted, you couldn’t help but melt a little at the sweet and hidden smile in Bucky’s eyes from talking about his best friend.

They sound like the kind of friendship anyone would dream of having in a lifetime.

“Adorable,” you say.

Bucky laughs under his breath, and turns around to your car, clasping his hands together. “Alright. Lemme tell you everything that she’s been through.” He places his hands on the hood, and your throat dries a little watching the shine of his metallic left hand against the black shining painting. “Then we can go to the office, ‘cause I gotta show you something,” he adds in a serious tone.

When you look up at him curiously, you see the same glint in his eyes from when he recorded himself listening to Paramore for the first time.

There’s a playful mirth hidden in Bucky’s looks — and comments — that you noticed.

“Go head, Sarge.”

Bucky explains to you calmly and very thoroughly about the three main repairs he had done on Bullet, and where the problem had originated from.

He also says, “Ah, and I changed your battery ‘cause it was shitty, and I did spend the whole week listening to music on Bullet while I worked, so it was only my duty.” He throws you a half-smile over his shoulder. “I’m letting you know ‘cause you might notice if you open the hood, but you won’t see it on the bill ‘cause I am not charging. I ran it to the ground, I changed it, you’re welcome.”

The tone he uses and the pointed look state to anyone willing to listen that this topic is not open for discussion, so you lift your hands up in surrender.

Seeing your compliance, he gives a tiny satisfied nod. Then, he points to the inside of the shop.

“Shall we?” He chuckles. “You’re gonna like what you see.”

Bucky leads you through the shop and right to the main office, then closes the door behind you two.

This time, your eyes roam around the place a little bit.

You can see pictures of what you identify from afar are a bunch of soldiers, there are spaceship prototypes, and a bunch of books you hadn’t seen before spread everywhere.

It turns out, the thing Bucky is so secretly giddy to show you is the answer to the riddle you had texted him days ago and he’d written on the board:

You know my thunder comes before the lightning. My lightning comes before the clouds. My rain dries all the land it touches. I’m…

Right under the riddle, there was the answer.

You point at it, smiling with your jaw fallen. “Is that Peter’s?” you ask.

A burst of laughter comes out from Bucky.

“You bet.” He comes around the table and sits on his chair. “Took him a while, but he got it.”

You burst out laughing, too, thinking of scrawny and tall Peter furiously writing the answer on the green board in big, block letters.

The board is quite a masterpiece, you notice.

When you look at Bucky, you allow curiosity to peek its head out again. “Can I?” you point at it.

Bucky lifts one eyebrow, just like Sarah does. “Of course,” he smiles at you, and gestures for you to go forward.

When you step closer to inspect, you see that the big — wide and a little tall — green board contains all sorts of messages.

Right on the center, there’s a neat and talented spreadsheet with all of this month’s dates and important car deliveries.

“Who’s the bookworm of the shop?” you ask and start roaming your eyes around the rest surrounding the center spreadsheet.

There’s the Santa Claus dick you recognize from Bucky’s picture, a bunch of things in german and spanish thrown sporadically, and what you notice are book quotes.

Or maybe poems.

“Me.” You spin around at the answer, and Bucky points at all the books. “These are mine.”

There are so many books, and you look at all of them with growing satisfaction.

There was a time when you used to eat books like meals.

Reading pleased you immensely, but you rarely had time for it anymore.

Bucky watches your expression go from excited to melancholic, and his calm look turns into a frown at the same moment.

“What?” He asks softly.

“Sorry,” you laugh, a little caught by the emotions. “I was thinking about how much I used to read. I love books. It’s just… I stopped a little before I got into school and once I did—” you scoff.

It’s not like you had much time to look up recommendations now.

Bucky watches you for a few more heartbeats, then points at the board again.

“What’s your favorite quote from there?” He asks.

You’re pulled out from your blues with the question, and turn around to read all of them again.

Then, your eyes read on a small footnote on the right side.

The handwriting is elegant, yet messy.

It reads:

could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.

Your heart seems to forget how it is that it beats, and you feel your jaw dropping one more time.

Your body turns around slowly towards Bucky, eyes almost glued to the quote, not wanting to let go. “Where is that from?”

Bucky looks in the direction you’re pointing, and his eyes widen. “Oh.” He looks up at you with the saddest smile you’ve ever seen on his beautiful face. “That’s the best and the saddest book I’ve ever read in my life,” he tells you in a low voice, emotion dripping from every word, as if he’s feeling the power of the story webbed into his heart strike him right there. “I can lend it to you, but it’d break your heart.”

It seems like the world stops for a second for you.

Bucky’s sitting there in the morning light streaming from the glass walls, looking at you expectantly and all you can think about is whether this man was carved from gold or your dreams.

Was he real?

“I haven’t read a book in ages but, yeah—I’d love to,” you laugh, surprised at his offer and how happy the simple question makes you.

Happy and seen, somehow.

Bucky Barnes has known you not even for a full month and yet, here he was, making your inner child feel giddy and more pleased than in a long time.

“Hold on,” he gets up with a smile and goes shuffling around his books, then walks to you with a small and well-cared-for example of a book called The Song of Achilles.

You read the summary at the back with hungry eyes, and when you’re done you look up at Bucky. “Oh my god.”

He laughs again. “I know.”

“This is your favorite book?” You confirm with a smile, twisting the book around like you’re touching something precious.

“Yup.” He goes back to his chair and turns on his computer. “What’s yours?”

“Love Is A Dog From Hell,” you answer with a square smile. “I was really into Bukowski when I was a teeanger, but that one really stuck.”

Bucky’s jaw drops a little, too. “You like that book?”

“Uhm, yeah?”

Bucky smiles. “There is a loneliness in this world so great that you can see it in the slow movement of the hands of a clock…” his voice drifts off, and then he shakes his head. “That one fucked me up for a long time.”

Recognizing one of the poems from the book, you take a seat in the chair in front of his desk.

“Isn’t he a bastard?” You ask with passion.

One question is all that’s needed for you two to start a conversation about the numerous reasons why Bukowski can make you drunk on feelings you’ve never felt.

In only a few minutes you realize Bucky’s just like the friends you used to have back in high school, the ones who shared a cigarette with you under the bleachers and talking about things most teachers were too old to even consider.

It’s so nice to speak with someone who listens intently to your point before sharing theirs, and you noticed while talking to him that apart from Sarah, no one else in your life now has a talk this nice with you, this easy.

He laughs numerous times at your smartass comments and adds plenty of his own.

When you ask him, “Oh—you know I won’t be able to finish this soon, no matter how much I want to, right?” sheepishly shrinking your shoulders. “I really lost my touch and my focus is piss poor lately. That on top of the fact that I fall asleep on top of books now like I went to school for that, and—”

“Y/n,” he interrupts you for the first time. “You’re a busy woman. It’s fine.”

The ‘woman’ and the certain look he gives you makes something inside of you quiver.

“Okay.” You pocket the book, then ask him to continue his point with a hand gesture. “Go on. The similitudes between Madeline’s depictions and Iliad…”

With a quick scratch to his nape, Bucky goes right back to talking.

Time slips by through your lines about your favorite stories and his points on the poetry that never left his mind.

Steve is the one to burst your bubble.

Bucky notices him first through the glass window, and when he enters after a couple of light knocks, he stops under the threshold with a surprised expression.

“Sarah said something about you two getting early dinner before work?” Steve asks you with curiosity.

Why is he mentioning early dinner?

You take your phone out of your pocket and when the time stares back at you, space and time disappear from under your feet for a second.

“We just spent an hour talking,” Bucky echoes your thoughts behind you.

With a glance, you see he’s checking his computer’s clock, too. “Shit.” He looks at Steve. “Is Marcos here already?”

“Not yet, but he will be soon,” answers Steve.

“Alright, I’m—we’re wrapping up here.” He gives Steve a nod. “Tell Sarah and the kids I’m coming to say hi in a couple of minutes?”

“Sure.” Steve looks from Bucky to you. “Is it true you’re into Harleys?”

Well, it seems Bucky’s been sharing your conversations with his best friend, or least some of it.

“Yeah,” you answer.

He enters the office and through the glass window, points at his station that’s a few meters away across from it.

Your eyes follow the direction his finger points and finds it—a Harley Easy Rider painted almost entirely in baby, soft pink.

“Oh my god.” Who the fuck would do that to a Harley? “Are you responsible for this sacrilege?”

That seems to be the appropriate answer, because Steve throws his hands up in the air and almost yells. “Thank you!” He turns around to point at Bucky. “I told you this goes beyond taste. No one should be allowed by law to do this,” he whines a little.

Bucky laughs at you two. “Well, she paid you good—no, she paid you a great amount of money for this to be done, pal.” Bucky leans back against the chair. “You better get started on that coat of gloss paint and make that Barbie ride real smooth and shiny. Pink, glossy, shiny.”

“God, I hate rich people,” Steve sighs. With a final look at you, he opens a sad smile. “Good to have someone else around with common sense on their shoulders, ma’am.” He turns around to leave and right before closing the door, adds in a sing-song voice. “Don’t take too long!”

You and Bucky share a look. We really got lost in our own world, huh?

After the smile returns to your faces, he opens the door he had initially gone through when he first got here.

“Shall we?” he pulls up a book and you sit down, ready to start paying him for his hard work.

He shows you the paperwork, runs you through all the needed things briefly one last time and you pay just like you two discussed, one-third of the money now, and the other two-thirds to be paid in debit in a fortnight, then another fortnight after that.

Bucky asks no questions about where you get all your money from or makes any jokes and you appreciate it—your anxiety whenever paying for things can eat you up enough without someone prodding into your windows.

When you two leave his office, you’re clutching your backpack closer to you, thinking about the new addition in it.

Bucky said you could return it until one of the last payments, so at least two more times you were ought to see each other, even if for a brief payment transition.

Sarah and the kids all gush and hug Bucky when they see him, and you stand at the side watching the interaction with a smile on your face.

Bucky has to bid you all goodbye sooner than later because another client of his arrives.

The look he gives you and that shy, slow-wave right before you leave the shop’s sight stays burned behind your eyelids all weekend as you work.

◦➳◦

had your coffee yet?

not yet hold on

okay. go

“you would not be displeased, i think. with how you look now.”

my face grew warm. but we spoke no more of it.

bucky!!!!!!!!!!

BUCKY!!!!

yeah i know lol

this whole scene is beautiful

the love?!?!? and the soft tenderness?!?!?!??!?!?

can you IMAGINE greece’s biggest hero and warrior

BLUSHING at the soft touches. i am SPEECHLESS

i ?!?!?!??!?

y/n

yes?????

how much coffee have you had

did you get any sleep??

wow would u look at the time ! i must be on my way ! have a brand new car to drive to school!

y/n. get back here

oh my god if you faint from the caffeine and the alck of sleep im gonna feel sofucking bad

please eat something

awn.

filed attached:

ah. you’re eating

good.. that’s good

i’m glad you’re liking the book, darlin

please get some sleep today tho

pretty sure i won’t have a say in it

praying i dont fall asleep while walking

say amen, buck

amen

say u wont drink any more coffee today pls

im genuinely worried for ur heart

no more caffeine today

pinky promise, sergeant!

cool

thanks, lady bullet

now

have you ever heard of anne sexton

◦➳◦

What you imagined was:

Bucky would deliver you the car, answer your final texts and after that, communication with him would slowly come to an end. The messages would get further and further in between (as it had happened with many acquaintances, potential friends and not) and that would be it.

Only polite nods and professional talks when you eventually did see each other.

What happens is:

The topic of literature steals at least two hours of sleep for the next two days, and when that changes to the current industry of entertainment, you find yourself texting even during lectures sometimes (only in the subjects where you’d covered the reading beforehand, naturally).

October ends with you getting to know Bucky and one single thought growing in your head: you had told Sarah inviting him for your birthday made no sense given how you two didn’t talk, and now all you did was that. Talk to him.

By the time the second week of November rolls around, you can’t imagine not inviting him for your day. You want him there.

You two didn’t spend the whole day talking, you were both busy adults and thankfully, Bucky wasn’t the type of person to be bothered by hours of silence and sudden subject changes. Still. You didn’t talk all day long, but you were talking almost daily.

You had to tell Sarah.

The opportunity presents itself through a picture and one of his texts.

why do we like the wilsons again?

god the dramatics

file attached: a picture of Steve leaning against the reception counter with a happy grin on his face, Sam leaning from the other side with the same expression on his face.

i wonder why 🙄 sam keeps thst old bike 🙄

sure it was a great gift from steve but 🙄

whY kEEp It 🙄

You snorted looking at the screen.

Sarah lifts her eyes from the notebook, then glances back down with the hint of a smirk on her face.

“S?” you call, typing away an answer.

“Hm?”

“Remember how I said Bucky would probably stop talking to me?” You send the answer (cause they’re nice n funny, and they’re great cooks) then look up at her. Sarah’s typing away, only the glint of curiosity on her face giving away the fact that she’s listening.

“I do, yes.”

“We’ve been talking.” When she looks up at you, you’re biting the side of your nails, smiling sheepishly behind your hand. “Friendly talking, you know. And now I wanna invite him for my birthday. It’s not too late, is it? Is it weird? I mean. He’s friends with your brother, and your brother’s kinda my friend already which is why he insists on taking over a grill for my day even though I didn’t ask, and—I could ask him, right?”

Sarah’s smile on the corner of her lips turns it into a full smirk.

“Just ask him, babe.” She looks back down at the computer, typing away again. “He’ll say yes.”

“Really?” you forcefully put both your palms on top of the books to stop taking your anxiety out on your poor fingers. “Cause you said he’s not big on parties.”

“He isn’t, yes. But mostly cause of their crowds.” Sarah shrugs. “Your party will be at Sam’s place and that’s basically one of his homes. There won’t be many people.” She looks up at you kindly. “He seems to enjoy your company if he’s still talking to you—he’ll say yes.” Her next chuckle is accompanied by a teasing smile. “Maybe I’ll even get to see some of that funny Sergeant you and Sam got to meet but I rarely ever see.”

You look down at your phone.

true but your wilson is scary in the kitchen

bucky

that’s me

are you intimidated by sarah 😏

…. maybe

she threatened to cut my balls off once

it was a misunderstanding but still

she wasn’t jk

i know she wasn’t

You have to stifle your laughter behind your hand.

“He’s intimidated by you, S.”

Sarah stops typing again. “Ah.” Her smile grows again. “Still?” She goes back to her essay with a giggle. “I’ll make sure to smile at him next time.”

“Which will be on my birthday,” you announce, deciding right there that you will muster up the courage.

Sarah looks up from her notebook and smiles at you. “Yup.” Her eyes glance towards the piece of paper that’s lying between the pages of my book. “Ugh. You already finished yours, didn’t you?” Rolling her eyes, she answers to herself before you even open your mouth. “Of course you did.”

You throw her a cheeky wink and let her go back to her own essay, keeping your phone inside your purse for the rest of your studying time.

Once Sarah finishes her own paper, you two close all your textbooks and spend the last hour of the day before Sarah picks up her kids from the other Sarah’s house — Steve’s mother — talking in hushed whispers about all the latest gossips and random things that pop up in your phones and in your heads.

Although you sounded very sure when stating to Sarah that you would invite Bucky, as soon as you’re away from her bright persona and brave, encouraging smile, the usual nasty little thoughts start creeping their heads in.

What if he doesn’t like you that much? What if he doesn’t wanna hang around your friends? Bucky can find you a weirdo for inviting him to a party after knowing him personally for so little.

You clutch the steering wheel of Bullet, trying to shame those insecurities back into a drawer, back them into a corner of your brain.

Salvation comes in the form of Hozier.

Lost in your own negative thoughts, you’d missed the beginning of the song, but the moment you notice, it’s like a surge of braveness.

You know better, babe, you know better babe than to smile at me like that…

His coy smile, barely lifting the corners of his mouth, but still managing to call the crinkles on the corner of his eyes pops up in your mind.

Before you realize what you’re doing, you’re pulling up on the side of the road and taking your phone out of your pocket.

The twilight of this particular Tuesday paints the sky in the prettiest colors. You notice that while biting the corner of your nails, listening intently to the ringing of the phone.

You lower the sound system, as Hozier continues.

I warn you, baby, each night, as sure as you’re born… You’ll hear me… howling outside of your door…

You hear the click of the sound coming through and you feel your palms start sweating a bit.

“Well, this is new.” Bucky greets you. “Hello, darlin’.”

Shit.

“Are you busy? Is this a horrible time?” There’s only so much of your anxiety you can rail in at a time. “I’m sorry I didn’t text before I called, I know you’re busy with—”

“Y/n,” he interrupts you. Bucky’s been getting better at noticing your rambles of anxiety and cutting them short, much to your pleasure (and less embarrassment). “I’m not busy, no. I mean. I’m still at the shop, but it’s just me and Steve finishing up a few things. We kinda like it here.”

There’s that breathy chuckle on the other side of the line you love so much, and you take a deep breath with the ease and calm tone of Bucky’s voice.

“So you can talk,” he concludes his thoughts. You think you can hear the sound of the wheels of Bucky’s mechanic creeper, but you could be wrong. “What’s up?”

“Well. Hozier started singing your favorite song and I ended up pulling up at the side of the road as an impulse.”

One of the tools you learned in therapy was to channel your anxiety and let your words flow—the unsaid bothered you plenty, and what if scenarios could drive you insane if you bottled things up too much.

Bucky didn’t seem to mind. Most of his chuckles and head shakes came from the things you blurt out, just like now.

“It Will Come Back is a good reason to watch the sunset.” The sound of the shop fades and changes, and you imagine Bucky walking towards the back patio for some reason. “When it isn’t cloudy I can always notice this time of the day ‘cause the whole light of the shop changes.”

“That must be pretty,” you muse.

“It is,” he answers lightly. “I don’t think you called me to watch the sunset together, though. And it definitely ain’t for that beauty you’re driving ‘cause I know I did a good job. Unless—is it her?” He adds with a worried tone right after.

It’s your time to chuckle.

The sky’s turning the loveliest shades of blue, dark orange and pink.

“Nah, Bullet’s good.”

“Oh—okay. Thank god,” he chuckles.

“Yeah.” You take a deep breath. “I did have a question.”

Bucky hums on the other side of the line. “Never heard you worried before askin’ something before.”

“Well—” you clear your throat. “It’s an invite, but I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything ‘cause from what I’ve heard, you’re not the biggest on… celebrations.”

Bucky’s silent for a second, and his next hum sounds a little confused. “Uhm… isn’t it a bit early for Christmas parties?” He tries, and his tone says he was going for a joke.

It makes you laugh. “It is, silly. But my birthday’s in a couple of weeks, so…” you trail off, then smack your teeth. “I’d like you to be there. Dunno if you heard it through the grapevine yet or not, but Sam apparently likes me enough to wanna host a barbeque for me. It’ll be me, a couple of friends from university, my younger sisters and actually a couple of teachers of mine I’m really close to, but that’s it.” You breathe again before continuing. “You could invite Steve, too, and the other boys if they’d like to come. Y’all know Sam so it could be fun for you all, too. I’d love to get a chance to talk to them. No need for presents or anything—maybe some beer? But yeah. You guys would be very much welcome.”

Very much welcome. God, why does She let you ramble?

“You’re very cute when you’re nervous, you know.” The way he states it makes it seem like not a question, and before you can pick up your heart from Bullet’s floor, he adds with a happy voice. “‘Course we’ll come. Sam had mentioned something about being busy in a couple of weeks but hadn’t said why. I just imagined he was gonna cook Steve another delicious and ridiculously nice dinner or somethin’ like that.”

“Oh.” You open the eyes you hadn’t noticed you closed. He’s coming “Yay! That makes me happy,” you giggle, holding your desire to clap at how delighted you are that Bucky not only agreed, but did so that fast.

Bucky laughs a little on the other side. “Good. I don’t mind parties where I’m wanted that much,” he jokes.

“Good. Just don’t forget some alcohol and you’ll definitely be wanted there,” you tease back.

It works—the heartwarming laugh you love so much comes through the line.

“Duly noted: I’m only wanted if I bring offerings.”

“Indeed, Sergeant.”

“Well—I’ll be there. I’ll extend the invitations, too, and I’ll text you if any of them confirms it, kay?” Bucky tells you, sounding almost as bright as you felt right now.

“Sounds wonderful.”

The sunset sky had been prettier, but for the first time, you enjoyed a conversation more than you did watching your favorite time of the day.

“See you then, darling,” he adds in a lower voice.

“See you, Sarge.”

When you two hang up, you have to sit there another moment now assimilating the fact.

Bucky will be at your party.

Oh.

Well… fuck.

ㅤㅤㅤ. series masterlist ;

ㅤㅤ. next chapter (July 11th);

ㅤ. tip me ☕

[letliv3]

LMAO I read it in a fanfiction that I can no longer remember the name of so I can't take credit for it but MAN. Cause in Greek mythology the twins are Castor and Pollux, twins conceived by two different fathers, Pollux being the son of Zeus and Castor being the son of Tyndareus, King of Sparta (ha!). When Castor dies a mortal death, Pollux begs Zeus to make him immortal and he does so by uniting them together. We know Dante and Vergil are all but invincible together, especially after the events of DMC 5.

(There are some iterations that differ in the myth of Castor and Pollux, one of which claims that Pollux begged Zeus to make Castor immortal before he died so that they could never be parted. Which. Is so Dante it kills me.

The Odyssey says that Castor and Pollux live on alternate days due to Zeus's intervention as well. Dante living his life while Vergil is stuck in Hell. Oh my god my HEART--)

We could say that the boys are two different aspects of Sparda, his love for humanity (Dante, Pollux) and his demon everything (Vergil, Castor), leaning into the two different fathers bit. Dante's also shown to have always been bugging Vergil to hang out and play and be together, which would be in line with how he just wants his brother back in the end. How Pollux wanted Castor back. Two halves of a whole, incomplete without the other.

And in Babylonian astrology, the Gemini constellation is known as The Great Twins, Lugal-irra and Meslamta-ea, a.k.a. The Mighty King and The One Who Has Arisen From The Underworld. Dante as the Mighty King and Vergil as the One Who Has Arisen. Like bro are you kidding meeeeee. They're a pair of Mesopotamian gods, and one of their roles was gatekeepers of the underworld.

It's probably not what Sparda intended, but that's what he kinda set the boys up for, if things hadn't gone to shit for them. Vergil and Dante guarding the human world from demons. But things went the way that they did, and Dante was left alone to guard the human world. A job meant for two, settled on Dante's lone shoulders. No wonder he's fuckin depressed most of the time.

These boys make me so unwell.

(Also saw your addition about Patty, and yes Patty is absolutely an astrology girly. She would never explain why it makes sense that they're Geminis. I went on this whole rant about mythology but I have a whole other rant about astrology as well that I do not have time to type out at this very moment but I will later lol.)

I feel like absolutely no one knows Dante's birthday. He never talked about it. Whenever the topic came up, he skirted around it. Never mentioned it. Honestly, he's probably not had anyone celebrate his birthday or anything since he was wee. And... that's fine? He thinks it's for the best, a gathering of people around him? A recipe for disaster.

And then Vergil comes back. Nero is tinkering with the van as Vergil is near- he can't really help, but he enjoys being around people, even without talking.

"Hey, dad?" Nero asks, not looking at Vergil as he's still looking at the engine, "When's your birthday?"

"September 2nd, why?" Vergil asks, mild. Curious.

Nero is actually stunned, for some reason. He's asked Dante a million times, but...

"... I, uh, just wanted to know."

This information catches like WILDFIRE. And when they realize they know Dante's birthday, they realize how many they've missed. Lady feels the worst about it, she's been friends with him the longest! And yes, she didn't know, but... still! And Dante bought her birthday presents. Nothing crazy, but Dante is a fantastic gift giver. It's always things that are incredibly sentimental. He doesn't do it too often, both out of money issues, and not wanting to bring up such things too often, he knows how gifts are.

For example, he once found a lovely carving of a bird on a branch in a thrift store. He bought it, and he got a single wood-whittling knife, and very, very delicately, he had chipped away at the imperfections, and- taking quite literal weeks to get it right, engraved 'Lady' on the small wooden block it was placed upon, cursive and all.

Lady still has it, and she treats it like it's made of glass. She's well aware Dante only tweaked it, but it was an amazing gift.

And he does that for everyone.

Vergil, notably, is not as good at gifts, but he is more sporadic. He doesn't understand events, but he will find things and present them often, almost like a cat bringing you a dead mouse. While it doesn't always work out, it's well intentioned. While doing a job, he finds a core of a demon that burns hot, but it does not dwindle. He packaged it carefully, and offered it to Kyrie, explaining that it would be good for the fireplace to make it easier to keep her and Nero's home warm, but also does not pose a fire hazard due to it not being a combustible, and it doesn't even get hot enough to turn metal white-hot... but it is hot enough to set wood alight pretty easily.

When September 2nd comes...

You fucking KNOW these two are going to have a birthday bash. Unwillingly of course, because Dante and Vergil have that in common, albeit for different reasons: They hate parties.

[queenofdragons12]

Chapter 5

Pairing: The Saja Boys x Divine!Reader

Summary: When divine being Y/N finds herself entangled with a group of demons posing as idols, forbidden feelings complicate an already dangerous situation. As their master threatens her life to keep them in line, the demons must choose between their supernatural bonds and the celestial being who's captured their hearts. A rooftop confession reveals the depth of their predicament, while Y/N grapples with trusting creatures she's been taught to despise.

Word Count: ~4,200 words

Warnings: Supernatural themes, demons, divine beings, mild violence mentions, sexual tension, possessive behavior, threats of death, mild language, fantasy elements, idol AU, reverse harem dynamics

Time dragged on before you spotted the Saja boys, and honestly? You felt a little salty that they wouldn't even look your way. But you didn't judge them - you had this nagging feeling that Gwi-ma was giving them absolute hell for letting themselves get tied to some random English human. If only he knew what you really were...

"Y/N," a voice called out, making you jump and spin around. It was Rumi. "Oh hey, Rumi," you said, flashing her a warm smile. She smiled back, but you noticed how she kept rubbing her arms where those intricate patterns lived under her skin. You knew exactly what that meant.

"Here," she said, pressing a blue piece of paper into your palm before disappearing without another word. You blinked, staring down at the note like it might bite you.

A sharp screech cut through the air, and you wandered out onto the balcony to investigate. Perched on the railing was this tiny bird wearing what looked like a miniature black fedora. You blinked. The bird blinked back. Then it let out another screech, and that's when you saw it - three eyes, all staring right at you.

"Okay..." you muttered, taking a step back.

A low growling from the nearby plants made you whip around. Out of the shadows prowled this massive purple tiger with tusks that could probably slice through steel and golden eyes that seemed to peer straight into your soul.

The beast hadn't taken more than a few steps before its front paw knocked into a flower pot with a loud clink. The tiger froze, staring at the pot like it had personally offended its ancestors. Then, with the most careful, delicate movements you'd ever seen from a predator, it tried to nudge the pot back into place.

You sighed and flicked your wrist, using just a touch of your magic to right the pot. "There. Now, who exactly are you two supposed to be?"

The bird chirped happily while the tiger purred and rubbed against your legs like some oversized house cat. When it opened its mouth, you saw another blue paper slip with "NEXT DATE" scrawled across it in messy handwriting.

You plucked the paper from between its fangs and sighed again. "Tell your master I'll be there, whoever the hell he is now."

The bird actually smiled - which was disturbing on multiple levels - and nodded enthusiastically. The tiger simply vanished into a swirling blue portal that opened up beneath its paws.

You rubbed your face with both hands. "What a weird fucking night."

Later that night, you found yourself at the designated spot - some rooftop garden that overlooked the neon-drenched cityscape. The air was thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and that electric buzz Seoul always carried after midnight. You weren't surprised when Jinu materialized from the shadows, his silver hair catching the moonlight like spun starlight.

"Okay, what the hell is going on now?" you hissed, your hand instinctively moving toward where your blade would normally rest. But you didn't draw it - not yet. Instead, you fixed him with a stare that could've melted steel.

"Y/N," he said, and damn if his smile wasn't still stupidly beautiful even when you wanted to throttle him. "I thought you'd want an explanation for why we've been... distant."

He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous habit you'd noticed during your brief time together. The gesture was so human it almost made you forget what he really was.

"First of all, I'm sorry. Like, really fucking sorry."

You stepped closer, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, close enough that your breath ghosted across his skin. "I'm a divine being, Jinu. I don't feel sorrow or anger the way mortals do." Your voice dropped to a whisper that carried all the weight of celestial fury. "But don't you dare lead me on, kid."

The endearment came out sharper than broken glass, and you watched him flinch. Good. You turned away from him then, facing the sprawling view of the city below - millions of lights twinkling like fallen stars, the Han River cutting through it all like a silver ribbon.

Jinu was quiet for a long moment, and when you glanced back, he looked completely lost for words. He shook his head, running a hand through that ridiculous hair of his.

"Anyway," he finally managed, his voice rough around the edges, "you know Gwi-ma. You know how he controls us." He took a shaky breath. "Well, he kinda threatened to kill you if we talked to you again without... without taking your golden soul first."

The words burst out of him like he'd been holding them back for weeks, and suddenly everything clicked into place.

You blinked at him, the city lights reflecting in your eyes like scattered diamonds. "Uh-huh. And I would let you do that... why exactly?" The question dripped with divine sarcasm as you tilted your head, studying his face for any hint of deception.

Jinu's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "He... umm, he threatened you because we, uh..." His hands fidgeted with the hem of his jacket, silver rings catching the moonlight. "Because we kinda like you."

The laugh that escaped you was sharp and bitter, echoing off the glass buildings around you. "Yeah, right." You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't fall out of your skull. "All these months in this world have taught me that demons have no feelings, and you want me to believe that you and your little boy band have feelings? For me?"

Jinu gave a sharp, desperate nod, his dark eyes pleading in the neon glow.

You sighed through your nose, the sound carrying centuries of exhaustion. "Oh, wow," you muttered in draconic, the ancient words tasting like starfire on your tongue. You shook your head, silver hair catching the breeze that carried the scent of night-blooming jasmine and car exhaust. "I'll believe it once, kid."

Leaning back against the railing, you felt the cool metal press against your spine as you studied him. The city sprawled beneath you like a circuit board, all glowing lines and pulsing energy.

"But I can't just not speak to you, you know? I'm still an idol, and we'll see each other at award shows or music programs or whatever corporate hell they drag us to." You gestured vaguely at the glittering skyline. "And I know that you and your boys can't keep your hands to yourselves - that's just how men work. Demons especially, from what I've observed."

Jinu's cheeks flushed a deep crimson that was visible even in the neon-washed darkness. "I..." he started, but a familiar low growl cut through his words like a blade through silk.

You glanced down to see that ridiculous purple tiger materializing from thin air, its three golden eyes blinking up at you with what could only be described as pure adoration. The miniature fedora-wearing bird perched on its back, preening its midnight feathers.

"Ah, hello there, you absolute disaster," you said with genuine fondness, crouching down to scratch under the tiger's chin. The beast immediately melted into a purring puddle of violet fur and deadly tusks, practically vibrating with contentment as it leaned into your touch.

Jinu blinked in stunned silence, watching the interaction with something like wonder flickering across his sharp features. "Okay... so Derpy has bonded to you then. That's... that's actually really good," he said, and when he smiled this time, it was soft around the edges - vulnerable in a way that made your chest do something weird and fluttery.

The expression transformed his entire face, turning him from dangerous demon into something almost boyish. It was, you had to admit, a devastatingly hot look on him.

You gave him a slow once-over, taking in the way the moonlight carved shadows along his jawline, how his silver hair fell across his forehead in messy waves. "Anything else you wanted to say to me, pet?" The endearment rolled off your tongue like honey laced with poison.

He flinched at the nickname, but it wasn't fear that flickered across his features - it was something darker, hungrier. His throat worked as he swallowed hard, dark eyes going wide. "I'm... I'm fine," he managed, voice rough and strained.

Before you could respond, he vanished in a swirl of shadows and starlight, leaving only the faint scent of sandalwood and something distinctly otherworldly. The tiger and bird had already disappeared, probably following their master back to whatever demon realm they called home.

You sighed, pushing yourself up from the railing and brushing imaginary dust from your clothes. "Well, that was fucking cryptic," you muttered to the empty rooftop before making your way back home through Seoul's neon-soaked streets.

When you finally made it back to your apartment, the familiar warmth of home hit you like a wave - but so did the sight of three figures sprawled across your living room like they owned the place. Rumi was curled up on your couch with a bag of honey butter chips, Zoye had claimed your favorite armchair with her legs thrown over the side, and Mira was pacing by the window like a caged panther, her dark hair whipping around her shoulders with each sharp turn.

The second you stepped through the door, all three heads snapped toward you with predatory precision.

"Where the hell have you been?" Mira demanded, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. Her arms were crossed, and that familiar crease between her brows told you she'd been spiraling into worry-mode for the past hour. Despite the harsh tone, you could see the relief flooding her features now that you were home safe.

You kicked off your shoes and let out a long, dramatic sigh, running a hand through your hair. "Out on a date, that's all." The words came out casual, like you were discussing the weather instead of dropping a conversational bomb.

The apartment went dead silent.

Zoye's bag of chips hit the floor with a loud crinkle. Rumi's mouth fell open, honey butter crumbs still clinging to her lips. Mira stopped pacing so abruptly she nearly tripped over her own feet.

"A DATE?!" Zoye shrieked, launching herself out of the chair so fast she nearly face-planted into the coffee table. "You went on a fucking DATE and didn't tell us?!"

Rumi was already scrambling off the couch, her intricate tattoos seeming to pulse with excitement under her skin. "Oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD! Who was it? Was it hot? Did you kiss? Did you—"

"Girls, please," you groaned, covering your face with both hands as their voices overlapped in a chaotic symphony of questions and demands. The exhaustion from your rooftop encounter with Jinu was starting to hit you like a freight train. "I'd rather crawl into bed and pretend this night never happened. Call me when dinner's ready, yeah?"

You started walking toward your bedroom, but you could feel their eyes burning holes into your back as you moved. The silence that followed was somehow more unnerving than their earlier explosion of questions.

"This conversation isn't over!" Mira called after you, but there was something almost fond in her threatening tone. "We're getting details later whether you like it or not!"

You just waved a hand over your shoulder without turning around, leaving them to gape at your retreating form as you disappeared into the sanctuary of your room.

Back in the penthouse, the atmosphere was thick with anticipation as the other members crowded around Jinu like vultures circling fresh prey. The sleek black leather couches formed a semicircle in their living room, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Seoul's glittering skyline. But none of them were paying attention to the view - all eyes were laser-focused on their black-haired leader who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Romance sprawled across one of the couches with that trademark smirk playing at his lips, dark eyes glinting with mischief. "So, what did she say? Did she accept that we liked her?" His voice dripped with teasing amusement as he propped his chin on his hand, studying Jinu's flustered expression.

Jinu sighed heavily, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he rubbed his elbow - a nervous habit that always gave him away. "She was pretty chill about me telling her we couldn't talk to her anymore. Then she called me some pet names and..." He trailed off, his cheeks flushing that telltale crimson that made the others lean in closer like sharks smelling blood in the water.

Baby let out a bark of laughter that echoed off the marble floors, his usually angelic features twisted into pure devilish delight. "Oh wow, who knew our fearless leader would have such a kink, huh?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, earning snickers from the others.

The teasing came fast and merciless after that - Romance making exaggerated kissing noises, Baby mimicking Jinu's flustered expression, and even quiet Mystery cracking a rare smile. Jinu melted deeper into the plush couch cushions, wishing the expensive Italian leather would just swallow him whole.

"Well, is she coming with us or not?" Mystery's voice cut through the chaos like a blade, his tone serious despite the amusement still dancing in his dark eyes. He was perched on the edge of the coffee table, elbows resting on his knees as he fixed Jinu with that intense stare that could make grown men confess their deepest secrets.

Jinu shrugged helplessly, silver rings catching the ambient lighting as he gestured vaguely. "She wasn't opposed to it, but I kinda... left before I could actually ask her that." His voice got smaller with each word, like he was admitting to some cardinal sin.

A collective groan rose from the group, the sound bouncing off the high ceilings and expensive art pieces that decorated their demon-funded lifestyle.

Mystery nodded slowly, processing the information with that calculating look he got when strategizing their next hunt. "Well, it's something."

"Something?" Abby echoed from where he was sprawled on the floor, his usually perfect hair mussed from running his hands through it in frustration. "I wanted her now!" The whine in his voice was almost petulant, like a child denied his favorite toy.

"We all did," Mystery said with that patient tone he reserved for when the others got too worked up, "but we have to be patient." His fingers drummed against his knee in a steady rhythm, the only sign of his own barely contained eagerness.

Abby pouted, his full lips jutting out in a way that would've been adorable if it wasn't coming from a literal demon. "But waiting sucks."

"Let's just hope Gwi-ma doesn't give us hell about it," Baby said matter-of-factly, his earlier playfulness evaporating like smoke. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees at the mention of their master's name.

They all sobered after that, the weight of their situation settling over them like a suffocating blanket. The penthouse suddenly felt less like a sanctuary and more like a gilded cage, all marble and gold but no real freedom. Outside, Seoul pulsed with life and possibility, but they were trapped by invisible chains that only one person could break.

If she was willing to try.

[the-child-of-fandoms]

Why Gi-hun's philosophy can be considered incorrect?

Let's start with the fact that Song Gi-hun's image at the very beginning of «The Squid Game» is bright and open. And therefore he believes in the kindness of others, not imagining how cruelly they can treat each other. But after a couple of days, he gets to a place where his principles collapse like a house of cards. Here, people are killed by other people, there is no division into «good» and «bad», everything here is devoid of humanity.

2024

Gi-hun's position is exclusively his internal perception of reality: he went through hell, lived in torment for several years, and now came to the game to close HIS gestalt. Most people do not care who dies and who survives. They play, thinking about themselves and about money, they believe that it is possible to win, even if there is a risk of losing life.

Gi-hun's philosophy is based on the desire to convince people, to prove that all these games are evil that cannot be «sponsored». His personal position is based on a misunderstanding of the opinions of others (like «how can you continue the game if they see how many people died?!»). Then what kind of faith in people can we talk about?

Just think about it, 456 has several billion won at home, which he received just like all the «o» do — by returning to the game. The rest of the players of 2024 are in a VERY desperate situation, most of them simply do not make sense to return home without money (they will be killed or die on the street). Gi-hun only needs to remember his game in 2020 to understand why everyone wants to continue. In the end, this is a balanced decision of each.

Now we are talking, rather, not about a socially important act, but about the desire to make amends for their imaginary guilt for the deaths of everyone in the 2020 game.

The rest want to play and win. It doesn't matter how: by cheating, killing, or competing fairly. Those who pressed «x» were just unlucky that «o» was more. At the same time, there is no guarantee that if they had won the vote, they would not have returned (remember the first season).

«Do you still believe in people?» — In-ho asks. The question remains unanswered. After which Gi-hun ABSOLUTELY SERIOUSLY intends to kill his opponents. This indicates great doubts in himself and the correctness of his decisions.

Only the memory of Sae-byeok says that Gi-hun is «not that kind of person». Although he is already on the edge, he is almost like that: he was on the edge both games, and both of them Sae-byeok stopped him. Maybe «not that kind of person» is she herself? Maybe Gi-hun is promoting not his own thoughts to the masses, but Sae-byeok, without fully understanding them?

And then, let me remind you that the possible murders on the part of Gi-hun in these moments are completely different! The first time, he was simply disappointed in Sang-woo, anger and a desire for revenge spoke in him. The second time, killing other players = saving both (Gi-hun and the child), which would be an ideal scenario, including for the baby (he would have someone who would definitely look after him). In the end, in order to save the child «honestly», someone will have to be killed in the game anyway. In general, justifying these two different situations with one phrase is not entirely correct, and because of this, the motives of the main character are more subject to misunderstanding.

By definition, you can't belive in all people's humanity. But not believing at all is not the right decision either. Both views of the world (Gi-hun's and In-ho's) can be called equally dubious. Both of them do not suggest even the slightest deviation from «I believe in people» / «I don't believe in people». Both the frontman and 456 can be called gray characters, although they are presented to us as antagonist and protoganist.

x -o

All these are, of course, thoughts that should not be taken as the only correct opinion. Just thinking out loud... As they say, «why not?» =)

[star-centric]

REQUEST: Maki x reader from an impressive clan, but their curse technique kinda sucks so said clan treats them like garbage

NOTE: I wanna say I’m more than halfway through my requests (I think?) and that makes me very happy 🙂‍↕️

CW: gender neutral reader, reader's family/clan sucks just as much as Maki's

“I hope you know that you’re not weak.” 

You hated the way you flinched, trying to wipe away your building tears. Your pride was hurt more than the throbbing bruise on your side, the ice pack doing nothing more than reminding you of your loss. 

“I would love it if my own clan believed that.” You shot back. You know that you shouldn’t take it out on Maki, but you were angry— angry at yourself, angry at your curse technique, angry at your so-called bloodline, angry at everything. 

You belonged to a powerful clan. While it wasn’t on the same scale as the Gojo clan, they were still a formidable force. The name held weight in the realm of sorcery. The issue wasn’t with the clan themselves.

The issue is with you. 

Where your own immediate family didn’t lack the strength or potential to carry the bloodline for years to come, you did. Your technique paled in comparison to the others, and it was obvious. They believed that you were holding them back— the sole reason they were facing scrutiny in the eyes of others. They made sure to show their disappointment daily— whether it was by their glares, their harsh words, the “training sessions”, and so on. 

You felt like the modern day Cinderella, except there was no ball to use as a temporary escape. No prince— no one— to whisk you away, granting you some sort of a happy ending. 

But you didn’t deserve it, you believed. This was your punishment for being a failure, for failing your family and dishonoring the generations that came before you. 

“You don’t need a good technique to be a good sorcerer.” 

Maki’s words broke you out of your thoughts. 

“Hell, if that was the case— I would’ve been dead or kicked out of Jujutsu High a long time ago.” 

And she was right. If it was anyone else, their words would have went one ear and out the other. But it was Maki, who’s been through the similar if not the same treatment. She couldn’t even see curses without her glasses but she didn’t let that stop her. Her strength was admirable, and she was someone that you looked up to.

You wanted to be strong, just like her— but you were at your breaking point. 

“What keeps you going— how do you not just, give up?” Your voice shook, giving away just how vulnerable you were being. But you needed an answer now, because you were reaching your wits end. 

“Because I know that they’re full of shit— both of our clans are.” 

It was crude, but the truth.

Maki called your name, fingers grabbing at your hand. She demanded your full attention with just the tone of her voice. "I've been where you are. I was at the bottom— and if I let myself stay there any longer, I would have hated myself." Her tone shifted to something softer, a side of her that you rarely get to see.

“The moment you start taking your words as truth is the moment you admit defeat.”

Maki stood up, offering a hand and a smile. “We don’t need them to become the best sorcerers, we don’t need them to live our lives— we don’t need them at all. And we can prove that to everyone. Don’t give up on me now.”

You wiped away your drying tears, taking her hand into yours and letting her pull you up.

The weapon you discarded before was soon back in your palms, a new resolve filling you as you got into your fighting stance, mirroring Maki whose smirk grew.

As you made the first blow, you realized that this was the first time in your life that you didn’t feel alone.

[friendlyfreakazoid]

I can’t really speak on the femme side of things because I’ve never actually known anyone who specifically identified as a femme lesbian, but I refer to myself as a “butch lesbian” online because I just sort of want people who interact with me to have a basic idea of who I am, but in real life I don’t really go out of my way to specifically call myself “butch” mostly because other people tend to just assume that based on my appearance without me telling them anything.

I feel like the way a lot of people recently have been acting towards the terms “butch” and “femme” is similar to the whole “gender identity” thing. It’s the idea that you need to essentially “curate” your identity to fit a certain aesthetic, rather than just exist as you are. I had always been very tomboyish growing up and as an adult that didn’t change. I have never actively tried to change myself to fit under the label of butch, I have always just existed as I am most comfortable. As I said before, in real life I don’t often refer to myself as butch, other people just tend to view me that way just as they used to view me as a “tomboy” when I was a child.

I will say that I have had some negative experiences from women I’ve dated who made assumptions about me based on my butch appearance, including multiple women expecting me to be very dominant in bed without discussing this beforehand and getting angry at me when I wasn’t comfortable doing the things they expected. I have also had experiences of women who I wasn’t dating be overtly sexual with me to the point of arguably sexually harassing me because they assumed based on my butch appearance that I would enjoy it.

There’s also the phenomenon of women who basically just want to be transmasc but have vaguely enough self awareness to know that being transmasc is cringy as hell so they just call themselves “butch” instead, but they are still very clearly acting like transmascs. Like they’ll go on testosterone and get top surgery and tell people to call them he/him or they/them, all the while insisting that they are butch lesbians because they think that saves them from being viewed as cringy. It does not. Plus there’s the phenomenon of TIMs who call themselves butch lesbians, which is just so utterly ridiculous I don’t really have any commentary on that. Because that’s just like. A normal ass man. Not even trying at all. And the trans community eats it up for some reason lmfao.

With this all said, I do still like the term. It is helpful to me to have a term that describes the specific experiences I have based on my appearance. As a woman with a buzzcut, very very hairy legs and armpits, no makeup, and who tends to wear clothing purchased in the men’s department, everyone who looks at me can tell that I am a lesbian. This has had a tremendous effect on my life. I have lived for the past 5 years in a rural, conservative state, and because of my appearance I have been physically assaulted by men, had bottles thrown at me from cars, had slurs shouted at me, been trailed my police cars for absolutely no reason at all multiple times, and had the cops called on me multiple times while just walking around my own neighborhood. All of this is directly tied to my appearance. I have known many other lesbians and bisexual women whose appearances do not immediately give away their sexualities, and they have never had any of these experiences from strangers. All of this would still affect me regardless of whether or not I personally “identify” as butch, so obviously it’s not the identity itself that causes these things, but I find the term helpful when discussing my experiences online with people who wouldn’t know what I look like.

The other reason I still like the term is because a lot of my personal heroes used it. As a kid I knew other little girls who where called tomboys, but as I got older and started nearing my teens I found that most of these other girls grew out of their tomboy phase, and I was expected to as well. It was very isolating as a kid to be the odd one out who was still acting tomboyish after reaching the age where it’s no longer cute. Every single adult in my life was constantly telling me that I’d grow out of this phase any day now and soon I’d love makeup and dresses like all the normal girls do, and it honestly terrified me. The way adults acted like it was inevitable that I’d change into a “normal” girl made me scared that I was going to completely loose who I was and become someone totally different. I didn’t want to become someone different, I wanted to stay myself. At around the age of 11 I stumbled upon Alison Bechdel’s personal blog, where she just spoke about her day to day life as a butch lesbian in her 50s, and this was completely mind blowing to me. It was proof that I could continue to exist as myself. I spent a lot of time as a pre-teen and teenager learning about and from older butch women, and it was from them that I learned that there’s no right or wrong way to be a woman. The older 50+ year old butch lesbians who I learned from, who were part of the lesbian community long before the whole “gender identity” thing, weren’t trying to act like men, or act overly masculine, they recognized themselves as their own thing. So for that reason I don’t think I could bring myself to abandon the term “butch lesbian”, even if nowadays it’s starting to gain a negative reputation.

TL;DR, I like the term butch because it’s a useful when speaking about my specific experiences as someone who is visibly a lesbian, and because many of the lesbians I learned from identified themselves with it, but I do feel like as of late people are using it more as a “gender identity” rather than simply as a descriptive word, and this is causing people to try to force themselves into rigid boxes based on gender stereotypes just like they do with their trans identities.

Also sorry for rambling like this on your post lol. If this sounds like the ravings of a crazy person it’s because it’s very late at night and I’ve been sick this week. So I do apologize for that lmao

Once again begging the lesbian community to have critical discussions on the way butch and femme have become The Categories for lesbians, and have literally just become gender man and woman But For Lesbians TM.

I’ve tried having this discussion in libfem spaces, but I’m shut down as soon as I bring up any criticism of gender, and rarely get any engagement in the first place.

Lesbians of radblr, please please let’s have discussions about this! I feel like I can’t talk about this with anyone and none of my friends irl are lesbians.

My asks and DMs are waiting, not to sound desperate but I do think this is an important discussion to be having.

[rtblack]

A Night is all I need–Chapter 28

Sir Krus invited Dean and the others into his car.The vehicle was large enough to fit everyone comfortably. Its back had no roof, so as they drove toward the hospital, it felt like they were riding in the open. The silence was heavy. Glances were exchanged, but no one spoke—until Sir Krus finally did.

“When I mentioned ghouls earlier, none of you reacted. It’s like you already knew what I meant. So—how much do you actually know?”

Jessie was the police officer—it would have made sense if he had addressed her. But instead, Sir Krus looked at Dean, expecting an answer. Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Krus’s face. He seemed to search for something. Then he exhaled and leaned back.

“To be honest, we don’t know much. Most of what we do know came from Jessie.”

Everyone turned to her. Jessie was awake, but not really present. She was lost in the memory of the police station—her jaw clenched, muscles tight, eyes dark.

Larah, seated beside her, nudged her shoulder. No response. She nudged again. Finally, Jessie blinked and returned to the moment.

“Did I miss something?” she asked.

Sir Krus nodded. “Yeah, you did. Looks like you’ve got your own demons to fight. Just make sure your anger is pointed at the enemy.”

A faint grin broke across Jessie’s face. Cracking her knuckles, she said, “You bet.”

The car stopped. The path ahead was too narrow and packed with people to drive further. They continued on foot.

Dean observed the crowd in silence, like the others.

“Why are they here?” Larah asked, tightening her grip around Hope.

The people on the roadside were alive—but barely. Some were missing legs. Others were missing all their limbs. It was hard to say whether this life was worth living.

Larah looked down, trying to avoid the sight, still waiting for an answer.

“Some fled to us. Others were found by our people,” Sir Krus replied.

Larah, facing downward, saw his fists clenched so tight blood was seeping from them.

“It was bad,” he muttered. “Really bad. We lost a lot of good people. But this—this ends now.”

He stopped and turned to Dean and the others. Larah raised her head. The group fell into silence. Krus’s mere presence pressed down on them like weight.

He repeated, louder, fiercer:

“This ends now! As long as I’m alive, I don’t care if I lose my arms or legs. They can take my eyes! I won’t stop! Until my final breath, I will devote my life to one thing—destroying my enemies!”

His eyes swept the crowd—hopeless eyes that now found a faint, flickering light.

“Are you with me? I don’t care if you’re old, a woman, a child—I’ll ask again: ARE YOU WITH ME?”

The people shouted. They cried. They let it all out. Dean and the others joined in without realizing it.

Hope stirred awake—and she didn’t cry. She laughed.

Laughter and shouting filled every broken space. Their voices shook the earth.

Sir Krus stepped closer to Dean and the others. “I saw the fight in you. Normally, you’d have to wait to get into the hospital—there’s a long line. But with me, you get priority. After that, you're heading to the base. You’ve already faced these monsters. You should be there for the briefing.

Humanity will strike back.”

Elsewhere

Dae opened his eyes. A cool breeze brushed against his face. The air was fresh. The weather was pleasant—aside from the ominous red moon hanging above.

No trees towered nearby. They had left the forest. His head rested on something… soft… bouncy…

“Wait,” Dae mumbled, sitting up. He turned—and found Rayshel grinning.

“Did my booby feel nice?”

“What the hell?! Why would you do that?”

Rayshel sat up, shrugging. “You’re gonna be my future husband, right? Might as well act like your wife.”

Dae shook his head. The whole situation was overwhelming. Then he noticed how few soldiers had survived the battle with the Five Legends.

“Damn,” he muttered. “They really did a number on us. How long was I out?”

“One day,” Rayshel replied. “You kept mumbling in your sleep. Don’t tell me you were dreaming about me?”

“Hell no. I saw some of Adam’s memories. And if we don’t stop—” He pointed toward the red moon. “Whatever that is... we’re screwed. Worse than the Five Legends.”

“I see. You saw the place where your master was. Did you see anything else?”

“Yeah. I saw why he and the other Legends turned into ghouls. That’s what these monsters are called. And the one behind it… was a soldier. A soldier named Voltra.”

overview

chapter 27

[lukatova-mami]

ik i should be proud of it as a sign of my commitment and hard work but my finger callouses are really pissing me off rn :((

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

How much longer 'til your luck runs out?

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[maturemantaspotrayals]

Vax'ildan's eyes focused on her body, admiring every inch... yes she changed that's for sure but she still was as attractive as she was back then, even more, she is now more attractive, this woman carried his children it alone makes it so beautiful for him... her body going through all of this. Without saying anything, he lowered his head pressing first kisses right between her breasts, slowly taking his time with showing her affection she deserved. His fingers gently grazing the stretch marks, fingertips gently caressing them.

He was quiet at this moment so they both could just experience each other's closeness after so long time, this moment felt very vulnerable for her after all... she had changed and so did he but his love for her never became weaker at any point, he couldn't imagine himself with other woman in his life than her. She was like oxygen for his lungs, he couldn't imagine being able to breath without her. Like the calm wave of ocean water hitting against his burning skin.

The half elf rogue's lips finally reached her stomach, pressing gently against her skin, sometimes making his kisses linger longer against it, he was in no rush of speeding things up, he just wanted to enjoy her warmth, the way of her stomach and chest raised with every breath she took... just to imagine how there was growing a life... no... lives inside of her, he felt so much regret missing that time, he should have been there.

〝 You are so strong... so beautiful... I never thought I would ever in my life experience a true love... I had only short romances most of my life... and yet I can't now imagine my life without you. I would crawl out of deepest hells to just have you in my arms.... Aisling. 〞

His kisses against her stomach resumed, moving towards the stretch marks, his arms now resting on top of the bed for support as he was now mostly focused on expressing how much he adored her in any way possible he could, he wanted her to feel loved and adored, if he would have it his way he would be worshipping her in front of the altar like the goddess she is in his eyes.

@mantaspotrayals asked :

It is hard to count already how long it had been passed since Vax'ildan was away serving the matron. Too long had passed. And it felt so strange being back alive after so many years, feeling everything against his skin once more. It felt so unreal.

He remembered what specifically he came for, oh yes... his beloved was in danger. The matron's champion rushed through the streets, as his hazel brown eyes spotted the danger his daggers instantly flew to sink deep into attacker's throats. The whole commotion took only few moments due to rogue's speed as he used his vestige. After the fight, his focus shifted towards the familiar face as he looked at her through half of his raven skull mask.

〝 Are you alright .ᐣ 〞

( Vax'ildan to Aisling )

Who would’ve guessed an outing with her kids would end up with them being dragged into a mess with gnols attacking the village. Her son rushing off to fight like his father as Aisling did her best to protect her daughter. It’s been so long since she’d fought, she’s gotten rusty.

Soon cornered she covers Elaina, protecting her from the incoming attack. But nothing hits them. She instead hears the noise of running and fighting before bodies collapsing. Eyes opening she stares wide eyed at the figure as their daughter trembles against her.

Staring up at him, he’d see she’s gotten older. Mostly some of the paling hair and just a tired look in her eyes. Her face is still as radiant as ever, hardly a wrinkle in sight, eternally young thanks to that Selkie blood. The only different thing on her is her outfit, a dress with frills obviously picked out by Vex’ahlia along with the boots.

But she holds her daughter tighter, trying to comfort her despite who’s in front of her. She just… can’t find the words. Only his name slips past her lips.

“Vax’ildan…?”

[blitzbuckz]

Why even bother with an imp like Fizzarolli when you can be with Stolas a demon royal? Just asking for a friend.

and your friend! not in a kinky way.

[exvangelical-christian-nerd]

Okay. Am I late to the party? Yes, I usually am. Is it possible I posted about this before and forgot? Also yes. My memory is terrible. I decided to reblog my previous post with this because, I feel it's all very related.

I have seen things saying Hazbin, specifically the song Poison, glamorizing. and romanticing Val and Angel's relationship. I disagree vehemently with this. The show does not romanticize it at all. Angel Dust does. Poison is from Angel's point of view. One of his coping mechanisms, as we see time and time again is romanticizing and glamorizing his situation. He does it over and over and over. In "Addict" he actually says, "This is the mantra. This is my life."

Do "Poison" and "Addict" romanticize and glamorize things a bit? Of course they do. Again, they are from Angel's POV. That is his desperate bid for sanity and survival. BUT "Poison" and "Addict" also draw the distinct comparison between reality and Angel's story that he tells himself and others. "Poison" particularly highlights that even Angel sees the truth.

"What's the worst part of this hell? I can only blame myself."

" My story is going to end with me dead from your poison."

"Poison, I'm drowning in poison. I'm filling up my glass, but it's always hollow. Full of poison. I'm sick of the poison. Wish I had something to live for tomorrow."

That's despair. Plain and simple.

"Poison" has so many layers and I personally believe it's one of the most critical parts of the show. Without Poison, "Loser Baby" is just another catchy song. "Poison" let's us into Angel's life, so we can appreciate his growth. I would say both "Addict" and "Poison" need to be watched and listened to multiple times because of all the layers. Both the visuals and the lyrics of the songs are so important.

But even separate from the songs, there are two main things that, I feel, make it evident that the narrative doesn't glamorize the abuse.

One is the reaction of the other characters. They never romanticize it. Even Vox doesn't romanticize it, and he's "on Val's side" sort of.

Secondly, Val is never portrayed as a sympathetic character. As someone with a familiarity with a variety of stories, spanning different genres, and as someone who has taken writing classes and likes to consider themselves a writer, and as someone who is a sucker for a redemption arc and a sympathetic antagonist, there are a few patterns that tend to be followed when you're trying to make a messed up character liked by the audience. To name a few:

A tragic backstory.

They're trying to turn over a new leaf.

They're simply misunderstood.

Another person (usually their love interest) can "fix" them.

Right thing for the wrong reasons.

Wrong thing for the right reasons.

A danger to everyone but their love interest.

I have not seen any of this with Val. Not once. Even Angel always does his best to protect and keep the the others away from Val. We see this starting in episode 2, long before "Poison."

TW Abuse, Particularly S3xu@l abuse, 18+

In case the tw didn't give it away this post is gonna be a bit heavy.

There are many, many portrayals of s3xu@l abuse in media. As a writer, I have characters who have suffered from it in some of my WIPs too (One of my WIPs literally has a major focus on healing from trauma/abuse). It's a serious and important topic and should be written about, so long as it is treated appropriately. Some media (I'm looking at you, Game of Thrones) has developed a notoriety for not treating the subject appropriately. And as someone who watches older TV shows and movies sometimes, I have noticed an uncomfortable amount of jokes regarding, women not being safe alone with men. Sometimes it's even written in a way that romanticizes it.

One thing I really, really appreciate about Hazbin Hotel is how it treats Angel's "relationship" with Val. First off most of the time when we see, really any kind, of abuse in the media, the victim is a woman or child. When the victim is a man, the abuse is often hardly even acknowledged as abuse, especially if that abuse is s3xu@l. Angel's abuse is not only acknowledged to be abuse, but is treated with very warranted gravity, both by the narrative and the other characters. Angel's friends don't blame him, in fact they try to show him how much they care for and support him, in their own unique ways. Even if their ways of "helping" aren't necessarily helpful (Yes, I'm talking about Cherri Bomb), they are trying. They are there for him.

Representation isn't always about demographics, sometimes it's about situations too. Stories are our guidebooks, and have been so throughout history (Look at "Aesop's Fables" or the "Child's book of Virtues"). If our stories portray something as a joke it will be treated as a joke. If our stories portray something as only happening to one demographic, we will assume it really only happens to that one demographic. If we portray something as a serious issue to be handled with gravity, that is how we'll handle it as a culture. If we want to change the world we have to change the narrative too.