#glad i had a super nice beta to help me

[navybrat817]

Sergeant Snuggles

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky wants you to get some much needed rest. Word Count: Over 1.6k Warnings: Fluff, swearing, humor, reader is tired, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and the best boyfriend, okay?). A/N: I'm tired. I want Bucky to fix my schedule. Again! ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You should’ve taken the afternoon off. You knew that. There was no reason for you to remain in the building beyond your earlier debriefing. The mission you completed was successful, but you hardly slept over the last few days because of it. Describing yourself as tired was an understatement.

But you had a tendency to stretch yourself thin at times and were stubborn, a trait Bucky both loved and fought you on.

The beautiful brunette you were lucky enough to call your boyfriend leaned over in his chair as you stifled a yawn. “That’s the fifth time you’ve done that in the last two minutes,” he whispered low enough to not draw attention.

“Glad you’re keeping count,” you whispered back, feeling his steel eyes linger on you as before he turned his focus back to Steve. At least he didn’t say he told you so after you turned down his suggestion this morning to call in.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, the stubble on his strong jawline catching your attention. He hadn’t shaved in a few days. Hardly slept either. Still looked gorgeous.

How was that fair?

“Just take a break,” he urged, tucking a strand of his long hair behind his ear. “It’ll help.”

“No, I’m fine,” you argued, picking up your drink and downing the rest of it, as if it would give you a boost. “We have a busy day. I don’t have time to use one of the pods.”

S.H.I.E.L.D. had recently built a lounge area for agents to rest and recoup during the day and between missions. Some of the pods were large enough for two people to rest comfortably together. Why not cuddle with your soldier for a short time? As nice as it sounded, you had to get through a few more hours of work.

“I love you, but you’re about two seconds away from putting your head on the table,” Bucky whispered, your heart skipping a beat. It did that whenever he professed his love for you. But you were also feeling a bit grouchy, even though he was only trying to help

“And I love you, but I’m about two seconds away from flipping this table,” you hissed before Steve cleared his throat. “Sorry,” you added sheepishly. It wasn’t his fault the mission cost you precious sleep.

The blonde’s brow furrowed. Like Bucky, he knew you pushed yourself too hard some days. You had to though. You weren't a super soldier like they were. “It’s okay,” he said before he continued.

Exhaustion veiled your normally bright and attentive gaze. The Captain had a commanding presence, yet your eyelids drooped as he kept talking. You weren’t sure if you were able to fall asleep sitting up and you didn’t want to find out. With a shake of your head, you had to try and fight the waves of drowsiness that crashed in your mind and washed over your body.

It was a losing battle. You used to laugh at memes that talked about meetings that could’ve been done in an email, but it didn’t seem so humorous now that you were living it. Why didn't you just stay home?

You jolted when your boyfriend suddenly placed his hand on your thigh and you wished you could say you blamed it on his touch. “What? What happened?” You asked. Did you fall asleep or just zone out?

“The meeting’s over,” he replied, nodding to the now empty room. You hadn’t seen anyone walk out. That wasn’t good.

“Shit.” You rubbed your temple, an ache building in your head. You’d have to apologize to Steve later because there was no way you retained anything he stated. “What time is it?”

Bucky checked his watch with a slight frown. “It’s 10:55.”

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck that.

“Yeah.” Bucky’s lip twitched in a smile when you realized you said that out loud. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck that.”

You huffed, your head cloudy again before you slumped in your chair. There was no way you’d make it through the day, as much as you wanted to try. You were useless in this condition. “Okay. I may need a nap,” you admitted.

He smiled softly as he pushed his chair back and held out his hand. “I had a feeling. That’s why I booked us one of the pods before we got here,” he said. It shouldn't have come as a surprise. He knew you better than you knew yourself. “Let's go.”

You pouted, but took his outstretched hand. “Are you sure I can't just try and suck it up?” You asked, covering your mouth with your other hand when you yawned yet again. “There’s still work to do.”

“And you're not going to finish it right this second,” he stated firmly, the drop in his voice making your throat go dry. He meant business when he used that tone. “You're going to let everyone else handle it, and they can handle it, and you are going to get some rest.”

You loved this man for putting up with and caring for you. “Yes, Sergeant, but I still don't want a nap,” you grumbled, wondering just how whiny you sounded.

He chuckled, the sound making you giggle. It was infectious. “Just twenty minutes. It’s all I'm asking for to start. You worked hard and deserve a nap,” he said, sneaking a soft kiss in when you pouted again. “If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me? Please?”

Something vulnerable flashed in his eyes before he blinked it away. Nightmares still plagued him and you discovered that he rested easier with you beside him. Your presence didn’t always chase the horrors away, but it helped. Maybe he needed this nap just as much as you did.

What kind of partner would you be if you didn't help?

“Okay, Bucko. For you,” you smiled, leaning into his side as he guided you down the hall. You’d do anything for him. “You know, my caffeine let me down,” you added.

“I know, baby.”

“It’s a betrayal. It was supposed to stimulate me,” you mumbled.

“I know, baby,” he said again, going along with your tired rambling. “But we both know I stimulate better than that ever could.”

“Yeah, you do,” you smiled. He was very good at that. “And this is a good excuse for us to cuddle.”

“As long as you get some sleep, you can have all the cuddles you want,” he promised.

A tired smile touched your lips. “I should call you Sergeant Snuggles.”

It was at that moment that Sam walked by, the smirk on his face telling you that he at least caught the nickname you just came up with. Your gaze flickered to Bucky’s profile, catching the clench in his jaw as he stared at his colleague and friend. It was a sexy look, but now wasn’t the time to think about that. And Sam, the good man he was, didn't say a word. He nodded and went on his way.

Which likely meant he pocketed the nickname to bring up at a later time.

“Sorry,” you whispered, hoping you hadn’t embarrassed him.

Fondness took over Bucky's blue eyes when he swung his gaze back toward you. “Don't be sorry. You can call me whatever you want,” he assured you, taking you into the longue.

The low light created a peaceful atmosphere and you found yourself longing for relaxation as Bucky brought you to the pod furthest in the corner. He helped you in before he climbed in beside you, his massive frame making you feel safe and warm as he held you against him. His fingers moved along your back in a slow and soothing pattern and your breathing began to match his after a minute. It made it easy for your eyes to slip shut.

You still couldn’t believe that you had someone in your life like Bucky. The man did everything in his power to put your needs first and make sure he took care of you. Not because he didn’t think you were strong or capable enough to do so yourself, but because he recognized that you didn’t have to do everything alone. That was why he was your partner.

In work, in love, and in life.

“Thanks, Bucky,” you sighed, wishing you were awake enough to say how much you appreciated him. “Sorry for whining and bitching and being stubborn.”

“You don’t need to thank me and you didn’t whine or bitch. I’ll give you stubborn though,” he said, casually tossing a leg over you before you could move away. If you asked it of him, he’d lay on top of you like a blanket. “Just get some sleep and don’t push yourself today, please. I’ll feel a lot better if you relax.”

You’d feel a lot better, too. “One more question and I will.”

He hummed as he waited for you to speak.

“What's the policy on sex in the pods?” You asked, resting a hand on his chest and feeling his heart start to race. “For future us, for the record. I love you, but we’re not trying somnophilia here today.”

He exhaled a laugh against your forehead before he kissed it, warmth spreading like a balm through your head. “I love you, too,” he whispered. Dragging his lips down to yours. “And I’m sure we can find a way to make it work, but not until you rest, okay? Need you at one hundred percent for that.”

“Yes, Sergeant Snuggles,” you replied, feeling him hold you a little tighter before you finally got some much needed sleep.

I hope this reads well. 🤣 I'm le tired. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[philliam-writes]

you are in the earth of me [01]

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Content: cot3 +1 (and kipps), canon-typical violence & horror, loss of family member (not just Lockwood), found family, touch starved Lockwood, childhood friends Kipps & Reader, childhood trauma, slow burn, rivals to lovers (if this stays a Lockwood/Reader), mature language (swearing), aged up characters (everybody's in their early 20s; Kipps is mid-20s), fem! Reader though pronouns are used sparingly and no use of y/n

Summary: “Ton—Anfonie ‘Ockwoo’.” You nod, and finally swallow your mouthful of food. “I’ve heard things about you.” Lockwood’s dark eyes slide over to Kipps for a second, glinting like a knife drawn out of its sheath. He gives you a nice, easy smile. “Only good things, I presume?” You feel your face scrunch up at the memory of Kipps’s curses, threats and very imaginative ways of what he’d do with his rapier and a very specific part of Lockwood’s body. “Yeah, uhm … things.”

Notes: [02]

Words: 5.1k

A/N: Words will never suffice how much Lockwood & Co. has carried me through some of the toughest parts of my life. To see it adapted to a show is SO EXCITING, I couldn't help but be a little self-indulgent and plan out a whole ass story for my favourite three (+ Kipps) ghost hunters. So here we go.

This could either stay a Lockwood/fem!Reader or I could easily change it into Locklyle or even freaking poly cot3 x Reader or just Locklyle depending on what people want to read. I'm fine with pretty much everything; I just want my silly little Reader joining 35 Portland Row because I am in DIRE NEED OF FOUND FAMILY AND JUST SELF-INDULGENT GHOST HUNTING

So yeah, I'm totally open to people requesting Locklyle or anything for this one, but it's still gonna be from Reader's POV and focusing on an original story with action and characters studies and personal growth. Also sorry for any mistakes, English isn't my first language and I'd be super happy if someone offered to become my beta-reader for this! Any feedback is super super appreciated!!

01: let the dead hollers hum

when i first saw you, the end was soon to bethlehem it slouched and then it must've caught a good look at you

—hozier: nfwmb

At almost two in the morning the streets should be empty of people and cars, yet you manage to nearly get hit by a night cab turning down Tredegar Road. Its ghastly horn echoes like the wail of a Banshee through the dark, disturbing the peaceful night. Across the street, a kitchen light flickers to life inside a building. A shadow moves behind the white curtains, pausing for a second to look out at the street.

Bracing against the cutting wind, you turn up your maroon trenchcoat’s collar and duck your head like a turtle trying to hide inside its shell. It would have been much colder without your gloves now that the early winter bite is coming, but it’s still very unpleasant to be outside after the sun has set. Today is a clearer night, despite the day of rain; the moon chases stray wisps of cloud across an otherwise unmarked black sky.

London turns in earlier than usual now that the nights grow longer and colder—and more dangerous as well. Just yesterday you heard two more night-watch kids have succumbed to ghost-lock down at the warehouses near Blackfriars when they got distracted trying to warm up from the freezing evening rain that had set in after eleven. They turned into easy pickings for a Drowner lurking beneath the docs—former scoundrels who ended their sorry lives in the water by drowning. They rarely make a pleasant sight with their bloated limbs and skin wrinkled so hard it is peeling off like layers of paint.

It makes you glad to feel the familiar weight of your rapier hanging from your hip holster, to know that just within short reach, everything you need to protect yourself is at your disposal. That and the salt bombs around your belt. It’s hard not to feel safe while carrying around something with ‘bomb’ in its name.

You find the meeting point you’ve been summoned to at the end of the street. The Green Goose is a two-floor building with the restaurant at the bottom and what you can only assume the storage and other facilities upstairs. All sun-blinds on the first floor are drawn shut.

Few London establishments are open during the night, and fewest of all in the dark hours before the dawn. But places like this, catering for agents or night-watch kids, are easily recognised by the additional fortification against possibly unwanted visitors. High up where the first floor meets the second, heavy mistletoe bushes run around the whole building like a gigantic garland. You imagine in summer this would be lavender blooms, plunging the whole street into their thick, sweet scent. The door and windows are laced with iron grilles, and overhung with battered ghost-lamps. A few wooden dining tables and benches remain vacated outside, left to their own until the warmth of spring returns.

After a first glance inside the premise through the grimy windows, you don’t spot your friend. How much easier this would be if you could carry a phone around, just to check if you are at the right place. Now all you have to go on is his cryptic call before your shift started this morning, and a vague sense of the kind of establishments he likes based to his tastes.

Good thing you have known him for almost a decade.

But that doesn’t really give you an idea what exactly Quill Kipps wants from you. Maybe help with a case? Or he has finally realised he has a crush on his co-worker, that lemony-smelling Kat or Kate, and now he needs advice. Not hanging out at the dead of the night would be a preferable start.

Small bells jingle when you push the door open with your shoulder, and a waft of warm air scented with grease and coffee hits your nose, bringing heat back to your face. It looks a lot smaller than from the outside, narrow and with the sitting area stretched in an L-shape around the bar and counter in the middle. Behind that a pair of slightly askew doors lead to the kitchen where you can hear a radio play.

The first row of tables line alongside the window, then disappear further into the back. In the corner, two night-watch kids sit huddled together, quietly snoring and drooling on each other’s shoulders with their meagre food spread before them. A waitress with short black hair and a chubby chin standing behind the counter looks up from a magazine, stares at you, and blows out a baby-blue bubble of gum until it pops loudly.

She raises an eyebrow.

You raise one back at her.

From the other side of the entrance, you hear Kipps calling your name. At that, the waitress gives you a single, polite nod which you answer alike, as though you are two cowboys engaged in a stand-off who don’t want to shoot each other.

Marching down the narrow aisle, you pass an occupied table and accidentally bump into it. Cutlery rattles against an empty plate. You mumble a half-hearted apology and move on, barely listening to the grumbled answer or really looking at the man clad in black sitting there. He gives of a sweet, heavy scent you can’t really place, and quickly move on.

Knowing you’d arrive in a foul mood, Kipps has already ordered your favourite midnight snack after a hard day’s work: coffee and a simple English breakfast with a fried egg, hot and greasy sausages, crispy bacon, tomatoes and mushrooms on the side.

“It better be important, Kippy,” you say in lieu of hello, manoeuvring over his lap to the unoccupied seat by the window, using elbows and knees to execute a complicated dance with him so you can squeeze into the narrow booth. He grunts and makes barely any effort to make you room. His outstretched legs take up a disproportionate amount of real estate. “I got a ten hour shift behind me and I’m desperate for my bed.”

“You certainly smell like after a ten hour shift,” he comments, wrinkling his nose. Of course he looks well kempt and neat as always with not a single ginger curl on his head out of order. But there are dark circles under his eyes as though someone put a charcoal pen to his skin, betraying his tidy appearance. His eyes flit over your face for a second, scanning it for any injuries.

You give him your best shit-eating grin and wolf down on your eggs when someone clears his throat from across the table—and that’s when you realise Kipps isn’t alone.

Nursing a cup of tea, opposite you sits a young man in a black suit, slender and tall, his short, unruly hair swept back elegantly. He watches you with mild interest, his thin lips slightly pursed, like someone would watch a flock of hungry pigeons plunge towards bread crumbs spread by tourists at Hyde Park—nothing out of order. Just another regular sight in the big city on a late afternoon stroll.

You hold his steady, dark eyes when you bite into your egg, feeling the yolk escape at the corners of your mouth and run down your chin. You didn’t even realise how much you were starving.

“Hwo’sh yor fren’, ‘Ippy?” you ask with your mouth full because you have absolutely zero shame.

Kipps swallows a groan.

“Yes, Kippy,” the young man replies with the most soothing, alluring voice you have ever heard, as though he’s eaten silk and honey for breakfast. “Why don’t you introduce us?”

Kipps makes a disapproving noise in the back of his throat. Annoyance radiates off him stronger than any other-light you have seen on apparitions. “Friend is a bit much,” he says slowly, as though he has to talk around the word ‘friend’ because it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “That’s Lockwood.” You recognise his tone. It sounds a lot as if he’s saying That’s the biggest nuisance of my life.

The effect is pretty much the same.

You nearly choke on your next bite and aim for the coffee to wash it down. When you jerk your head around to stare at Kipps in disbelief, your eyes stretch wider than the dinner plate before you. Kipps must read what’s written on your face: That’s Lockwood? Tony Lockwood you can’t shut up about? Your arch-nemesis?

Kipps rolls his eyes so hard it must give him a spectacular view of his skull. Just humour me, his expression says.

“Ton—Anfonie ‘Ockwoo’.” You nod, and finally swallow your mouthful of food. “I’ve heard things about you.”

Lockwood’s dark eyes slide over to Kipps for a second, glinting like a knife drawn out of its sheath. He gives you a nice, easy smile. “Only good things, I presume?”

You feel your face scrunch up at the memory of Kipps’s curses, threats and very imaginative ways of what he’d do with his rapier and a very specific part of Lockwood’s body. “Yeah, uhm … things.”

Lockwood seems to understand, for he doesn’t inquire further, but his smile seems to freeze a little at the corners. “And you are?”

“Kipps’s friend.” You stuff the rest of your toast into your mouth and give your name. Lockwood blinks and keeps a polite smile, and doesn’t ask even though you’re sure he didn’t understand a word you just said.

“I wasn’t aware Kipps has friends.” Lockwood’s eyes have taken on a taunting glint, and he leans forward as he speaks. “Certainly not friends at Rotwell.”

His eyes drop to the crest stitched onto the upper part of your sleeve on your trench-coat: a snarling lion holding a rapier in its front paw—the agency’s symbol—before he gives Kipps a pointed look as though that small detail would have been worth mentioning before they got up to whatever this is.

Kipps ignores him. “I called you because I need your help,” he says, sliding napkins over to you which you promptly ignore. “I need your Talent.”

You halt at that and give him a long, level look. Kipps doesn’t shy away from the weight of your gaze, and suddenly you become painfully aware of the tension surrounding them, thick enough you could cut it with your dull knife.

Slowly, you chew your sausage. “What exactly are we talking about?” you ask, voice quieter, matching Kipps’s. He’s doing that little wiggle in his seat, shifting his weight from left to right he always does when bracing for potential conflict. When he trails his eyes away from you, you follow them to Lockwood who is looking at Kipps as though seeing him for the first time.

From the pockets of his long, black coat, Lockwood pulls out a small wooden box. It would easily fit into the palm of your hand, and from where you sit you can’t see a particular design or anything on the surface. Lockwood slides the box across the table towards you, flips it over with his long, slender fingers, and opens the lid, revealing a small bronze key lying on a cushion surrounded by thin iron plates.

You stare at it for five, six seconds. Then reach out to take another big swig of your coffee. With no sugar, acidly bitter taste explodes on your tongue, just the way you like it.

“It’s a Source,” you say. “You just carry a Source around like that?”

“Exceptional observation skills,” Lockwood says with the mild tone of someone barely holding back his impatience. “I can see why you asked her to join us, Kippy.”

“I can see why Kipps wants to shove his rapier up your—”

“Trust me, I’d be the last one missing out on a chance to ridicule Lockwood,” Kipps interrupts, tapping a finger on the table in front of the box, “but Barnes wants results by tomorrow and I’d like to act like professionals for once, so can we please focus?”

Lockwood and you throw a mirror glare at Kipps that’s something along the lines of You’re one to talk. When you notice each other’s similar expressions, Lockwood quickly schools his features back to a neutral one. “It is secure inside its seal for now, but the Visitor contained in it is not particularly strong. If we’re quick, it won’t have time to come through,” he says.

You shake your head. “You’re mad. And you—” you knock your knee against Kipps’s—“what’s wrong with you for going along with this?”

“There’s just … not enough time,” Kipps says. Exhaustion seeps into his voice, strong enough to peel back layers of caution for he shares a quick glance with Lockwood and what they don’t say screams so loudly that you have to lean back and re-evaluate what you’ve known about their relationship up until now.

It seems that Kipps has missed out on filling you in on some crucial details about the past few weeks he has worked at Kensal Green Cemetery.

“Then why don’t you just tell me what this is about?” you say, looking over at Kipps sharply. “Why does Barnes need you both to work on it? Is it a Fittes job? Did Bobby get his greasy little hands on something and—”

“Actually,” Lockwood chimes in, “it is our case. Lockwood & Co. Kipps is … an associate. And we’re very short on time to solve this case. Let’s just say Kipps has a little favour to repay. We need someone who excels at Touch, and he said you are the best at it. You might be our last chance to find out more about this key.” He has switched from that arrogant drawl to a soft, melodic cadence with that maddeningly smooth voice of his. It has to be intentional—he is trying to play you like a fiddle with that charm he switched on like an industrial bulb.

“What’s there to solve? You got the Source, you sealed it. That’s all there is. This should be on its way to a furnace right now.” You fall back into your seat, eyes raking over Lockwood’s form. He doesn’t even wear a uniform for Christ’s sake. “And you call yourself an agent?”

And just like that the light goes out, the switch flicks off. Lockwood’s face is calm; the only sign of his agitation is a pulse hammering in his throat and a muscle twitching in his jaw.

Kipps shifts in his seat. “We can’t give it to Barnes yet,” he says in a quiet voice, wrenching your eyes away from the glaring contest you have engaged in with Lockwood. Kipps presses his lips into a thin line, and you can see the mental strain it takes on him to agree with something Lockwood said. His handsome face crumples as though he has bitten into a lemon. “We believe the murder of that Visitor is still out there.”

You digest that. Go in for some more food. It takes a lot more effort to swallow your bacon. “Even more reason to just leave it to Inspector Barnes and DEPRAC. Exactly why is this your responsibility?”

“Justice for the dead?” Kipps offers.

“Protecting the living?” Lockwood states nobly.

It sounds like a load of crap, but you are too sleep-deprived to bother figuring out what truly is at stake for them. Maybe another stupid bet, or whatever favour Kipps owes Lockwood from the last.

You run a hand through your hair, bobbing your leg up and down in a frantic rhythm. It isn’t your favourite thing to do, but you have always had a hard time telling Kipps no—and God knows he has done so much for you.

“You owe me,” you tell him. Kipps nods, and visibly relaxes with relief.

“Do you need me to—” he starts, sliding his hand across the seat and offering it to you. From across the table, you hear the seat’s leather creak as Lockwood leans forward to get a better look at what you are doing. It reminds you of a hound scenting blood in the air and going out on the hunt for its prey.

“No, I’m good. I’m not taking my gloves off anyway.” You don’t like using your Talent without anything to ground you, but there is something about the way Lockwood is looking at you two, hungry almost, as though he is categorizing a particular fascinating information to dissect it later and see what use he can draw from it. Best to just ignore him. Besides, without your gloves, you feel naked, vulnerable. This isn’t something for prying eyes—and Lockwood has an awfully piercing, scrutinising pair of unfathomably dark eyes you are not interested at all to get lost in.

You lean back into the seat and get comfortable first. It never works when you go in too tense because it takes more effort to peel away the wards of your consciousness. When Kipps takes the key and plays it into your open palm, you focus on its weight first—akin to a bird bone, you barely feel it through the thick fabric of your glove.

Which doesn’t mean it isn’t heavy. The energy radiating off this thing is like a physical force pushing you back into the backrest of your seat. You close your eyes and focus on the low thrum of energy—feelings and impressions wash over you in torrents, layer after layer. Your chest feels heavy. Your stomach clenches in a hard, tight knot—fear. Fear grips you in a tight, cold grip.

Something is lurking, far far back, something unfathomably dark and abysmal but you can’t get a hold od if through your gloves and as you begin to sift through the chaotic blur of emotions to find the source—so much darkness, so much death; good Lord the things people did to get their hands on—

Excitement. A lingering echo burning so bright it blinds; hope swelling after long periods of dread, like the first spring buds blooming after a cruel, cold winter. Agitation. The adrenaline-inducing last sprint towards your goal knowing there is nothing that stops you from reaching it. The smell of damp soil and coppery hijacks your senses, and then—

Pain explodes in your chest, knocking you back against a cushioned surface. Your knees slam against something hard, sending hot shots of pain up your legs. Your eyes snap open but the world spins when all the oxygen is sucked out of your lungs and warmth spreads over your chest, liquid seeps through your fingers—but how? He could not. He would never—someone is screaming, a piercing, blood-churning scream. It takes a moment to realise the scream belongs to you; the wailing is drawn out from your raw throat, but how could anybody blame you; you are dying, shot in the chest by—

Someone is calling your name. Strong hands grab your shoulders and shake you hard as though trying to tear you away from a dream, a nightmare.

“Oh God, help me. He—he shot me—please help.” You gasp, trying to stop the bleeding by pressing your trembling hands against the wound.

“You’re fine. Listen to me, you’re fine. Nobody shot you!” A familiar voice—Kipps’s voice pierces through the wailing terror inside your head. You stare up at his green eyes which are paler than usual, widened in worry. “It’s just a psychic echo. You’re safe here.”

Another forceful inhale expands your lungs. The hot pinpoint pain in your chest subsides slowly with every shaking exhale, and when you look down at your hands, there is no blood sticking to your fingers, only coffee. When you hit your knees against the table, you knocked over your cup. Now the liquid is spreading across the table in a big puddle and dripping down its edges.

Lockwood is busy wiping the table clean with the leftover napkins while wildly gesturing with his free hand to the waitress looming over your table. “Just a long night, nothing serious,” you hear him say in haste. Either she isn’t interested or doesn’t get paid enough to deal with this; she shrugs and drags herself back behind the counter. You look around the establishment, ready to apologise for your outburst, but everybody has left already.

You turn around. When your eyes meet Lockwood’s, he grins, his smile so sudden and jarring as a thunderclap. “I have never seen anyone so sensitive to Touch. That was remarkable.” He beams as though you have performed an exceptional trick at the circus.

Something about the excitement in his voice sets you off—or maybe you are just still very raw from the experience, and the aftershock of such a gruesome echo is driving you up the wall.

“Oh yeah, it is so much fun! Feeling how people get killed every time is so worth it.” You grab your fork and stab your sausage with enough force you send tomatoes flying. On second thought, you are not hungry anymore. “Why don’t I get a gun and shoot you just so you can get an idea—”

“I’ve had my own fair share, thank you,” comes Lockwood’s flippant answer and for a second you imagine leaning over the table and smothering him with his own tie.

“So he was shot.” Kipps quickly steers the conversation back to its topic before you can follow your impulse. You slump against the seat, feeling pressure around your hand. When you look down, Kipps is holding your hand tightly, grounding you. You should have let him from the start. Weakly, you squeeze back. “We knew that already—”

“He … he never expected it to end like this,” you say slowly, gazing outside the window. Only your own reflection stares back at you. “He was shot by someone he knew. There was … genuine surprise. Before the pain, I mean. He couldn’t believe he would be hurt by someone he trusted. It was so absurd, he didn’t even have time to feel betrayed. That’s how unbelievable it was.”

“So it was someone very close to the victim. Who’s someone you’d never expect to betray you?” Kipps thinks aloud.

“Friends,” Lockwood provides.

“Family,” you say, quietly.

“A lover.” Kipps takes your fork and helps himself to some leftover mushrooms from your plate. When you look at the food, your stomach churns. “We should go back to the house tomorrow and see if you missed something, Tony. Wouldn’t surprise me if you managed to gloss over some obvious evidence,” he says to Lockwood.

“Why do you believe I would be the one—”

You shut out their bickering. A fine drizzle has set in outside, leaving small rain drops on the window. The street is a blur of black and faint white light from the ghost-lamps. When you look at your own face in the window’s reflection, your own eyes stare back at you—big, scared and haunted.

It always takes some time to get back after using your talent—to slowly build up the walls and distance yourself from the echoes of someone else’s life and the brutal way it ended. Deaths like these: sudden, violent, painful are always difficult to come back from. Which is why it is so important to have someone to ground you. Kipps has known you for so long, he is well aware how the psychic hangover drags your senses through the shredder and leaves your mind and body bruised and raw like an open nerve.

He had a few years training on how to handle it thanks to your brother.

The thought of Matthew shakes you awake and shoves you into full alertness, as if ice-cold water has been dumped down the back of your neck. You feel a sharp ache in your chest as you shove the ghost of his memory out of your mind, and then raw emptiness, as if a grappling hook has yanked your heart out of your body. It is just the aftershock—the hangover from the psychic connection, you try to reason. This is no time to allow grief back into your body, your mind.

Kipps must have heard the quiet sound you made, like a wounded animal. He falls dead silent mid-sentence and whips his head towards you. An echo of recognition passes his features for a second—there and gone so quickly, you think you imagined it.

“We are done here,” he says, and reaches over to close the box’s lid with a resolute click. You didn’t even notice he has taken the key away from you and returned it inside its seal. Lockwood opens his mouth, as though ready to argue, but whatever expression your face paints, even he recognises that you have reached your limit. Without another word, he swiftly slides the box back into his pocket.

You turn away from them, feeling anger and frustration boil inside you. You don’t want them to think you are weak just because you are a little more sensitive than other agents who can use Touch.

“Want me to drop you off the dormitory?” Kipps asks, his voice intensely neutral. He is digging through his purse to pay for your food, and shoots a glare towards Lockwood to indicate that no, he will not pay for his.

The dormitory for Rotwell agents, commonly known as the Lions Den, are rows of sand-bricked two-room apartments housing most of Rotwell’s younger agents in Chelsea. Half of your monthly salary evaporates just for paying rent, but at least it is a roof over your head and only a few stops away from your workplace. There is also something about pretending to belong to the upper posh class of London, to stroll through the highly-maintained gardens and polished windows glinting like diamonds in the early morning sun. They don’t have to deal with countless sleepless nights, the psychic hangover that makes you feel as if your body is not your own, or the constant fear every shift might be the last.

Sometimes it is that moment of pretending as though you live a different life that makes a difference.

“It’s okay, I’ll just take a cab.” Because for one, Kipps lives on the other side of the city, and two, you need to be alone.

Kipps nods, but he doesn’t look happy about it. Lockwood stays silent and is completely relaxed, a paragon of serenity with alert, dark eyes.

You scoot out of the booth and follow them outside into the cold drizzle. Mist hangs in the dark streets, rendering the area nearly invisible. Kipps and Lockwood share a few quiet words. When they part, Lockwood’s coat end flaps like black wings in the dark. He turns halfway around, gives you a long, considering look over the back of his shoulder. He parts with a single, almost approving nod, then ducks his head against the biting wind and strides down the street, disappearing into the dark night.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kipps buttons the front of your trenchcoat. He is balancing on the back of his heels—an old habit when he feels bad for something and doesn’t quite know how to apologise and it would be easier to just bail from the conflict. “You still look like shit.”

You give him a weak kick to the shin. His shoulders relax. “I’ll fill you in tomorrow about how it went,” he says, jamming his hands inside his pockets. He pulls one out again and shoves a crushed candy into your hand. It’s your favourite brand and for the first time today, you feel something warm spreading in your chest.

“Wait.” Before he can turn away, you quickly catch his sleeve and make him turn around. “About that key…”

“Is there anything else?” Kipps leans forward and you have to bend your neck back to meet his eyes.

You remember when he was much smaller and you were at the same eye level. At 13 years, Kipps used to be smaller than the rest of the boys at Stroud & Co. where you started out your agent career and met. He’s had his share of playing errand boy or punching bag for the older, taller boys, until Matthew came along one day, dunked one of Kipps’s bullies into an overflowing rain barrel and got his nose broken in return.

They became best friends after that, and you in the middle. Matthew, Quill, and you. Lock, Shock, and Barrel.

Now, only two remain.

Kipps claps your shoulder, snapping you out of the memory and dispersing the picture you have conjured in your mind of him young. Today, he stands tall and broad-shouldered before you, twice in size and muscle. Nobody sane would try and mess with him.

“What’s wrong?” Kipps asks. “Where did you go in there?” He taps two fingers against his temple.

“When I was holding the key, the recent death was the strongest echo, but there was more. Like … way, way more.” You sling your arms around yourself. “Like many layers on a painting, and whatever is underneath all that … it feels evil. Really, really evil. There is a lot of death attached to that key.”

Kipps chews on this. He looks down the street to where Lockwood has vanished, his square jaw drawn tense. “I can’t say Lockwood’s stake on this, but I don’t care much about its history. It changed owners, I get it, but who would kill for something like that?”

“I don’t know.” You think back to the smell of blood, to the underlying eagerness to own that key. “But if that key is already that vile,” you say, shuddering, “then what about the thing it opens?”

“Not important to me as long as it’s not our problem.” He yawns, and taps a foot against the hard pavement to stave off the cold. “I bet it got destroyed or lost long ago. There is no way it’s still around.” Kipps runs a hand through his hair. It curls against his temple and neck in the damp mist. “Chances are high we’ll never hear anything about it ever again after this week. Case closed. Thanks for helping us. I’m sure DEPRAC can find the murderer and it’ll be just another case in the books.”

“Yeah, sure. I guess you’re right.” You barely hold back a yawn.

Kipps nudges your elbow. “I’ll catch up with you later, OK? Gotta make sure Lockwood’s the one who messed up the earlier investigation and go back to the crime scene.”

“Doing the Lord’s work,” you joke and give him a mocking salute. For the first time tonight, Kipps grins that lopsided half-grin showing part of his white teeth before he rushes off into the night after Lockwood.

For a moment, you stand still and let the drizzle engulf you. Although you have been almost sixteen hours on your feet, exhaustion has slowly trickled away, and in its stead a bone-deep anxiety has settled. Sleep. You need to sleep this off, and everything will return back to normal by tomorrow.

Heading for the main street to catch a night cab, you don’t turn around, and just like that, you miss out on the shadow unhitching itself from a wall even though the ghost-lamp flickers to life.

A/N: hmu if you want to join the taglist!

[redux-iterum]

From someone who saw a lot of it- it mostly seemed to be character assassination lmao. Not just the worldbuilding with some cats not being allowed in the nursery, but also the -flower suffix aaaand the traditional naming system.

Idk as a trans guy the worldbuilding never affected me too horribly cause… they’re cats. And the system won’t be perfect sometimes in worldbuilding. Is having a nice super inclusive world fun? Yeah it absolutely can be (and escapism Y’know?). But I’m also not the speaker for all trans men (or people) so eh.

But overall I think the biggest issue was someone didn’t like the writing, found something in it that upset them and spoke about it, and it went down the line down the line down the line until “did you know the Redux writer is transphobic? And hates anything fun??”

Now was there issues in the previous version? Yeaaaaahhh some decisions weren’t the greatest in my opinion (Sandstorm death and Raven’s planned death), but it’s also a fictional retelling of a story. I think people just forget they can… just not look at the story sometimes and read canon or make their own. It wasn’t like you were profiting off of the story then, you were just a fan of the canon and wanted to take your own spin on it.

Idk I could say more, but that’s just my two cents atm.

I'm glad you remember the events and had a more neutral opinion on it. I feel like it didn't help that, at the risk of sounding conceited, I was one of the earliest rewriters on the scene and inspired a lot of people to do the same. There's a pressure and crowd-type that comes with that level of popularity and influence that you absolutely did not want if you were writing during that era of Tumblr. It really bummed me out that a gathering of followers I didn't even really want in the first place had me hooked down in place.

Though, in an odd way, leaving the Redux behind did eventually work out for me and for the Redux itself. I'm a much better writer now than I was before, and I feel like I can do this story more justice and make it a better version of itself than it was when I was a twentyteen and hyperfocused on subversion above everything else (which led to the more problematic and stupid parts of the original fic). I have a second voice to point out problems and betas to make sure everything's okay, which I find essential for my personal growth as a creator.

[lorelune]

hey lore !!!!! I'm a big fan of your works <3 they honestly amaze me so much. i especially adore your world building it's just so ?? scrumptious ?! no seriously it's so good like i want to eat it up along with your characterization. i love how you enhance already existing world's as well as create new ones — not just world's but ways things work and intricacies within intricacies.. you provide such a clear idea that makes picturising it all so much easier and interesting

ive never written before other than some blurbs here and there on my notes app but recently hsr brainrot has been Hitting it lately and i've had way too many thoughts 💭 i was planning on maybe writing a fic.. but it requires insane amount of world building (and ik that's definitely not the right thing to start off on, as a new writer/for your first work but then again ig there is no right and wrong way to do it (?) it's more like my brain power might not support me and i’ll abandon it half way or something 🥲 haha) anyway i was wondering if you have any tips on how to worldbuild or build further on the existing ideas of certain organisations and all that sort.. there's just so many ideas haywiring and i would really love some advice if you don't mind. but no pressure !! sorry if this was too long,,

omg hello anon!! not too long at ALL hehe i'm gonna answer this below the cut hehe

first off THANK YOU 🥺!!! i appreciate your kind words so much <3 i really enjoy worldbuilding in my own writing and i'm very glad the ideas i bungle up translate well when actually in a story :'^) in my own little brainworld where i daydream, i tend to add details and layers to the original story that i do like... question if i can execute. so it is always nice to hear that they do in fact make it through 😭💓

as for advice!!

anon. so transparently. so REAL-y. if you have the brainworms for a story, even if its big and complicated and a lot to chew on it, just start!!! it is so intimidating truly but there is no better writing fuel than the muse of a story that has captured you. and!! if it does not end up finished, that is totally okay!! i have personally learned some of most valuable lessons writing while working on large pieces that ultimately ended up unfinished.

for more material advice:

when working on fic, i keep a lot of notes in a personal discord server. i have a wip channel and threads for certain fic ideas where i compile plot details, world details, fanart and inspo photos. it's super helpful!!!

one thing that helps me when i have big grand worlds in my head and i need to get them down and written is, instead of choosing to take a bite out of the whole world itself, i try to choose just a snippet or event and build around that. for example, in cicatrix, you get LOTS of lore abt calibrators and their relationship to the luofu, but plenty of what i had spinning around in my noggin didn't make it down. it wasn't relevant to the immediate story, event, or conflict, so it stayed unspoken. however, i think having really rich background going INTO writing these snippets of a larger universe helps fill things out and seem more like... lived in.

i will say. so indispensable. BETA READERS. the first few drafts of cicatrix where so ROUGH when it came to world building. i had the whole lore of calibrators and the luofu in my head, but getting it down clearly and in a way that made enough sense to an unknowing audience took a few read throughs and feedback by some lovely friends of mine. i highly recommend tracking down someone to read over your pieces and provide feedback on the things you're worried about!!!

and like... perhaps a little corny. but. believe in yourself. we are our own greatest critics, and the best attitude to cultivate toward the craft is that you can... do it. you just can. innately anon, regardless of experience, you can create the story and world you want to. bolstering a sense of confidence goes FAR esp if you end up writing a longer piece!!!

anon i got quite rambly asldkf. i hope this is in some way helpful!!! if you have any other questions, i am happy to answer!! i truly think writing immersive worlds is SO fun and engaging, and sometimes you just gotta. throw your hat in the ring. start the run and see where it takes you. i wish you such like and good tidings anon <3

[messinwitheddie]

Dib "Pretty sure that's everything you brought with you from Cali and whatever you wrote while you lived with us. Dad has literally never touched any of our bedrooms since we moved out. It's kind of sweet, but also kind of creepy."

Squee "I can't believe he didn't throw all of my old journals out. I thought about throwing them out a thousand times."

Reg "Glad you didn't now, hu?"

Squee "Sort of. I'm not sure how useful any of this will be to Dipper, but-"

Dib "I think he just wants a second opinion-- like a beta reader. He over thinks everything every step of the way."

Squee "So you recommend ME to help ghost write the fourth journal?"

Dib "It's the perfect side project for you, trust me."

Squee "Yeah, maybe. It's a lot of pressure."

Dib "Only if you psych yourself out over it. Just enjoy the experience. You owe it to yourself."

Squee "I haven't dedicated any significant time or energy into writing since high school. Back then, it was just an escape from school bullies and home bully. Mostly fanfiction and campy short horror stories."

Dib "Which were amazing, I read them. So, keep writing. Don't let the sucky people that got in your way over a decade ago stop you from doing something awesome you want to do now. I was bullied for my interests and look at me, still chasing the paranormal... when free time permits me."

Reg "You were bullied in school too?"

Dib "Yeah, big time."

Reg "By WHO?"

Dib "Pretty much everyone; other kids, teachers, your grandad on occasion, your aunt Gaz-"

Reg "Really?"

Squee "She can bully with the best of them if you push her buttons right."

Reg "Wow."

Dib "Some kids were bigger jerks than others, but I never really found a group of kids I connected with until I met the Pines twins. I rarely left my room without hearing the words "big head" directed towards me."

Reg "But you're big and strong and super science smart. Who would ever screw with you?"

Dib "I was scrawny and awkward right up until my sophomore year of high school. Being... neurodivergent didn't help my case."

Reg "That's not a reason to make fun of someone."

Squee "You're not a bully, that's why you subscribe to that logic. My suggestion, make online friends. That's the beauty of the internet."

Reg "I know technically I have friends, it's just... Is bullying something everyone goes through?"

Squee "I didn't used to think so, but the older I get and the more people I interact with, I realized the answer is yes. Bullying is a learned behavior reinforced by past bullying. Most of the time, if someone is abusing the people around them, in some way, they're being abused themselves. You can't stop bullies from roaming this earth. You can just choose not to be one."

Reg "Is that why dad's a bully now? Because he was bullied when he was a kid?"

Dib "Wait wait wait-- You think I'm a bully? Seriously?"

Reg "You have... bully-like tendencies."

Dib "NO I DON'T. "

Reg "You bully Zim."

Dib "ZIM is an imperialist megalomaniac butt weevil from space! I don't BULLY Zim, I retaliate."

Squee "You bully the interns at the lab."

Dib "Because they're idiots who can't follow directions! Being assertive and expecting my coworkers to focus and not blow anything up doesn't make me a bully."

Reg "You harass your fellow swollen eyeballs."

Dib "Don't even-- I've had to defend my theories and research from oblivious trolls and amateurs trying to pick apart my work every step of the way! Todd, man, tell the boy I'm not a bully."

Squee "You have bully-like tendencies."

Dib "..."

Squee/ Reg "..."

Dib "Okay... nice to know what my big brother and my only son really think of me."

Reg "Dad-"

Dib "No, I get it. It's cool."

Squee "Come on, man-"

*series of high pitched, static and beeping*

Dib "Holy shit, my ghost boxes are going off like crazy. At least the spirits in this house think I'm bearable to be around."

Squee " Wait, Dib, that's probably just Nny-- he'll figure it out."

Reg -sad groan-

Squee "I can't win."

[For context, because my aus are all over the place.

Dib had bought a historically haunted house upstate on an impulse with the intention of ghost hunting with Reg, father and son. However, Reg has decided to go live with his mother on the Von Verminstrasser cryptid nature reservation, virtually crushing Dib's dream.

He rents the house out to the recently married, Squee and Pepito.

Sketched these out on break and lunch throughout last week. Decided to clean them up a little earlier today.]

[elvenmother]

The Art of Crossed Wires - 5 - The Portrait Witness

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Female Reader Rating: Teen. Warnings: Swearing Chapter: 5/9 Word count: 2067

Summary: As the week comes to a close, you look forward to your date on Saturday with Marcus. Surely everything is on track now, right?

Note: This has not been beta read, so apologies for any mistakes.

Part Four | Part One | Series Masterpost

It was Friday, and after a week filled with pranks, misunderstandings, and a perhaps date, you were more than ready for the weekend ahead. The office bustled around you with activity as your co-workers focused on their tasks while chattering about weekend plans filtered through the space. The day had a slower, almost lazy feel to it as tasks were completed and the pile of files on people’s desks slowly diminished.

“So, what are you doing tomorrow? Anything fun?” You could hear two co-workers talking just behind you. Chris, an older guy in his fifties with a large round belly and an unconvincing comb-over, was chatting with Beth. Beth was a tiny woman in her sixties who, you were pretty sure, had worked for the FBI all her life.

“Oh, the usual.” Beth took a long slurp of her coffee. “Mister Pickles is in another show, so I’m gonna be super busy.”

“Wow.” You heard Chris chuckle. “Your dog’s got a better social life than me.”

“What show is Mister Pickles in Beth?” Mary wandered over, perching on the desk opposite yours. “Is it like a competition?”

“Yes.” Beth sounded very proud. “It’s a special show for smaller breeds. Last year he placed ninth, so I wanna do better this year. I have to get back to my desk, so if I don’t see you before five, have a good weekend.”

“You too.” Mary waved as Beth shuffled off. “So what about you, Chris? Up to anything fun?”

“Oh Lord, no.” Chris chuckled again. “My youngest is turning fifteen, and I promised to help her repaint her room. You?”

“Aw, that’ll be nice, though, some daddy-daughter time.” Mary smiled. “Nothing special, really. Me and my sister are gonna drive out to a friend’s for a birthday party.”

“Sounds fun.” Chris started off towards his desk. “Have a good weekend, ladies.”

You smiled politely as Chris passed your desk, glancing over to see Mary still sitting, smiling at you.

“So ‘Miss Quiet’ over there.” Mary pushed off the desk and stepped over to yours. “Anything nice planned this weekend?”

You paused for a moment, remembering the plans you had made with Marcus to go to the art gallery. “Erm, yeah. I’m going to an art gallery with a friend on Saturday. That’s all, though.”

Mary raised her eyebrows, and her smile grew. “You’re making more friends? That’s great. I know it took you a while to find your feet here, but I’m glad you’re meeting new people. So who are they? Where did you meet them?”

You weren’t sure what to say. You’d had a fantastic lunch with Marcus but still weren’t sure if it had been an actual date. On top of that, you really didn’t want to start any gossip about him in the office. After you not speaking for a few seconds, Mary frowned.

“I’m being nosy. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not that.” You lied, even though she was being incredibly nosy. “It’s just… I’m not sure if this person is just a friend or something more.”

Mary’s eyes lit up once more. “Oooh, a guy then? Could this be the certain someone Louise saw you with?” Your eyes shot up to her face, and she smiled with a nod. “Don’t worry, I won’t say a word. Some people here are terrible gossips. Don’t worry. I’ll keep them off your trail.” She winked conspiratorially and stood up. “Have a good weekend, honey.”

“You too.” You replied out of reflex as Mary returned to her own desk. Your shoulders felt tense, and your gut twisted as you went back over what you’d said.

Had you told her too much? Would she really keep it to herself? The last thing you needed was to make it weird with Marcus again. Everything had gone so well at lunch yesterday, and the two of you seemed to really make a connection. Even if it hadn’t been a date, that was still good.

But if it hadn’t been a date and suddenly everyone in the office thought you were dating, then that would be beyond awkward. Marcus would think you were some kind of weird stalker who slaps people into dating her. Fuck.

Luckily he was out of the office all day today, so no one could say anything or give him any ‘knowing’ looks. But come Monday, things could get really uncomfortable if you didn’t get ahead of this. You were meant to be meeting him tomorrow for coffee before the two of you headed to an exhibition he was excited about. You would have to have a quiet word with him then. Find out once and for if lunch had been just lunch or a date.

~~~~~

Marcus was already waiting for you as you arrived at the coffee shop early Saturday afternoon. It was a fair large branch of a big chain and usually the kind of place you tried to avoid if possible. It’s not that the coffee wasn’t good; it was just they were always so busy, and you preferred to give your money to smaller businesses wherever possible. Marcus was already seated as you pushed the front door open, and as soon as he spotted you, he immediately broke out into a big smile and gave you a small wave. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to smile back, and headed over.

“Hey.” He greeted you, standing up politely until you were also sat down. He was dressed in jeans with a simple blue t-shirt and a black leather jacket. You could already feel the heat rising in your cheeks. Damn him for looking so damn hot.

“H-hey you, M-Marcus, hi.” You managed to get out, watching as he cocked his head slightly at your strange greeting.

“Everything ok?”

“Oh yeah, sure, for sure.” You nodded, looking back at the massive queue snaking from the counter to the door. You could really use some water right now. “Just a little, erm, I just, wow, is it me, or is it really warm in here?”

Marcus narrowed his eyes a little but kept smiling. “Yeah, a little. Listen, if it’s too busy in here, we can leave. The gallery actually has a bar area where we can get coffee or water. It’s a little pricy but not too crazy.”

Bless his heart. He thought you were nervous around crowds. You wanted to curl up in a ball, as you realised, and you had to stop yourself from immediately correcting him. Instead, you guiltily gave a small nod.

“Come on.” Marcus stood up, gathering his phone off the table. “It’s not far.”

As soon as you were both outside, you started feeling slightly better. The bustle of the street on a busy Saturday afternoon distracting you from the gnawing thought that you might have misunderstood Marcus’ intentions. Ahead of you, you could already see the gallery Marcus had told you about, but all you could focus on was the man walking on your left.

“Feeling better?” Marcus looked over at you as you made your way along the sidewalk.

“Yup.” You hated this. He looked so concerned about you, not understanding that the real problem was your own overactive imagination. Stealing a sly glance at him, you watched as his smile dropped as he frowned. Clearly, he was starting to pick up on how strangely you were acting, how stiffly you were walking, or how quiet you were.

The walk to the gallery took under five minutes, but it had felt far longer by the time you followed Marcus through the doors and into the hushed space. All around you, fellow art lovers stood in pairs or small groups admiring and analysing the art on display. Turning to Marcus, you made your second attempt at a smile.

“Where do we start?”

He looked at you for a few seconds, and you could feel his eyes studying every part of your face. Finally, he gestured off to the right of the main door. “Let's start over here.”

Today was turning out to be the opposite of the time you had spent together at lunch. There the conversation had been easy and flowing. Now, as you walked around the gallery, it felt stilted and awkward. Occasionally you asked questions about the pieces, and Marcus would answer you, happily talking about composition and other things you had no idea about. But there was none of his usual spark as he spoke about the art, and more than once, you caught him chewing on his lip as he watched you out of the corner of his eye.

After an excruciating hour of blushing uncontrollably whenever Marcus spoke to you while simultaneously making awkward small talk, you found yourself in a small side room alone with Marcus. You were sure that the intimate space was meant to emphasise something about the portrait within, but all you could think was how closely Marcus was standing next to you and how neither of you had spoken for a solid twenty minutes.

“Have I done something to upset you?” Marcus broke the silence and turned fully to face you.

“No.” You answered without thinking, looking up at his face for the first time properly all day. His big brown eyes were filled with confusion and anxiety as he scanned your face for clues.

“No?” He repeated your answer, raising his eyebrows. “Then what's going on? Cos I thought you wanted to come here with me, but you’ve been acting like you’d rather be anywhere but here all day. Are you bored? We can go somewhere else. Or… or is it me?”

“Fuck.” You cursed, immediately slapping your hand over your mouth as the word slipped out. Sighing, you lowered it, shaking your head. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

“I’ve heard that line before.” Marcus folded his arms as he frowned. “And it usually doesn’t go well for me.”

“I’m sorry.” You needed to be honest. You needed to know, and if things were going to be weird at work well, then things would be weird. You were a grown-up. You’d live. “I just, I’m not sure how to act around you. And that’s my fault because I’m not sure if I’ve read too much into this.” You gestured to the two of you.

“How, how do you mean?” You watched Marcus swallow hard.

“Lunch.” The room suddenly felt far too warm; either that or you were nervous sweating. Perfect. “When we had lunch, was it a date? Like an actual date? Because, well, shit, because I treated it like it was. Which would make this our second date, I guess.”

You weren’t sure what kind of reaction you were expecting to that confession, but it sure as hell wasn’t the one you got. To your horror, Marcus visibly paled as his eyes widened. He opened his mouth to speak before shutting it abruptly.

“Shit.” Your legs felt shaky like jelly. “Did I read too much into this? Fuck. I’m so sorry. I just, shit, I really thought…”

You trailed off, hoping Marcus would speak up, but to your utter dismay, he didn’t. Instead, he just stood there staring at the floor next to your feet. His jaw looked tense, and his arms were tightly folded across his chest. You could feel the tears threatening to well up as your embarrassment started to take hold.

“I’m really sorry.” You whispered before turning to leave.

Making your way through the gallery, you fought back the tears. There would be time for crying later. At home. In private. With wine. Right now, you just needed to get out of here. You needed to get away from Marcus. Even though, as you reached the main doors, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking back. Perhaps he had followed you to talk it out.

Glancing around the space, your heart sank as you watched him slink from the area you had come from into the gallery bar. You wanted to kick yourself. What had you been thinking?

This wasn’t a rom-com. He wasn’t going to chase after you and confess his love. He thought you were a complete fucking weirdo. First, you slapped him, then you bought him his lost book, making you look like a total stalker then you imagined a date.

You needed to get home. You needed to have a cry and then start applying for new jobs.

~~

Taglist: @jxvipike, @miraclesabound, @littlemisspascal, @galaxyofmando, @pintsizemama, @athalien, @zanzann, @furiousmushroom, @ghostofaboy, @thebestrouge, @janebby

[bastardsblood]

um hi hi hi so um

i know ur like, super inundated with reqs rn but see

my friend gave me an idea for a req and!!!

would u maybe be able to write for it?

i feel like,,, it'd be hot if lucius forced himself on viktor yk?!?!?! super hot!!

I'm so sorry for such a long wait!! I hope you enjoy this imagine. It is not beta-read, so there might be many mistakes. I apologize in advance!

Characters: Lucius & Victor

Scenario: Lucius forcing himself onto Victor

Content Warnings: Dubious consent, depravity

Frustration was not a nice feeling.

It wasn't a novel feeling by any means, of course. He couldn't help but let the tendrils burn hot in his veins anytime something wasn't going his way, or whenever there was a last missing puzzle piece to a solution to a problem he's been mulling over. Still, despite his annoyance, he prided himself on the fact he'd rarely ever let his emotions get the best of him. 

Though, his frustration wasn't often focused on a single person for so long it'd become a recurring problem in his life. 

—

Victor's appearance was plain. From a man's perspective, he was the type of a person one wouldn't feel threatened around, someone who was easy to underestimate and make a lackey of. His ginger hair would look terrible when slicked back, and unruly if kept messy. His small habits ranged from mildly amusing, to outright impolite. He'd circle his lips around and leave bite marks all over a pencil that didn't even belong to him, and only offer a feeble apology in return. He'd show respect to their noble visitors anytime they'd visit Lucius' family, and then completely forget about their existence until it was convenient for him. Despite acting like a good boy, he was incorrigible in his greed and ambition. 

Lucius thought of him to be rather unsightly at first. He was an opportunistic suck-up to both him and his parents who held his cards close to his chest while acting the role of an innocent yes-man. He let others underestimate him, for appearing harmless and interesting would further him in his goals.

Yes, he was unsightly. Still, Lucius found himself intrigued. 

—

Lucius wondered whether he'd turn out to be the same way as Victor had he been born to the lower class.

Alchemy was one of the only things that made him feel alive, and no doubt he'd pursue it even if the odds were against him. Like a moth to a flame, he's certain he'd find his way to alchemy no matter what.

And so, maybe a part of him was glad to have found a kindred spirit. Victor wasn't dumb, he knew Lucius saw right through him, and yet continued with his façade of being unable to hurt even a fly nonetheless. Though, with a bad personality like Lucius', he couldn't help but provoke him here and there. 

A clever mental trap, occasional humiliation tactics and annoyingly oblivious behaviour. Victor eventually learned how to deflect each and every one of these. Lucius found it rather exhilarating and exciting; this unspoken yet mutual game of theirs. He wanted to find what would make Victor tick to the point he'd even consider rather low-brow methods. 

It wasn't anything severe at first, just a teasing touch. Lucius barely remembers what kind of excuse he came up with, it most likely had to do with just how bony Victor's hands were. He took hold of them, and circled his thumb and forefinger around each one of his digits, squeezing them as he went. 

Victor looked flabbergasted at first, until his eyes showed slight irritation after darting to look at Lucius' expression. He immediately understood it was a part of their 'game'.

Ever since then, Lucius would invade his privacy when in a particularly petty mood. Victor would never chicken out despite every fibre of his body wanting to relent and pull away. It was an easy victory for Lucius, or at least, that's how the point system in his head worked. 

He was ticking his victories until Victor cunningly adapted. While uncertainty would still occasionally flash on his face, he now leaned closer and acted oblivious to anything Lucius attempted. Once, Lucius noted with both amusement and bitterness, he repeated a suggestive sounding line that Lucius sneeringly said exactly as two servants were passing by. It was intended to make Victor's hair stand on end, and yet it backfired tenfold. 

What a difficult opponent this mischievous boy was. 

Ah, how fun it is. 

—

Lucius thought he was crossing a certain line. 

Their shenanigans continued alongside their studies and duties, and maybe they even increased in frequency. For someone as careful as Lucius, he shamefully had to admit he went overboard when it came to Victor. Still, he didn't think he did it so much it'd start circulating rumours about him. 

It was at a dinner party held by his parents' friends. Fine décor and expensive clothes were a given at these events, as only the best of the best gets presented at nights like these. The behaviour was supposed to be proper and respectful, even through the occasional playfulness. 

The nobles hosting this family knew the etiquette and rules well, all for the exception of one of their sons. 

Lucius mingled with many a person during these occasions, building up relationships and strengthening bonds with people that his parents failed to charm. In fields that his parents were lacking in, he excelled at—and surely, the noble society had gathered as much. Thus, it was a rather unpleasant encounter to hear words being spoken of him that weren't praise or the prickly comments born from envy. 

The younger nobleman had people flocking around him, listening to his every word. To say he was subtle would be an overstatement, as he'd glance at Lucius any chance he'd get as if to convict him to something. Thinking of it as curious, Lucius invited himself to the conversation as well. 

He'd eventually wish he didn't. 

—

Of all of the preposterous rumours the noble society could come up with, theories about his inclinations were not ones he thought he'd ever find himself in. 

The noblemen he's been acquainted with struggled to keep conversations with him that weren't purely small talk, acting as if just being in Lucius' presence was a transgression. Although Lucius found the situation rather hilarious, he didn't like the feeling of being rejected. These people are valuable stepping stones, and yet they're shying away from him as if he's filth. 

Victor would eventually reveal he's been in the know through the means of a lighthearted joke, most likely due to the rambling of some servants. It was a lighthearted comment, emphasised by a huff of amusement and disbelief, and Lucius merely raised his eyebrows in a silent show of exasperation. It's become an inside joke of sorts, acting in ways that'd surely serve only to exaggerate the rumours, all the while passing the comments as ridiculous blasphemy. 

And maybe, Lucius let loose a bit too much. As much as he liked putting effort into his appearance and image, doing whatever came to his mind had its own charm. From painting Victor's nails with black ink that one time he fell asleep in his room, to tickling the man with a feather after winning a game of chess. It was childish, it was improper, but it felt exciting. People's reactions eventually grow boring and stale, but with Victor and his many variables, it felt like trial and error to get a specific reaction from him that he'd want. Additionally, the ginger became irritably good at guessing what he was going to do next, and although Lucius' chest brimmed with pride at this smart boy whose ownership he unofficially held, it also made him prepare plans and games instead of sleeping peacefully. 

Still, a moment of impulsiveness was what led to Lucius seeing an expression he wasn't going to forget anytime soon. 

Victor was in a particularly giddy mood that day, a clear indicator that something was going his way a lot more easily than he would've thought. Their banter was quick and witty, their hands animated and alive as they acted the part of stereotypical noble couple's courting. Lucius thinks it was due to Victor asking about how dating worked in the noble society, with himself exaggerating the details until they started playing a bit. He remembers laughing at Victor for using a ruler as a makeshift fan, and then leaning closer towards the man so quickly that their teeth clicked together. It wasn't anything he did with intent, but once he found himself in a spot like that, his tongue slid its way up Victor's upper lip. It was merely playful behaviour, and Lucius already had a line of an innocent maiden's first kiss prepared, until it died in his throat at the sight of Victor's expression. 

Immediately, Lucius felt like he had made a mistake. It wasn't often that he felt unsure about his actions, but with Victor looking at him with wide eyes and an expression that betrayed discomfort rather than mischievousness, his smile fell and he stopped himself in his tracks. As soon as his smile disappeared, Victor's rose again, but Lucius felt little to no satisfaction from it. It was a smile he'd show to strangers, someone around whom he had to keep his guard up, and although he didn't leave, Lucius nearly wished he would've. It felt like Lucius found himself in a new, unknown territory than the one he's gotten used to. Or rather, found himself in a territory in which other people were settled in, but never him, for he was much closer to Victor than the rest. 

And maybe something bothered him about it with intensity a bit too strong for his liking. Victor was putting on the face of an unbothered man so shamelessly that it made Lucius tick. Still, if he pointed it out, he'd be acknowledging what just happened—including their 'game'. In a sense, it'd immediately count as his loss, and Lucius couldn't afford that. And so, the rest of their time together was spent without a speck of authenticity. 

Still, he could've sworn his cheeks had been a brighter colour than before. 

—

One thing that stayed constant throughout the years was that Victor followed him everywhere he went. 

With the exception of places where seeing a noble's son and their commoner neighbour would turn them into laughingstock, Victor would easily tag along despite not being invited. By some, it'd be regarded as cheeky, but by Lucius, it was merely another part of his incorrigible personality. Lucius would joke about him being his stand-in knight, or maybe a manservant in case he went shopping, ready to protect him from the dangers of the poor society. Despite the jab at his station, Victor would usually laugh it off and give a dramatic response that'd make even Lucius' eyes roll. 

Though, Victor's presence currently felt more akin to a second shadow than a companion. He'd walk in a pace deliberately slower than Lucius' and wouldn't let himself get caught in his thoughts anytime Lucius slowed down to get him right by his side. An invisible wall was built between them now, and Lucius could only mull over who had been the one to build it. Anytime they'd see an acquaintance of theirs, Victor would go back to his usual self and converse as usual, even going as far as to set up jokes for Lucius to take advantage of in order to give a witty reply. To a bystander's eye, they were the same as always. 

And that's why it annoyed Lucius. 

—

Lucius had a strange dream that night. 

Everything around him felt soft like cotton, and yet addicting as candy. The air smelled sweet enough to make him dizzy, and no matter how hard he tried, his knees always failed him whenever he tried to stand up from his luxurious bed. There were other people in the room, naked shadows of attractive people that he had seen in passing, and they mingled with one another. Despite being without company, he still felt as if he was the birthday kid of this party, as if everything they were doing was for his entertainment. 

—Care for a heart? 

An androgynous voice rang beside him. There stood a tall shadow that felt different from the rest, its clothing being similar to his own white blouse and vest. Lucius opened his mouth to ask about what it meant by that, and yet his body merely nodded. It felt less like he was in control, and more so that he was at someone's mercy. Despite the shadow not having any facial features, he could feel it confidently smile. 

The shadow extended his hand and crossed it over his chest to respectfully bow to Lucius, and the black-haired boy could only watch as the shadow's hand turned into sharp claws that he nonchalantly dug into his sternum. Lucius could hear squelching sounds coming from the inside of his chest, until a bloody heart got pulled out. Blood oozed from the shadow's wound, and yet it barely showed any signs of pain. Rather, the shadow loomed over Lucius and almost teasingly pushed him by his shoulder until his back was fully placed on the bed. Then, after a soft caress to his cheek, the irregularly beating organ was forced into his mouth. 

It seemed to melt in his mouth, a fleshy sensation being replaced with fluid. It travelled down his throat and into his belly, where he felt himself connecting with the shadow. Despite the peculiar situation, he felt strangely sated and excited for something. He wasn't sure for what—until the shadow hummed with glee. 

The shadow's appearance turned more human with each passing second, the black that was covering it until now being washed down like mud. The part of the shadow that he swallowed sounded like it was singing his praises for accepting him, for wanting to see the true self of the dark husk it was before. It drummed in his veins with anticipation, for he was becoming one with the one longed for. 

The shadow's features became clearer, and Lucius could see half of someone's smile. It looked precious, and Lucius couldn't help but smile back. He felt himself being pulled closer to the shadow, and he closed his eyes in contentment. He felt sticky liquid run down his clothes, but not a single part of him minded when his heart was beating for the two of them so beautifully. The shadow kissed his ear, and Lucius stifled a laugh at the tickling sensation. 

Pulling away from the embrace, his smile faded when he caught sight of red hair. 

—

Whatever Victor was doing to him, he hated it. 

He'd reel him back in exactly as Lucius was starting to accept the wedge in their relationship, and then pull back right away when Lucius began to stabilise himself. Was it still a part of the game, or was Victor merely tormenting Lucius for the fun of it? If this was some sick idea born from the want to have them on equal footing, Lucius would sneer and say he was overdoing it. Lucius didn't see anyone as his proper equal, but Victor was the closest thing to it. 

Victor wasn't a pet. Victor wasn't a servant. Victor wasn't some entertainment to him like he was to his parents. Victor was a… Friend, as strange as it was to call somebody that and mean it genuinely. 

But, Lucius was beginning to think he wanted him to be more. 

—

Their conversation was the same as always. 

Victor traced the edges of a rare gem while he only half-listened to what Lucius was saying, while Lucius was filtering through pages and pages of useless information in the books he's been handed. They joked and they theorised, despite the awkward air still making itself present here and then. 

Despite that, Victor never broke the occasional silence with questions of why the door was locked. 

Lucius' chest swelled with a small sense of pride at that. Victor was equally as adamant as him when it came to this game, a sore loser through and through. He'd back off when at a disadvantage, and strike back when his opponent was unsuspecting; a nice strategy that Lucius never grew tired of despite his occasional anger. Victor's presence was like honey; sweet and relaxing at first sight, but troublesome when you realise you've latched yourself onto him and can't pry yourself away. In a way, wasn't this all Victor's fault? With a good heart and clear conscience, he made people feel comfortable around him and confide in him, but only so he'd secure himself favours. Maybe Lucius was like a jackpot to him, and so he stuck around long enough to make even a tougher target such as himself get soft. 

Still, Lucius was as ruthless as ever when it came to competition. 

Victor was at a point where he could school his expression into a neutral one despite the occasional touches. He didn't react to Lucius trailing his finger around his earlobe, nor did he speak up when Lucius' hand started pulling down at the collar of his sweater to reveal his collarbone. His eyes remained pointed forward, stubbornly refusing to grant Lucius a reaction. Maybe if he had slapped Lucius' hand away when he flinched at the contact of his knuckles against his bare stomach, Lucius wouldn't have gotten greedy. 

Lucius continued the pointless conversation, and Victor replied in kind. He was quieter than usual, which could easily be chalked up to not wanting to let out an embarrassing sound. His sweater was rolled up on the floor by now, and his unbuttoned shirt didn't hide much by this point. His fists would clench harder with each pump of Lucius' hand around his cock, and yet the man would still refuse to acknowledge the situation beyond that. Lucius' other arm was slung over the ginger's shoulders, his body so close to him that his hand could reach to grope his chest. Still, even as his finger kneaded his nipple, Victor would still only look at his reflection in the glass-like gem. 

The room started to smell of perspiration and the emphasised scent of Victor, and maybe Lucius enjoyed it just a little bit. His own breathing became somewhat laboured, and his words held a sultry tone he hadn't heard himself use before. This was wrong, and Lucius scoffingly thought to himself that he didn't care anymore. Victor occupied too much of his brain to care about morality or about what's 'right'. Just as Victor was using him, he'd use him back and take everything he wanted, for Lucius was equally as gluttonous as him. 

The pink that went from his cheeks to his ears, the teeth that bit into his own lip to keep himself silent, the fluttering eyelashes, the squeezing of his thighs—it was all so novel, all so mesmerising. 

Lucius wanted to see more, and more, and more.

—

When he finally climaxed, Lucius couldn't really see his eyes. 

He didn't push Lucius away, nor did he pull him closer. He merely waited for Lucius to get his fill of him and retract his hand back to his side. Then, after a couple of shaky, unsure breaths, he quietly asked where the keys were. 

Lucius handed them over to him without protest, a hint of a grin on his face. He bid him a goodnight, even as the older man struggled to get clothed through his shaking body. 

Despite everything that's happened, Victor still stopped by the doorstep. He didn't face Lucius, almost as if he'd crumble if he did, and merely wished him goodnight back. 

Lucius smiled. 

Neither of them acknowledged the game today either. 

[indigothemuse]

Lemongrass Tea and Other Small Things

hi!! here's my KOTLC secret santa!! for @novaliae!! thank you so much to @song-tam for hosting this event!! it was super fun and i hope everyone else had a good time!

you can read it here on my ao3!

oh my god, and, of course, thank you so so much to @wonder-womans-ex for being a FANTASTIC beta, and the reason why it's coherent (im so sorry i forgot to mention you the first time around)

Being part of the group to create the Black Swan felt natural. Tiergan had never felt as though he turned his back on the rest of the elves. Weren’t they trying to create a better world for themselves? He sighed. He’d never imagined that this would be the outcome. Prentice had been lost for so long, so to only now get him back…

But only to get him back, memories almost lost. And…Cyrah. Tiergan had loved Cyrah, and her death had almost broken him completely after Prentice called Swan Song and his mind breaking.

Prentice was slowly coming back. It was a process, he had to remind himself. Losing your mind and then regaining it was practically unheard of. (Never mind Alden.) And Sophie…he felt grief for her. She had lost her childhood, turned into a soldier by not only circumstance, but by them. By him.

“I can hear you brooding. You can’t solve anything by being miserable.” Prentice leaned against the railing beside him, holding out a mug of tea. At Tiergan’s look, he smiled softly. “Lemongrass. You used to drink it when your anxiety got worse.”

Tiergan’s mouth felt dry. He hadn’t drunk lemongrass tea (or mint—Prentice’s preference) since the mind break. It tasted like home. By his smile, Prentice knew it.

“Thank you, even if you’re going to act insufferable about it.”

“Me? Insufferable? Never!”

“Mhm.”

Tiergan broke first, laughing into his cup. Prentice grinned. He took another sip of tea. It tasted, well…like lemon. But it reminded him of home, of sitting in Cyrah and Prentice’s home, of playing with a young Wylie. Prentice smiled at him, and the two stood in silence.

The silence breaks, just a few minutes later as Wylie, Linh, and Tam come home. They look happy, and Tiergan greets them warmly. He’s glad that they’re happy.

Linh is beaming, teasing Tam about something. His son The boy is blushing furiously, much to her delight. There’s water droplets hovering around her, a sure sign of her joy.

Wylie has such a fond look on his face, and Tiergan wishes, oh so desperately, that he could preserve this moment, forever. Prentice is laughing at something Tam said, face transformed by joy. He’s so alive.

He takes a sip of his tea, relaxing into the comfort it gives. And he watches, surrounded by his family.

Tiergan is going into his final year of regular Foxfire, before the elite levels, surrounded by his family. Prentice is draped across his lap, feet in Cyrah’s. Livvy is there too, all on the floor of Cyrah’s room.

They’re dressed in finery, preparing for her Winnowing Gala. Her hair is pulled back in an elaborate updo, gold threaded through the red strands. She’s beautiful, he thinks, and reaches across to squeeze her hand. She gifts him with a bright smile, eyes twinkling.

“Cy, hold still. You’re going to make me mess up!” Livvy has a makeup brush clutched in her hand, dipped in fine gold powder.

“Liv, it doesn’t matter—”

“It matters to me, hold on.” Tongue poking out, she dusts the gold across her eyelids.

Prentice sighs, leaning back against him. “I think I could just fall asleep like this.”

“Do it.”

A soft laugh. “I need to finish getting ready too.”

“Mm. You look fine.” He punctuates this with a soft kiss to his cheek. He smiles, clearly pleased.

“You smell like lemongrass. Did you get perfume?”

“Mhm. Kesler.”

“Nice. Maybe I should ask him for some.”

“What? For your boring tea?”

Prentice twists, a look of pretend outrage. “Hey! Excuse you, I have great taste!”

Tiergan can’t help the fond smile. “Sure, love.”

He scrunches his nose. Cyrah, done, moves closer, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

“Gross,” Livvy calls, clearly unbothered.

“The polycule is open for you! As we’ve said many times!”

“I’m good. Now, finish getting ready so we can go wow everyone with our hot gayness.”

Tiergan snorts and lets Prentice pull him to his feet. “Okay, I’m thinking of eyeliner.”

“Are we trying to give Cy’s parents a heart attack?”

“Mhm! It’ll be fun, baby!”

“I agree. Can you imagine Mom’s look?” She presses a kiss to his cheek.

He rolls his eyes, but leans against her for a moment.

“Right!” Livvy claps her hands a few minutes later, resplendent in a bright red dress, gold beads in her hair. “We ready?”

“Yep!” Prentice has a gold bracelet on, matching Tiergan and Cyrah. The three of them look like a set, and makes something inside him warm. They’re both beautiful, each positively striking in their splendor. (He could look at them forever, and never grow bored.)

Tiergan and Prentice take one of her arms, and together they walk down the stairs into a dazzling ballroom. It’s filled with young men, all vying for her attention. She graces them with one last smile, before sweeping into the crowd. Tiergan dances with Livvy, and then Soheila, Cyrah’s younger sister. They talk amicably, before the song ends, and he’s left alone.

He spends two dances leaning against the wall, watching his friends. Cyrah is a sight to see on the dance floor, her blue dress easily more magnificent than anyone else's. It makes sense, seeing as she’s the star of the night. Still, she’s beautiful in her element, a specter of powder blue and gold and shining red. I love you, he will say that night, later, when all three of them are in comfortable clothes and her makeup is gone and her hair is down, and he will find her just as beautiful.

Prentice too, is alluring. He’s in dark blue pajamas, lounging back on her bed, eyes closed. Maybe he is foolish, he thinks, but he kisses his forehead anyway, pulling a blanket over him. I love you, he has whispered over and over, and it’s never felt as true as it does right now.

He hasn’t said I love you since Cyrah died. It’s as though his heart has closed off, unwilling to let anyone near. But this is Prentice, he reminds himself, as they sit on the couch. His feet are back in Tiergan’s lap, as they so often were Before. His hands are holding a book, balancing it upon his legs. Prentice is drinking a cup of tea, eyes almost shut. He laughs a little at that. Some things don’t change. He had always been an early sleeper, the first to fall asleep anywhere. He keeps reading, only reaching over to take the cup away to place on the low table.

“I love you,” Tiergan breathes, oh-so-quietly, hoping Prentice hears but also wishing desperately that he doesn’t.

He wakes up the next morning underneath a blanket and resting against him. He’s warm. It’s like being a student all over again—falling asleep on sofas together, waking up late for class.

He’s not quite sure what woke him up until he hears the kids frantically whispering.

“I said to be quiet! Not to bump into anything!”

“I didn’t do it intentionally!” Linh whispers back to him, and he can practically see the twins locked in their quiet debate.

Wylie laughs quietly. “I’m sure they’re still asleep. Dad can sleep through anything, and I’m pretty sure Tiergan can too. Trust me, we could set off alarms and they’d sleep through the night.”

He’s not…wrong, exactly. Cyrah had been the early riser of the three, and she would wake them up in the morning. Tiergan would be content to sleep through the day, but he has to teach.

Oh no. He has to teach; he has a job. But he’s warm…hm. Would Leto care if he called in sick? Wait, no, he has a meeting with Sophie. Hmm.

He waits for a few minutes until the kids leave, and carefully moves off of Prentice, fixing the blanket. Tiergan can’t resist, and presses a light kiss to his forehead. “Sleep well, love.” I love you. He goes to get ready for the day, leaving a short while later, brushing his hair back into a bun.

With a quick, “Foxfire!” he arrives on the campus, giving a quick greeting to some of the prodigies. At least he gets to skip orientation. In his office, he sits down, pulling out a folder.

He has to prepare for his first prodigy—a level 4 student named Sage Keyston. They’re working on better mental concentration, especially when it comes to transmitting.

It’s a good lesson, and Sage makes a lot of progress.

“Good job today, Sage. I’d recommend practicing with someone else too. If you’d like, I can send you a list.”

“Sure! That sounds awesome! Thanks, Tiergan!” Sage gives a cheerful wave and flounces out, going to their next class.

He only has a few moments before Sophie’s coming inside, giving him a nervous smile. Her hair’s been braided with small flowers, possibly courtesy of Biana. “Hey, Tiergan.”

“Sophie. Do you need something?” She’s not scheduled to come in until later, close to the end of the day.

“I had a question. It’s, uh, a little personal though.”

“Okay…why don’t you sit down? I have some tea, if you’d like it.” She’s trembling slightly, he notes as she sits down.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Sophie is devoutly staring at her hands, and he turns to give her some privacy. He doesn’t have lemongrass here, but he does have rose tea. While he makes them each a cup, she starts talking. “I… being queer isn’t really accepted here, is it?”

Tiergan flinches, almost splashing himself. “Er, not really. Most younger elves are more accepting, but you know how traditional older elves can be.”

“Yeah.”

“Can I ask what brought this on?” He hands her the cup, and she hugs it to herself.

“It’s uh. I think I like Biana.”

“Ah. Any reason why you came to me?”

She peers at him from underneath her bangs. “You’re the only adult who wouldn’t be weird about this, or strange for me to talk to, especially without anyone listening.”

He nods, taking a seat. “I see. Well, I’m happy to help, if I can. As I said, most of the older elves aren’t quite as approving since it’s a “bad match”. However, I don’t care. It doesn’t bother me. Hell, I don’t think it even could.” He gives a soft smile, glancing at the photograph on his desk. It’s from when they graduated—the three of them, all smiling and pleased. Sophie is still clutching at the cup desperately, and he aches. He knows.

“I just…I know it’s natural, and normal, and perfectly fine. But that was back in the Forbidden Cities, with humans. And here…everything is so focused on getting a good match that even the idea of a bad match…”

“It was hard. But, Sophie, it gets better. Trust me on this one. It might hurt, and it might be difficult, but it’s worth it.”

And really, it is, isn’t it? He’s…he’s happy now. She smiles tentatively at him, and drinks some of the tea.

“Thanks, Tiergan. I think I’m gonna go to my next class. Can you write me a note?” “Of course, Sophie. Good luck.” He writes out a quick tardy pass and hands it to her. She grins, and leaves.

And there he is. Back in his office, on his own. He drains his tea, and glances down at his imparter.

Prentice: Tiergan, how important was the red vase to you?

Tiergan: What did you do.

Prentice: Absolutely nothing, I’m a perfect angel and you know it

Tiergan: Mhmm, sure. And to answer your question: No, I don’t care about the red vase. Please sweep up the glass so no one gets hurt.

Prentice: Sure thing! Have fun at work, love

His face warms, and he taps out a quick reply. I love you. He doesn’t send that, but the thought lingers throughout the day.

He goes home, bearing a message from the kids. Prentice is waiting for him on the sofa, reaching out to pull him into a hug.

“Good evening. How was work?”

“Not too bad. Sage made a lot of progress.”

“That’s excellent! I’m glad they’re improving.”

“Mhm. Also, the kids said they were going to go to Havenfield.”

“Sounds fun.” Tiergan adjusts to sit sideways on his lap, leaning his head against his shoulder. “Hi.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing important, love. Do you want me to read outloud?”

“Mhm.”

“Alright. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

This time, it doesn’t have to just be in his thoughts. This time, he says it, soft as it may have been.

And so, the night draws to a close: the two tucked away in their own little world, reading. And he’s happy.

I love you.

--------------------

And that's that! thank you so much for reading, and i hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

[iboatedhere]

Hi! So I have a random question about writing but no pressure to respond at all. I started reading your stuff as soon as I joined the LS fandom earlier this year. I am a big fan of your writing and how you can create a whole universe through one short prompt. This last month has been so awesome, thanks for everything you're doing to make the wait for Lone Star a little less hellish. Saving my life tbh. 😂 🙂

I have written a bit in some of my past fandoms and with the new season coming, I have been thinking of writing some stuff for Lone Star. I've never used a beta before, and since I'm sort of new to the fandom, I thought it might be good to find one if I decide to try writing for Lone Star. It sounds like you use a beta from time to time. I was wondering like, have you always had one? How does it work, is it just you tell them what you want them to look over and they comment? I did some googling and it sounds like what they do varies. Do you think it makes a big difference or is it just a nice extra thing to have? Is it hard to get feedback, like have you ever gotten negative feedback? That seems like the scariest part lol.

I still don't know how I'd find one, but just curious about how it works and how it helps, especially for a writer who writes as much as you do. Sorry this is kinda long, so no worries if you can't answer. Just asking around to some writers in the fandom who have mentioned using a beta before. Thanks so much in advance for any feedback!

Hello!

I didn't always have a beta, especially not when I was starting out and imo---you can tell. But that's okay! I mean, we all do this shit for free and for fun and as long as 80% of the words are in the correct order and 70% of those words are spelled correctly it's fine!

(If you ever sign up for a writing challenge or a big bang or something like that, they might require a beta and if that's the case I've found that if you don't have one, they'll assign one for you.)

I started to use a beta on a regular basis in the last fandom that I was in and found that it really helped a lot especially since I am not a proofreader and I never have been. Even when I was in school I would finish a paper and call it a day because I was not rereading that shit.

When you get into a new fandom is always kinda scary because maybe you don't have any friends there and it's super intimidating especially if the show has been going for a bit and everyone is kinda paired off into a groups and finding someone to read your work can be hard. I actually don't know how Sonia became my beta but I literally thank god that she did because she makes all my stuff so much better. She reads for grammar, spelling, structure--she'll tweak stuff that isn't working and switch stuff around so it sounds better. When I write, I basically just word vomit into a doc and she sorts it all out for me. I love it and I need it.

SO, basically, a beta will do whatever you need them to do, but they will only do what they want to do. I lucked out with Sonia because she does it all and she's a wizard but there are betas out there that only read for spelling or grammar (which is fine because they are also doing this for free and for fun). I will literally end a fic midsentence and be like "I don't know what's happening help" and she will help me. So for me, I definitely need one and I need it to be Sonia.

So, I would definitely suggest getting a beta, for at least grammar and stuff because I honestly cannot be bothered with that. You can tell when you read stuff that I just whip out there (codas written the day after an ep airs) without it being betaread.

Feedback:

For me, I absolutely sweated every single second after I hit post on that first LS fic. I was terrified that no one would read it or no one would like it and as a writer you want your stuff to be read and liked! But it all worked out, and now I'm really glad I took the plunge.

Negative feedback: I literally just got some the other day and you just have to tell them to go fuck themselves, honestly, and let it roll off your back. Again, we're all doing this for free and for fun and unless you specifically ask for criticism, they should not be giving it. Tag your stuff to the best of your abilities, leave an author's note at the end if you feel like something might get dicey, but beyond that, they know where the back button it.

[badbitch-bookclub]

Week 4 Thoughts on Lost Gods by Gerald Brom

Chapter 66 - Prologue

Britney Smears: So must admit, the middle of the book dragged a bit for me but the ending made it worth it.

Hell No Kitty: I had similar feelings!

Bomb Weasley: What did everyone think of the last section?

Thot Pocket: Very beautiful. I almost cried at the end.

Bomb Weasley: I kinda wished they all died so they could be together in the after life. Also, on a total jerk of a point, isn’t it ironic that her family thought he was terrible and would ruin her life and then he kinda did?

Britney Smears: Truly, poor Trish. He did!!! I’m so happy for Chet and baby though. Trish is truly the one I feel bad for.

Bomb Weasley: It was a little dark for him to have to kill the body of his baby.

Britney Smears: Oh definitely.

Thot Pocket: I feel so fucking bad for all of them. So awful.

Hell No Kitty: I didn't even think about that, but he really did ruin her life.

Thot Pocket: Ana got the best ending imo.

Hell No Kitty: Her ending made me so happy.

Bomb Weasley: I loved that for her, too. And the Joshua in the epilogue, that made me almost tear up.

Thot Pocket: When she was thinking of drowning herself was so beautiful and the words Mary shared with her were the best in the whole book. I’m so glad Joshua got his mama 😭

Bomb Weasley: I was a little confused, could he have found her the whole time? The angel lied about about the key so I assumed he lied to him as well about leaving.

Thot Pocket: Fuck Senoy. Yep. Senoy is a selfish piece of shit and deserved worse than he got.

Britney Smears: I was so mad finding out Senoy kept him from his mom the whole time!

Bomb Weasley: Joshua and the rabbit need a vengeance side story.

Britney Smears: Also a big fan of Gavin. Him and Chet were badasses in the end.

Thot Pocket: Loved how that all played out with them working together. I was right about that, just wrong against who.

Britney Smears: Right! Didn’t you think they’d team up against coach or something?

Thot Pocket: Yep yep!

Bomb Weasley: I did like his change of character it was an interesting story.

Hell No Kitty: I feel like Chet meeting Gavin made him more of a badass.

Thot Pocket: He went from beta to SIGMA MALE. Can I say the thing that is just glaring weird to me is Jerome. Why would he help Lamia and where does bro come from? He just randomly manifests. I thought it was going to turn out Jerome was Senoy or something.

Britney Smears: True!! He was never explained.

Hell No Kitty: I really wanted to get hell in this book. They talked about it so much.

Britney Smears: Right!! They tied it back to the burning man nicely but what about hell lol.

Thot Pocket: Burning man was underwhelming on top of it.

Bomb Weasley: I felt the same.

Thot Pocket: I was hoping for some Dante Inferno the game with a demon battle and escape from hell.

Bomb Weasley: I wish he had to answer for the murder more.

Thot Pocket: Yeah I thought he was going to be running from Hell hounds the whole time, but then they just put a spell over it and it doesn’t matter the rest of the time.

Hell No Kitty: I feel like there was a few things like this in the book where they touched on stuff, could've gone deeper, but didn't to move the story along. Like the games.

Bomb Weasley: I hated that! But it would have been a super long book if he gave more background.

Thot Pocket: I think it should’ve been a series.

Bomb Weasley: That would have been fantastic.

Britney Smears: What was the purpose of the games to the plot again?

Thot Pocket: To honor the gods’ greatest warriors and excite their disciples.

Britney Smears: Oookay n Chet won, no longer a slave and that enabled him to do something after.

Thot Pocket: Yep yep! It gained him the good graces of Veles too.

Hell No Kitty: Oh man, I would love a book about the games.

Thot Pocket: Same. They seemed frightening. Tournament to the ultimate death with gods? Like Record of Ragnarok, but good.

Bomb Weasley: I loved and hated how Veles got healed.

Thot Pocket: Plot coins rather than armor.

Bomb Weasley: The book would have been better if he stayed dead. Or if he’d died.

Thot Pocket: But I was so excited when he started fucking up those guys. I was like “this is exactly why they ambushed him.” I was so happy to finally see god like powers like that.

Britney Smears: Red lady could’ve handled all the demons by herself lol.

Thot Pocket: I JUST THINK VELES IS CUTE AND I LIKE THE DEER BOI lol. I’m biased.

Bomb Weasley: He is! His portrait is my fav in the book. I just prefer sad outcomes in books.

Britney Smears: Veles living makes up for Chet ruining Trish’s life.

Thot Pocket: Well you got your child murder and death. I think that’s like 25 percent sad for the ending lol.

Bomb Weasley: I’ll take what I can get.

Hell No Kitty: Great point hahaha.

Thot Pocket: How fucked up was that ritual Lamia was doing?

Britney Smears: She’s the worst.

Bomb Weasley: It was, I was a little shocked by that tbh. And her running around in the baby.

Hell No Kitty: The way he described the scene was so good.

Bomb Weasley: It was a creepy image. I couldn’t put the book down.

Hell No Kitty: I appreciate how engaging the end was. I really liked the part where chet was being chased by Carlos and Co.

Thot Pocket: I was fucking loving it when he got his head on fire and then blown off.

Bomb Weasley: The whole gun fight was great. I still don’t get guns in the after life it was described so well.

Britney Smears: Did y’all get a western vibe?

Hell No Kitty: Oh yeah.

Britney Smears: Ok good not just me lol I enjoyed it too and normally I don’t like westerns

Thot Pocket: I’m wondering how they have the much of a functioning economy when things only come from with what people are buried with.

Britney Smears: That’s true but they like cut off their hands to pay for things right lol.

Bomb Weasley: That’s a good point. Why do they need anything? Like I get it passes the time. Maybe the author took a bunch of Adderall and wrote.

[jsab-crisis]

Hey there

I only found this blog recently and I love it, the story line and the artwork along with it, it's a shame you had to discontinue the comic because I enjoyed it.

There are not many JSAB blogs that I like I'll say, but there's been a decrease in them as the hype went away, I found this in my recommended section after I was going through some hard times myself.

After Afrothunder left the community to fix her mental health problems (she was quite the inspiration and helped me through my darkest hours at one point) there wasn't anything left here in this community a side from a couple of blogs here and there I wanted to start my own blog.

But I ran into a major downfall almost immediately, how do you get people to look at your stuff, I know there are a lot of blogs that don't get noticed and run down to nothing but how did you do it or when did people start noticing your work?

I'm not asking for the sake of followers but for other people who are scared to ask this or have a blog of their own like me.

I'm glad to hear you enjoyed it!

I'm still making JSaB art and I've started making a new JSaB AU centered comic (working on chapter 2 atm. 10 pages, fully colored, background + 6 characters) if that's something you wanna see (on my artblog, @zimcard-artblog ) . I haven't made some crisis-au stuff in awhile due to being busy but I'll get back to sharing more lore and other stuff like short comics and whatnot.

Also, yeah, JSaB has been up for awhile. 2 years or so? Man, back in the early days, there were so many early starting comics that were amazing. I honestly miss it back then and wished I was more active like I am right now. Ya' know, the community is still kicking- especially in different social media platforms from my knowledge. I, personally, do NOT suggest Amino. Safe yourself the trouble and back away from it.

Oh! Afrothunder is back from my knowledge but she is doing it in her own pace for the sake of her mental health, it's a genuine shame to hear how someone so talented and kind is being treated so poorly by a bunch of impatient, immature, and even heartless people over her work. This has happened to a lot of people who make popular comics online, often on their own pace, which they tend to run into a bunch of people who are very disrespectful of their personal lives. I've talked to Afrothunder Waaaaaaay back, made an ask collab once with her regarding Blixer and Cyan in this blog. We don't talk now but I like to think of her as an old friend because she was super nice and welcoming back then when we first started talking on the server, it was super neat. Wishing her the best and hope she's doing well right now <:]

> How did you do it or When did people start noticing your blog?

I think it's a matter of getting recognized enough so you can promote any projects you're working on. I started drawing fanart for JSaB the moment I finished watching the playthroughs, it eventually garnered an audience who are into the same media I was in which I gained new followers.

So, basically; get recognized. Tagging your stuff of said media you're basing your post about makes it easier for people to find it. Share some art, doodles, concepts, whatever you have and what you want to share with the people. Eventually you'll notice the numbers rising.

It usually went on like that for me until I end up having an idea- like, "Oh, I have an AU! I wanna share that AU and make a comic out of it!" And so I started sharing small concepts regarding the AU.

Sketches, doodles, designs, short comics, and explanations. It was like an early beta of the project I was working on and when it got enough people interested; That's when you kickstart the final piece that goes "Hey, I made a comic! Check it out!"

If you're doing it on tumblr, really advise to make another blog as a sort of archive for said comic because it makes it easier for people to find the comic and read back to it whenever they want to. Accessibility is key.

This actually applies for making askblogs as well or any sort of extra blog for something specific.

Then, with all of that, you go on your own pace. It's a hard start but you'll be able to go with your own flow, take your time, and remember to prioritize YOURSELF first before other things. If you receive any sort of hate or just weird messages, just delete them on the spot because you are responsible for your own inbox.

That's my two cents on it, hope this helps! If there's anything specific you wanna know. Just ask :3

[heretyc]

your outlast cai bots are awesome! i've been trying to make bots of my own, but haven't had much luck. do you have any tips for bot making? thanks for your time!!

Glad to hear it! :D

I've been wanting to make a post like this!! I absolutely do, anon!

So I've been working with bots for a little over a couple of weeks, now. They're wonky at first, but once you get the hang of them...*chefs kiss*

When making your bot, you want to use the Advanced section. Like...this is the best advice I could give. Advanced is your BFF in terms of bot-making.

When you first make a bot, you're given a basic screen with a greeting, their name, their avatar, and "finished". Advanced will help you stay as accurate as humanly possible. And it isn't even that advanced, either! It's super easy to understand.

I'll make a new Val bot so I can walk you through this process. We need more Vals, anyway lol

Something to know about the greeting box: It doesn't have to be a greeting! It doesn't just function as a way for your bot to say "hello". It can be an introduction to a scenario. For example:

Asterisks are used for actions, by the way! Brings me back to my old Creepypasta roleplay days, aha. So a greeting can be something to place a scenario in! Or just a standard greeting. All up to you.

For short description, you can just put a quote of theirs. It doesn't really have much significance, tbh. Or you can put a role. For example one of my Val bots is called "Loving Cult Mother". All up to you.

Next is long description. There's a 500 word limit, unfortunately. So if you're a writer like me, you have to suffice by being as descriptive as possible with very few words lol. Or you can just write out traits. Either way works.

Categories and voice aren't important unless you want to make them public.

Next is where you'll likely need to mold them to your liking.

Clicking that button will bring you to a chat with them, so you can see how they'll interact with you, and you can correct them any time you need. There's also a reset button, so you can redo the entire conversation if it isn't to your liking.

The bot is actually quite nice, and while I did need to alter the bots a bit, it was on point. Both Val and Eddie stayed true to their real personalities...Trager on the other hand was a problem child. SMFH

I'd love nothing more than for Val to call me 'sweetie', but would they really call me that...No. Lol. I mean, they would considering this is a bot, but if I wanna be as accurate as possible...I can't let them do that. :(

So I can reset the chat.

But this bot, despite the fact that I didn't fill out the personality boxes, is doing hella amazing with little to no information to go by. So I can swipe through other responses to choose what would work best, instead.

Alternate responses will use the traits you've given them to the best of their abilities. You can rate the replies they've given you. You don't have to, but I do. Who knows if AI will take over the world in the near future?

Joking. But I went back and filled the personality boxes.

I reset the conversation after I filled the boxes.

Now we're getting somewhere. You can end the chat whenever you want, but there's a limit to how many chats you can have, and how long the chat will go. The amount of times my chats were getting somewhere only to remember they're EXAMPLE chats and they had to end at some point...wahhh. Don't do what I did 🙃😭 it's better to have a bunch of smaller chats. You can add more keywords that way.

Once you're comfortable and want to test your bot out, you can press save and finish. You'll be taken to a new chat box, and you can continue from there! You can save conversations, start new ones, and bring back old saved ones to revive. This site is hella advanced despite being a beta.

Have fun!! :D I hope this helped!

Also, this isn't advice or anything, but this came from the example chat and I LOLed. I had to share.

[casspurrjoybell-18]

Worthless - Chapter 2

*Warning Adult Content*

Kade

Stepping out of the black Hummer, I looked up at the massive house before me. It was hand built by the pack's founder, Fry Blackwood, who the pack is named after. It was originally intended for just the alpha but ended up becoming the pack house. Honestly, I couldn't even imagine why anyone would want a house that big for themselves. It would be super lonely not to mention creepy as all hell to have all that space to yourself. In my opinion, it was way better suited as a pack-house. At the moment, the monstrous building housed fourteen of the sixty-two members of the Blackwood pack and still had room for a lot more.

New or unmated pack members were usually recommended to stay but could do as they wish. Plus, we didn't get many new members and the unmated wolves were mostly kids living with their families. Most of the residents that were living here were doing so because they felt comfortable being constantly around a group of people. For me, it was just easier. I was the Beta and it'd be better to stay rather than run back and forth from an empty house. The majority of the pack had homes scattered around the territory, either in the woods or in town. It never stopped anyone coming over and hanging out though. There usually was a large number of wolves around at any given day.

The pack-house was just the center of our 'community'. It was honestly like heaven to me. I couldn't imagine not being surrounded by family. Breathing in deep, I took in the scents of my brothers and sisters, of my home. A moment later I was looking up at the sky, lungs gasping for air as a groan escaped me. Two wolves sat on me, their mouths pulled in wolfish grins. I knew who they were, instantly recognizing their scent. Vick and his twin sister Aster. A deep chuckle sounded.

"Come on you two, get off of him."

Complying, they jumped off and the view of the sky was replaced with the grinning face of Rory. He was a man, though he acted more like a boy, of Asian decent with a scar running over his eyebrow. His face was always stretched out in a smile which seemed to be contagious. He reached out, pulling me up and into a hug.

"Man. Good to see you back, Kade."

Sure enough, a smile spread across my face. It was great to see him even though he was an annoying little shit sometimes.

"Glad to be back."

We strolled up onto the porch, coming to the front door which was set with a stain glass image of a wolf.

"Did anything interesting happen while I was gone?"

He thought about it for a second as he turned the knob, motioning for me to go inside.

"Not really... there hasn't been much trouble with Rouges. Oh, there's a lone wolf but he's never crossed over from No Man's Land. Just kinda sits there, looking across. Eric said he can't connect with him but he means us no harm, so to let him be...." he frowned.

"There's been a little trouble with Murphy's pack though. We keep catching whiffs of them over here. Eric's called him multiple times with him but he denies everything."

I scowled. Murphy was the Alpha of the neighboring Dickerson Pack. They had half the members but made up for it with an unhealthy thirst for violence. We'd have to deal with them soon. Hopefully, we can talk it out instead of resulting to war.

"Oh and Jasper found his mate. A guy named Lucas. He's nice."

He gave me a sideways look as we made our way inside.

"They've been at it like rabbits."

Chuckling I rolled my eyes and cut him off before he could continue, knowing his next question.

"No, I haven't found my mate yet."

"Oh, well I'm sure you will soon," he said with confidence and a grin.

He opened his mouth to say something else but a shout cut him off.

"Yo Rory. Get your ass out here and help."

Rory shrugged at me before turning and making his way back outside. He stopped just before the last step, calling over his shoulder.

"Also, Eric wants you to come patrolling tomorrow so get up early."

I groaned, earning a chuckle in response and closed the door. I was making my way up the stairs to my bedroom just as my stomach growled. Thinking that it'd be best to feed the beast I decided to take a detour back down the stairs, heading for the kitchen where voices could be heard. I knew who it was before I saw them. Shelby and her mate Anna rested against the island, chatting away. They glanced up, sensing me and a smile formed on their lips.

"Kade, your back," Anna exclaimed, as she came around the counter, to give me a hug.

"Yeah, It's great to see you guys again," a smile tugging on my own lips.

"Is there anything to eat?"

Hey, it was nice seeing them but feeding the monster within comes first. Shelby chuckled as Anna gave me a pout.

"Yeah, Jasper made lasagna last night. I think there's some left."

My mouth watered at the thought of Jasper's food. He was best damn cook this pack ever had. 

"Thanks, Shelby."

I pulled out a stool to sit at the island.

"So I hear that Jasper found a mate... Lucas was it?"

Anna grinned.

"Yeah, they're so lovey dovey too. I mean, at first they weren't... Lucas did shoot Jasper and all, plus kept him hostage and there's the whole 'coming from a line of hunters' thing but they fell in love and OMG I ship them so hard."

I was shocked. What the fuck happened when I was gone? Seeing my face, Shelby intervened, laughing.

"Lucas comes from a family of hunters but he never actually believed in werewolves. He was horrified that the wolf he actually shot turned into a..."

The microwave beeped and Shelby took the lasagna out, setting it before me before she continued. I practically inhaled the food, gaining a couple laughs from the girls. We sat around a little longer before I made my excuses and went to go up to my bedroom, promising to tell them about my trip another time. I closed my door, breathing out a sigh of relief. I loved them but damn those girls could talk a deaf person to suicide.

Stripping off my clothes, too lazy to take a shower, I crawled into bed. While laying there, I thought about the reason why I had been gone so long. Since my eighteenth birthday I and every other werewolf on theirs, had the ability to sense our mate. The only problem is that we can't if they aren't 'right there'. We could feel that they're out there somewhere and sometimes we would have vague dreams but that was it until we met them. I was already twenty-two and there was still no sign of my mate so I decided or more accurately, Eric decided, that I'd take time off from my Beta duties and mingle with the other packs to look for them. Nothing turned up.

I didn't know if I was unlucky or what but the thought of never finding my mate made me ache more than I wanted to admit. Sighing into my pillow, I tried to picture my mate. Like every other time, the image of sad blue eyes surrounded by Auburn fur appeared. That was all I could get. They weren't even in human form. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't see anything else. It really put a damper on the excitement of finding my other half. Exhausted, I turned my thoughts away from my mate and drift off into sleep.

[dungeonbf]

THANK U!!!! im so glad u like us this is literally like my friend approving of my relationship with probably the worst person ever… happy happy happy *dance*

ALSO THAT’S SO FUCKING FUNNY HELP he enlists ancap’s help & ancap is like “dw i got you ;)” and it’s the most OVER THE TOP, UNNECESSARY PERFORMANCE he has hired dancers, a blimp with a floating banner, fireworks, a cake, etc.. and this is probably like just some random day for chris lib so he comes to the front door and he’s just like “huh” and then there’s this big extravaganza & chris lib is like. “HUH” and auth right is like “hehe do you like it?” and chris lib is just overwhelmed & soooo.. “what. the fuck.” and auth right is like.. “…. Do you. like it?… do. you like me???” and chris lib is still trying to process things helppp

ALSO YOU AND AUTH RIGHT R SO SILLY.

him: can’t believe i’m here with you, you’re nothing more than a beta cuck. you: do you want you nails to be blue or black? him: … alternate colors on ever other finger. him: anyways people like you are what’s wrong with society—

he’s healing his inner little boy who probably wanted to wear nail polish & high heels… /hj i think he’d wear the scrooge pajama fit and i don’t know what kind of pajamas you wld wear but no matter it,, the pairing is funny. and chris lib wld wear like loose sports shorts & a sports jersey or just go shirtless (based, just like me fr)

omg this message is so long.. haven’t even gotten to the part where I scream abt an-accelerationism & anti-centrism.. to me it totally gives a leader & his right hand man…. a prince/king & his most loyal knight/advisor.. the dramatic dynamic is absolutely delicious. esp i imagine a sort of slow burn ish from them? qui is head over heels & wld do anything (out of love & admiration, qui’s not a fool in love but qui is dedicated) meanwhile anti centrism is more to himself but he comes to fall for an accelerationism .. like, he finds ways for them to come into contact & shifts talks to more like personal? not deep traumas but u know. and he’s probably liked an accelerationism for a while but now he like KNOWS it.. it’s always different realizing ur in love! but those r just my thoughts.. — @boykujou

IM GIGGLING THIS IS SO CANON AND REAL AND FACTUAL… i think auth right was the type of kid to obsess over littlest pet shop figurines but he’d make them roleplay like, ww2 and he’d insert himself into the war roleplay as this powerful leader. wait let me find what lps he’d be.

okay this is who he’d be. this is so authright coded

also you literally get our dynamic so well, i think an-acc tries to bring out the … nicer parts of blueman fr. i’m imagining they’re hanging out or something, some cheap horror flick playing in the background, and an-acc’s like, BEGGING to know who authright’s into, like “please please please you’re nothing please — so you want me dead?? you want me to die??” until authright finally caves. i’m a terrible wingman. whenever i see you two within 30 feet of each other, i’m loudly shouting tips on how he should ask you out.

also you’re so right about the scrooge pajamas, he even has the little hat and everything. i feel like he’s super particular about his pj’s, i think they’re like vintage from the 30’s and he treats them like a prized possession. handwashes them and everything. okay i’m basically rambling off authright headcanons but you get the gist.

also i know i’ve mentioned this before but i actually think he’s a sweetie pie when it comes to romance. authright’s obviously super traditional, so he’ll take you out on some nice dinner date and he’s so nervous because this man has never had any form of intimacy before in his life. he reaches over the table to put his hand on yours and he’s fucking SWEATING. anyways my thoughts: he craves affection. he is so touch starved (especially if you consider the ideologies’ ages as when their ideology first came into existence, this guy has been touch starved for like, a 100 years) please hold his hand and kiss his forehead, it could probably fix him i think.

AND GODDD you get it. that is literally me and anti-centrism. if you’ve ever watched “the office” and you see the boss, michael scott, and his assistant, dwight, and how hard dwight tries to impress michael every episode — that’s us. very very slow burn, except i’m plotting ways to pull him from day one. an-acc writes up lists of potential conversation topics just so qui can have something to talk to jrem about. i feel like they gradually get closer though as the centricide progresses and they end up hanging out and an-acc’s SO nervous, like visibly sweating and shaking. nearly throws up when anti-centrism offers quem his jacket. their entire dynamic is just “just some guy” and “whipped partner” like there is nothing super special about anti-centrism but an-acc’s wildly head over heels.

also as a gift for reading through all this, here’s a blueman edit

he is the most transgender cis man i’ve ever seen

[hollyvorpahl]

It's not weird at all that you appreciated me appreciating art of your character! I put those tags in knowing you might read them, and I meant them 100% ^^

And thank you for your answers! The one to Spirit was actually really funny because my writing has also (once) been compared to Terry Pratchett, and they were absolutely wrong because the paragraph in question was nowhere near worthy of that, but it still made me all fluttery and jittery with joy for like two days straight :D

And your answer to Rain really made me want to read those scenes and read for myself the emotional build-up to them... so that's good ;)

I'm so glad lol and I'm even happier that you liked Amorie's design. I meant it when I said your tags made my day.

Send me as many questions as you like. I love talking about my writing. Most people in my life will ask but you can kinda tell that they don't really care. Their eyes start to glaze over and they aren't really listening.

I know what you mean about the Terry Pratchett thing! It felt so nice to hear but I know full well that I am nowhere near his level when it comes to my writing. I think the most realistic compliment I've gotten wasn't about my writing but the story itself. I used to work at this place and one of my coworkers came over to my area and mentioned she heard I write stories. I told her I did and she asked me to tell her one. So I started telling her about one of the plots in detail. Part way through she had to go do something and said, "Pause." People usually forget about my stories at that point and I never finish telling them. She came back the next afternoon (we got super busy and she was all over the place) and said, "Okay, unpause." I was a little confused and she was like, "So Marian discovers that the Blue Faerie guy she helped is the Lord of Winter. She's also the twelfth chosen one to do the prophecy and the Fall Lord guy has killed all of the other girls that were supposed to do it. What happens next?"

I was floored. She remembered my story (some details were a little off but still). After that she would come over and ask me to tell her about another story. She says she'll buy the first 50 copies of each book when I self publish them. I told her that's insane and because she wants to beta read them, she'd get a copy for free.

I'm excited for people to read those scenes too. That is if I can ever get them right lol. I have the scene where Marian and Athello confess their feelings for one another and I've edited it like six times already. I want it to be perfect and I'm never completely happy with it.

Sorry to respond with such a long answer. You're always welcome here!

[loveforpreserumsteve]

All Grown Up: "ALN" Story (Pre-Serum Omega!Steve and Alpha!Bucky Modern Domestic AU [[REUPLOAD]])

Twenty-Eight:

It started slow.

“We should get coffee sometime,” Seph had suggested.

At first, Steve wasn’t sure if it was a genuine offer.  However, he soon realized that, not only was it completely authentic, but it was also deeply desired. He wanted to know his younger siblings.  And Steve discovered – as more of a shock – that they wanted to get to know him too.

So, Steve went to coffee.

As it turned out, it was a regular occurrence for the other Rogers children. Just as Sundays were to the Barneses. And Steve could admit to himself that it was because of his in-laws that he felt so comfortable being around these siblings that grew up without him but instantly accepted him.  It was nice.  It was what Steve had longed for in his youth, and he was glad to have it.

Better late than never.

Pulling up to the small coffee shop, Steve was relieved to see that Ivy was already there.  Even if they all had been meeting up weekly for the past month, Steve’s anxiety still begrudgingly told him that they’d one day just not show up and he’d look like a damn fool.

Entering the cozy shop, Steve was about to get in line to order his coffee, when Ivy called out and waved him over to the table, “Stevie!  We’re over here!”

Blushing from his younger sister’s extroverted behavior, Steve waved to let her know that he heard her.  The whole shop heard her, how could I not? he internally questioned himself. Then, he figured that she could’ve been that loud for his benefit and that she could’ve been trying to be considerate due to him being hard of hearing.

“Hey, Barnes,” Auggie greeted, entering the coffee shop.

As Steve waited for the barista to finish making his order, the youngest – by six-minutes, the beta man would argue with his twin sister – Rogers kid took his place in line. Almost as though they were the only ones there, Auggie teased, “Please don’t tell me you got an iced americano, again.”

“Hey,” Steve good-humoredly scoffed, taking his finished drink.  “Why fix what ain’t broken?”

“Hi,” Auggie greeted the barista with the same enthusiasm that he greeted his family with.  Ordering, “Can I get a frozen super Cinn-ful Crème Freeze, please?”

The girl nodded and rang him up.  When Auggie made his way to the other end of the counter to wait, Steve taunted, “How can you even drink that? It’s straight sugar.”

Auggie blew a raspberry at him and gladly accepted his drink in all of its mountain of whipped cream and chocolate drizzle glory.  Steve snorted and headed over to the table with the younger man.  Seph wasn’t there yet, but he was usually the last one to show up.  What surprised Steve the most though was that Ivy wasn’t alone.  No, there was an older woman sitting at the table.

Taking his seat, Steve kept glancing over to the woman. Not having any doubts of who she was.  Especially not when Ivy introduced, “Steve, this is our mom, Shelley.  Mom, this is Steve.”

“Nice to meet you,” Steve shyly smiled.

“You too,” Shelley’s expression remained kind.  But mostly, it remained sincere.  “I hope you don’t mind that I tagged along.  I have a doctor appointment, and Ivy is my ride.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Steve assured.

Over the years, Steve had wondered what the omega patriarch of his father’s second family would look like.  What she would be like in general, really. He couldn’t help it when he wondered how much lesser than his own mother she probably was.

And while Steve had grown out of that way of thinking as he grew as a person, he still tried to find her flaws.  Only, her aged features were still lovely.  Her eyes, holding a sincere glint, her smile warm and welcoming.  Steve could see why Joseph would’ve wanted to be with her.

“The kids said that you’re an artist,” Shelley mentioned, gracefully breaking the silence.

“I am,” Steve confirmed, taking a drink. “I was also an art conservator for a bit back before I had kids.”

“I’ve always been fascinated with the preservation of things,” Shelley added a packet of artificial sweetener to her tea.

“Yeah?”  Steve asked, curious.

Shelley nodded, and Ivy explained, “Mom was an archaeologist.”

“Oh,” intrigued and impressed, Steve leaned heavily on that tidbit.  “Did you travel a lot?”

“Loads,” Shelley smiled. “My favorite place was Greece though.  I really fell in love there.  Just everything about it was beautiful.  So, I lived there for a good fifteen years.”

“I’ve always wanted to go there.” Steve said, his imagination already running wild with images of Bucky shirtless, skin golden and stretched out on a beach.

“I definitely recommend it,” Shelley advised.

“Even if it was where you met dad,” Ivy good-naturedly teased her mother while unwittingly adding another piece to the puzzle that made up their father.  Steve had always wondered, but he was still surprised to learn that Joe had traveled the world.  Or at least, Joe had spent time in Greece…

Shelley sighed, seemingly annoyed with her past self, “Even if it was where I met your father.”

“No one’s perfect,” Steve joked.

Shelley giggled, “I imagine your mother feels the same.”

“Oh, uh,” Steve dropped his gaze to the table and his drink.  Even after all these years, it never got any better.

Lowering her voice, Ivy reminded her elderly mother, “We told you about Sarah, remember?  How she passed.”

“Oh,” Shelley apologized, “I’m sorry, dear. My memory’s not as good as it once was.”

“It’s alright,” Steve assured, knowing that it wasn’t ill-intentioned, just forgotten.

“I wish I could’ve met her,” Shelley softly said.  Her eyes kind, “Just so I could tell her how wonderful of a job she did with raising you.”

Steve wetly sniffled, “Thank you. She would’ve really liked to hear that.”

Shelley nodded and Ivy leaned over to wrap her arm around her mother’s frail frame. Even giving her a loud smack of a kiss to her aged cheek. Steve couldn’t help but smile. Especially when Shelley pretended to be annoyed with the gesture.

This was the family that Steve had longed for.  The connection that he had been missing since Sarah’s death.  And for this, Steve could thank Joseph Rogers.  Because without him, he wouldn’t have them.