#he is the smoothest man alive

[carterssant]

Wyll Ravengard you will always be the bladest of frontiers

[writteninlunarlight-years]

I know that sinners canonically cant have kids but I don't care atm cause I got baby fever REAL BAD. So lets just... pretend that fact doesn't exist for this ask haha. Can you do headcannons for how Adam, Lucifer, Alastor, and Husk would react to finding out their s/o is pregnant?

Adam

You were terrified to tell him at first about the pregnancy. Being the first man and all is hard, but being the first man's angelic kid now may be more challenging.

Not to mention, Adam didn't give off fatherly vibes; he was more like a daddy in the sheets vibe. However, what sealed the deal for you that maybe he could be a father was how he treated Emily.

When you finally confessed, Adam was the happiest man alive. He doted on you hand and foot. He wanted you to have the smoothest pregnancy, and after seeing Eve do it a bajillion times, he had a good idea.

He loved holding your belly for you. Do you want 5 extra minutes of breathing room? Sure, he got you. Do you want to sleep on your side? He is right there.

When you finally pop, he is there the whole time, coaching you through the experience. He holds your hand and lets you call him every name in the book with no sarcastic remarks.

After you hold your baby first, he is eager to be the second. As he holds your bundle of joy, he is a broken, happy man. He will do everything to protect your child and you. He would still be the same old Adam, but with his lover and child, he is a big old softie.

Lucifer

He openly talked about another child, often even getting Charlie to join in. He wanted to have a family with you so badly, and even when you told him no, Charlie was enough, he still tried.

You were the one that was the most afraid just because your body was changing and that can be scary. However, Lucifer loved every second of your changing body. He would even show you what size the baby was each month.

He was about following the best routines and processes to have a child. So he kept you on a regimen; however, our man here was not afraid to let you cheat a few times to curb those cravings the baby was making.

He warned you how big Charlie was and offered that maybe a C-Section would be better, but both agreed whatever the doctors and midwives say you'll do. So long as you lived, he was happy and content.

When you finally had the baby, Lucifer fainted approximately 4 times. No one fully knew why, but he did get found all 4 times by various staff at the hospital.

Once he got to hold the baby, he was a tearful mess. Honestly, until your child was about 6 or 7, he would cry holding them. He is a fantastic dad who cherishes all the time he gets with you and your now two kids.

Alastor

The man was in denial for a very long time. He was convinced he never needed children, that he wouldn't be like his father and would become a corrupt powerhouse.

Yet when you ashamedly asked one day what he would say if you were pregnant, he was a blushing mess. You, his little lover, full and round with his offspring.

When he realized you asked cause you actually were, he was terrified and elated. He went to Rosie first to learn all he could to help you.

He was far more affectionate and possessive over you, the animal instincts kicking in. He wanted to ensure you were safe and well taken care of so you could make him a fine, healthy baby.

When you finally went Into labor, his nerves were overwhelming you, so he had to sit outside. As soon as the doctors came out, he was rushing into your room to see you.

Once it was his turn to hold the baby, he genuinely cried and smiled with the child. Soft coos and smooth jazz played as he rocked the baby. He was so excited to make a little psycho prodigy.

Husk

He never wanted kids. Saw them as an annoying excuse to give up on life. He wanted money, power, and fame. That was till his soul was taken. Then he didn't want kids cause fuck Alastor.

However, you came into his life, and things just changed perfectly. These urges to domesticate and have a soft life with you. Even with Alastor looming around, he wanted to have a little family.

He feared what Alastor would do or say when you showed him the test. Yet he was happy to know you wanted to go on this journey with him.

He was supported by most of the hotel and was able to get you a whole nursery set up so that you two could easily care for the baby while still maintaining your duties at the hotel.

When you finally popped, he wasn't expecting multiple babies. I mean, yeah, your stomach was big, but three kids at once. He was a little shell-shocked, to say the least. Cats always have a big litter.

He was a soft and caring father. He would never drink while the kids were awake and made sure you didn't do all the work alone. He loved being the one to calm their worries with sweet words and gentle touch.

[m1rotics]

I wrote you such a profoundly delicious hard thought earlier but tumblr decided it wasn’t going to push it through like a true cockblock so now I’m writing it again but with less creative vocabulary because I have the memory of a goldfish cracker.

Cult Leader! Hongjoong in all his glory, brutal and downright cruel, ravishing his beloved obsession on an altar of marble in front of his most devoted followers (the other Ateez members). Maybe they just stand and watch, hidden behind masks or veils as Hongjoong peels away every layer of his dearest lambs soul. Or, perhaps they touch themselves, each other, but never their prophet’s prey. Nobody comes between a beast god and his favored meal ambrosia. 🙂‍↕️

Eat me alive (swallow me whole)

cult leader! hongjoong x fem!reader

a/n: TYSM FOR REQUESTING. I went ham with this and it got so insanely self-indulgent, so I hope you don't mind that too much. like it has everything you suggested but then I added everything I'm high-key into. sorry not sorry.

word count: 4.2k

warnings: pwp, rough unprotected sex, creampies, biting, he technically spits in your mouth, everyone helps undress you but nothing really happens, pussy inspection, you get bathed and lotioned and shaved, exhibitionism, voyuerism, hair pulling, weirdly possessive hongjoong, you get to refered to as little lamb a few times, and called a whore explicitly and implied like once or twice so there's degradation in this

the room is neat, grayscale themed.

a mild smell you can't really place, but still enjoy. knick-knacks on the dressers and books sorted on the shelves. their bed is made. if the situation were different you'd describe it as comfortable. cozy even. whoever's room this is clearly keeps it tidy. however, you can't appreciate it because standing in front of them is unnerving. your palms are sweaty and your stomach aches. you want to hurl over and pass out. probably choke on your tongue and die while you're at it.

it's so quiet. you can hear the sound of their breathing. pin-drop silence.

they're just looking at you, observing. like some kind of fidgety animal, or a new, shiny toy.

it feels like the world is paused. stand-still. nothing but strings holding your entire body up. the ground about to crumble away and swallow you whole.

hongoong purrs, low in your ear, “they're gonna get you ready for me. prepare you for what's to come.”

you gulp, and hongjoong presses his cheek to yours. his hand comes to grip your chin, keeping your head forward, keeping your eyes locked with seonghwa, the only other person you know. barely, but you recognize him.

“isn't she pretty?” he murmurs, nosing your temple and you can feel him smile against your skin. his question sits heavy in the air, unanswered but heard. hongjoong doesn't mind, it's not like they were really meant to respond anyways. he pushes you forward, and you flounder, barely catching yourself from falling to your knees.

“be nice to her, okay?” he warbles, lilts, if you listen hard enough it sounds almost like a warning.

you hear the door open then shut. suddenly, the room feels so much smaller. more suffocating. you've never been in the same room as them without a buffer, without hongjoong.

they move quickly, each a unit. someone takes the back, pulling your shirt up and above your head. the prettiest man you've ever seen comes to stand in front of you, unbuttoning your pants. his brown hair curtains his cherubic face, and he has the smoothest skin you've ever seen.

you're shell-shocked, open-mouthed. your brain yet to catch up with what's happening around you.

when one moves, someone is taking their place. the man in front of you is tall, so tall. you have to look up a bit to meet his gaze. his eyes are dark and intense. his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. you shudder, blinking up at him. his hands groping at your chest through your bra.

“don't get too handsy, mingi,” the man behind you says, too light and carefree to be a true scolding.

your breath hitches, and the man— mingi —chuckles. deep and syrupy. you don't know who's behind you, and you don't make an effort to look— already too knocked sideways.

“look at her, she's practically begging to be fucked,” a finger traces up the length of your spine, stopping at the edge of the clasp of your bra and pulling away. you gasp when your bra strap hits your back, jolting from the flash of pain. he unclasps it after, and mingi helps slide it off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a thud.

a man with a lazy grin saunters up to you next, black hair tickling his neck, his hands settling on your hips, thumbs pressing into your stomach. he squeezes.

“she's so soft,” he murmurs, eyebrows furrowed and pouting, “I'm getting jealous.”

seonghwa clicks his tongue, “that's too bad, woo. hurry up and don't do anything stupid.”

the man —who you now know as woo — guides you to bed, pushing you down until you’re laying on your back. you hear a groan, low and throaty, fingers latching onto the band of your underwear. he drags them down treacherously slowly, but he does manage to get them off at some point. he inches forward, but seonghwa wrenches him by his hair before he can get too close.

“hwa,” he whines, “please i–”

seonghwa shoulders him out of the way with ease, slotting himself between your legs.

“yun, hold her legs,” he says, and then large hands are holding your thighs apart. seonghwa brushes a thumb over your pussy hair. he pauses for a moment, mutters something to himself. then his finger is swiping through the lips of your pussy. it comes out damp, and he hums, amused. you twitch, thighs flexing as you attempt to close them.

the man above you smiles and shakes his head. you gasp when seonghwa spreads your pussy open. your slick folds on display. he simply looks from a moment, inspecting something, but he doesn't say anything so you think he didn't find what he was looking for. his finger taps your clit and you whimper, hips trying to find more friction. if it bothers him he doesn't tell you so you assume you're good. he runs a finger through the slick dribbling down from your hole, and you keen.

“sensitive,” seonghwa notes, and sinks a finger in. you gasp, and you hear someone titter, then a whisper somewhere in the room. it slides in easy, and your back arches when he curls his finger.

the pleasure is plucked away as fast as it's given.

“everyone out, i'll do do the rest myself,” seonghwa declares, rising from his knees.

someone groans, and there's a plethora of muttered curses. they complain all the way out. seonghwa ignores them all the while, and you feel vulnerable under his probing gaze.

“come,” he says, curt.

you clamber off the bed and onto your feet, following after him like a lost puppy. he doesn't go far, opens one of the two doors in the room

seonghwa leads you to the bathroom, and you assume the other must be the closet. white tile flooring that's so cold against your feet. a porcelain tub in the middle, a sink to your left with a marble counter, littered in various products— body washes, lotions, oils, shaving cream.

“is this your room?”

he gives a noncommittal hum, ignoring you to begin filling the tub with water. he pours in the soap and some type of oil, permeating the air with the scent of roses, swishes his hand through the water and gets it all foamy.

“get in,” he says, still perched on the edge of the tub.

“you're going to watch me bathe..?”

“no,” he shakes his head, “I'm going to bathe you.”

you nod, slowly, resigning yourself to your fate. he's already seen so much of you. this isn't that bad.

gingerly, you dip your feet into the water, and it's the perfect temperature. not too warm, but not too cold. it reaches your chest when you're fully submerged. it goes by quickly, seonghwa being surprisingly through. he even washes your face, being mindful of getting soap in your eyes. he hands you a towel when you step out, and gives you a moment to dry off.

“hop up here,” he pats the free space besides the sink, grabbing one of the bottles from the counter. you listen, propping yourself up. it's chilly against your bare ass. you hope he doesn't mind, but you think you deserve grace because he hasn't handed you not one piece of clothing.

seonghwa lotions you, from the soles of your feet to the skin of your neck. gently, almost massage like in nature.

“you're really good with your hands,” you murmur, and the smallest hint of a smile graces seonghwa's face. he doesn't respond, but you're too busy admiring him to mind. up close, he's so unbelievably pretty. high cheekbones and honey-gold skin. a nose bridge you want to trace your fingers along. nice plump lips.

you're thrusted back into reality when seonghwa rubs something warm (did he warm it up for you?) on your cunt, slathering you in shaving cream. he doesn't miss the inside of your thighs, the crease between your cunt and your thighs.

“spread your legs,” he instructs, and you do. seonghwa sinks to his knees to get a better view, and you spread your legs wider to give him more room. the first swipe is smooth, starting at your mound. he pulls the skin to make sure he doesn't nick you. he gets in the creases, the lips, your lower tummy. dunks the razor in between, forms a routine. a few strokes, dunk, and continue.

he's careful. methodical.

his tongue poking out in concentration, eyebrows pinched together.

it's a bit intimate, how much care he's putting into this. despite the tenderness, you can't help but preen under the attention. the thought of something being so close, but not getting any relief. has you straining to keep still, and you're getting wetter by the second, dripping down and pooling on the marble. nearing the edge.

if it gets in the way seonghwa doesn't bother to mention it, and you won't acknowledge it unless forced. seonghwa breath blows on your clit, and you flinch like you've been burned, but he continues like it didn't happen, so you relax against thinking it was an accident. you miss the glint of mischief in seonghwa's eyes at your reaction.

after he finishes up, he wipes the rest of the shaving cream off with a damp towel.

“stay here.”

you nod, lightly swinging your legs. he comes back with a white translucent robe, and you hop down to let him slip it on you.

he sent you to hongjoong like that. bare-foot and dazed. hongjoong kisses you silly while you wait for them.

now, you're laying on the stone in nothing but a sheer silk robe. hongjoong at the base of it, peering down at you. it's embarrassing being so exposed in front of them, and they're looking at you so intently like there's nowhere they'd rather be. nothing else they’d rather to see. goosebumps prickle at your skin. not just from the cold but from all the attention. it'd be impossible not to, even if all you can see is their eyes. the bottom half of their faces are covered by black masks, only their eyes visible. all seven are almost always at hongjoong's side, and they don't stray too far when they aren't.

such as now, standing by your side, watching you. they all wear the same black getup– long sleeves with black leather pants– and it leaves you flustered to be the only one naked.

it's still odd to see all of them so quiet, stock-still, statuesque in their silence. your lids flutter, dazed. you squirm under the scrutiny. your hands lay at your sides but you wonder if you reach out would you be able to touch them? if they'd cross that line first.

hongjoong's hands are hot when he touches your skin, settling on your knees— warm like freshly spilled blood, staining your skin, permeating your body. you melt under his palms.

he pushes them apart to slot himself between your legs, his hands sliding down to your inner thighs. you twitch from sheer anticipation.

hongjoong looks nothing short of saintly, tan skin and coffee brown eyes, blonde hair so close to white. a string of light hitting him perfectly, over the soft swell over his pectoral and down the smoothness of his stomach. his white robe hanging off his shoulders.

he looks like god made corporeal.

hongjoong leans forward to press a kiss to your sternum. he doesn't bother to move the fabric yet, but it's so thin you feel it. his lips are so soft and warm. ticklish like your skin is being brushed by clouds. the kisses are chaste, short and sweet, peppered on your stomach and between your breasts. blunt nails running up and down your sides just to make you shiver.

hongjoong doesn't start getting mouthy until his lips are latched onto your nipple, flicking the sensitive bud with his tongue. you're panting, arching your back to press into the heat of his mouth. you gasp when his teeth sink into the fat of your breasts, and hongjoong pops off with a smile, kneading the other with his free hand.

you're trembling already, so pent up from nothing.

hongjoong giggles. a boyish, fleeting sound.

“so needy,” he drawls, low and languid, dipping the tip of his finger into your dripping slit. you keen, trying to press yourself into him, push his finger further in. hongjoong kisses his teeth and yanks his back.

“patience,” he hisses, and you whisper an apology; a genuine one, his reprimand has shame bubbling within your gut. hongjoong skims over your sides, pushing your robe to fall over the sides of the marble slab. it leaves your body on full display, stripping you of that thin boundary. his hand trails back down and he sinks a finger into your cunt. you gasp, writhing, hongjoong clasps a hand around your hip to hold you firm in place.

he keeps his place slow, his finger crooked enough to graze that spot you so desperately want him to hit but not enough to truly satisfy.

“joong,” you whine, “please.”

“please what?” he hums, brushing your clit with his thumb. it's barely there, a feather-light touch, that sends a bolt of pleasure through you.

“i– i need–” you start, but the words ebb away when you catch sight of the audience watching you. embarrassment washes over you. white-hot humiliation rushes through your veins. their eyes have lost their curious edge. that distant, observing look giving way for something far more predatory to take its place. they look like a starving pack of dogs; drooling and itching to eat. hongjoong’s finger curls, and you let out a pitiful moan.

“need what, lamb?” he asks, taunting, forcing your attention back to him. you blink at him, already bleary-eyed and dumb. your mouth parts but your eyes glance to the side, causing the words to stall in your throat, hongjoong smiles. sharp at the edges.

“don't tell me you're getting shy now. you don't want them to see how pathetic you are for me? you don't want them to know how little it takes to make you beg?” another brush to your clit, another pathetic whimper tugged out of you. your hips jolt.

“I can't have that,” he says, almost dismissively. his finger comes to a halt, and you whine. throaty and high-pitched. your eyes clamping shut with a pout. you don't know what to do with your hands, if you want to touch and pull him closer, but you don't because you want to be good. your fingers twitch at your sides.

“so, beg for it. you know how to ask for what you want.”

his finger slips out easily. it's mean –cruel, even– but it works because suddenly you're scraping for words that don't come swift enough. when they do they fall off your tongue in a rush; rabbit-quick and barely thought through.

“joong, please,” you mewl, “need you. need your fingers. want you to fuck me on them. want you to make me feel good, please.”

hongjoong frowns, his finger running up and down your soaked slit. it's distracting, mind-numbing.

“only my fingers?”

hongjoong doesn't make any real effort to hide his teasing despite the hurt look on his face. his voice still holds that playful lilt. still, you're cloudy thoughts latch on it, and you panic. you're not ungrateful– you never are. you just want him, and you repeat that like prayer. shaking your head so fervently that it starts to give you a headache.

“no, no, no– I just– I want you. I just want all of you,” the words spew out. easier than air, as true as your name.

hongjoong grins, and his hand cradles your jaw, pushing your head to look at the hungry eyes watching you. “c’mon, show them how pretty you are when you beg.”

you shudder when your eyes meet, and if your thoughts were less frayed at the edges, you would've tried to soak in details. see who's sanity is slipping through their fingers the most, but you can't. you can't think straight, can barely focus. you can't notice anything besides the fact that they all seem ravenous. eyeing you like a slab of decadent meat– raw and bloody. you feel debauched, so lewd and shameful, but your mouth doesn't stop moving, “please, joongie, want you. want all of you– your fingers, your cock, your mouth. i want it all.”

“there you go,” he croons, and plunges two fingers into your cunt. your vision blurs, whites. you cry out, bucking into his hand, fucking yourself on his fingers. hongjoong motions for something, and then someone places a glass in his hand. deep red wine swirling around in it. hongjoong tilts his head back, and just like that half of the liquid is gone. he leans in, mouth pursed and taps you cheek.

your mouth parts, and then he's spitting it into your mouth. some of it spills from the sides of your lips, dribbling down your cheeks, and hongjoong happily laps it up. dragging his tongue up your cheek and over the seam of your mouth. he leans back to pour the rest from the glass, and you sputter when he rolls your clit under his thumb. wine rolls down your chin when you jolt.

hongjoong leans back with a pleased grin, snapping his wrist with more effort now. scissoring his fingers, pinching your swollen clit. your orgasm stuns you. you stiffen, freezing, your entire body going rigid as the pleasure racks through you. struggling not to choke. you gurgle pathetically around your mouthful, slowly gulping it down, choking back moans.

“such a messy lil' thing,” he tuts when you're done, pulling his fingers out to hold your face, smearing slick on your cheek, “you're getting me all dirty.”

“you'll clean it up, won't you?” he coos, sugar-sweet; voice light as créme. you nod. one, twice. quickly and eagerly, a good girl.

his fingers latch into your mouth, pressing on your tongue. your lips close around them, sucking softly. you can taste your release on his skin, and you whine. hushed and dulcet. his thin fingers slide out, fingertips tracing over your lips, now slick with spit, and thrust back in. surprised, you gag. your eyes turning dewy. he does it again, deeper this time. your throat protests, convulsing around his fingers. a wet click following every thrust of his fingers. tears gliding down your cheeks.

hongjoong works your throat with almost mechanical precision. in and out, in and out. pushing as deep as his fingers will reach. deep breaths and obscene mewling fill the air. the odd sounds of your throat making room for his fingers. hongjoong is fuzzy in your vision. uncharacteristically soft. his lips rosebud pink with red-tinted cheeks. his coffee-black eyes trained on you. it's dreamy, untouched by reality. some make-believe fantasy brought to life, prayers made reality. a saint in all their ethereal glory. your flesh made holy by his touch alone.

hongjoong replaces his fingers with his mouth. it's wine-warm and sweet. his lips velvety and soft. the kiss is gentle, intimate. his mouth tastes like salvation; deliverance. like being bleed out so gently, you don't even realize you're dying. finally, you allow yourself to reach out and touch. a hand cupping his round cheek, another on the firmness of his arm. he's hot to the touch. molten gold. bleeding sun.

hongjoong leans back slowly, lips kiss-swollen and wet. cheeks rosy. his hand wraps loosely around his cock. pre-cum beading at the tip, rolling down the underside. ruddy and aching. his hips jerk, and he gives himself a few pumps, shaky exhales escaping him.

he's a sight for sore eyes, a sight for your eyes. something for only a select few, not for everyone else. something to share between the nine of you. because hongjoong is for everyone. the safety he provides, the guidance, his care— but this. this is just for you.

(well, at least for now. for today.)

hongjoong presses the head of his cock against your pussy, rolls his hips, coating the underside of his cock in your slick. the tip bumping your clit at every pass. he does it with painfully slow and deliberate strokes. each thrust aiming to keep you on the brink but never give you enough.

“joong,” you hiccup, tears blooming on your lash line, “please.”

your voice breaks at the end, dissolving into a mewl as you attempt to rut up against him.

“oh, baby,” he coos, jutting his lip out in a faux pout, “tell me what you want. tell me and i'll think about giving it to you, how about that?”

“want you to fuck me,” you cry, tears trickling down your temples. hongjoong presses a kiss to your open mouth.

“one more time,” he breathes. nearly reverent. a touch desperate.

“fuck me, please,” you wail, sniffling, and hongjoong with a surprising amount of strength flips you onto you knees, cheek smoshed into the slab. a dull pain radiates from how hard you hit your knees, but it's over-shined by how needy you feel, how empty your hole is. he forces his cock in with one harsh stroke. the stretch still aches, but it feels so good. you're so full, stretched to the brim, and the angle. fuck, he's so deep.

your eyes clamp shut, and hongjoong hand buries itself in your hair, the other on your shoulder forcing you to keep the arch.

“open your eyes,” he snaps, “look at them while i fuck you.”

your eyes peel open, and you blink away the tears obscuring your vision. the force of his thrusts jerk you forward, and you think you might be drooling.

“show them what you look like after I've ruined you, little lamb.” he snarls, snapping his hips with more fevor. the sound is disgustingly wet— the squelching of your pussy, the echo of your desperate moaning, his deranged mumbling, his balls hitting your clit. you might look like a proper whore.

hongjoong hips slow, and then come to a stop, and you panic, trying to push yourself up so you can fuck yourself back on him to no avail because his hands keep you firm in place.

“come closer.” he orders.

the sound of their boots hitting the floor is deafening, but you can barely focus on it while begging hongjoong to keep going. they're so much closer now, you don't even have to stretch to reach them. less than a foot away. now you can see the clear imprint of their dicks straining against their pants, their balled up fists, some of their ears dusted pink.

“isn't she the perfect whore?” he asks, voice thick, “taking my cock so well.”

your cunt clenches around him, at how vulgar he is, at how he talks about you. the praise turning into molten liquorice in your blood. pure saccharin. your teeth ache.

“jus’ for you, all for you,” you babble, slurred, dribbling drool.

“that's right,” hongjoong purrs, snarls, his hips drawing back to slam back in.

“you're mine. you're all mine.” he punctuates each word with a thrust, knocking the agreements of your mouth. reducing you to a whining, whimper mess. you're truly fucked dumb. you can't think, can't breathe. your lungs struggle to heave in air, all of it getting knocked out of you. this will definitely leave a mark. you don't mind one bit.

hongjoong fucks you like he has something to prove, like a well-oiled machine, like something feral has taken over him. something rabid and carnal crawling out of his skin. he reaches down, and rubs your clit, and you blubber.

the pleasure increasing ten-fold. you scramble against the marble, nails scraping against it. crying out like a wounded animal, trying to run from the pleasure, from the intensity of it all. trying to shed your skin into something more honest, completely let go of your mortal flesh and become something more.

your orgasm pierces through you, splits you in half, spatch-cocked. the force of the sob makes you quake, full body shaking. cataclysmic, the world disintegrating around you. your brain fried, scrambled, bouncing around in your empty head. lights on but nobody's home.

hongjoong doesn't stop, he fucks you through it, until you've gone limp and dumb. completely boneless. nothing but twitches and mewls. a pathetic little thing, bruised fruit. ripe for the taking. his fingers are still clumsily pressing against your clit, but you're too gone to protest the overstimulation. too weak to tear his hand away.

hongjoong curls over you when he gets close, trapping you in, teeth in your neck, huffing from his nose. his thrusts devolving into bunny humps and grinding his cock into your cunt. he's grumbling something, but it's muffled into your skin. he cums like that, with his cock burrowed inside you, filling you to the brim. possessive to the very end. he stops biting your shoulder a few moments later, “there, you're truly mine now. all mine.”

he doesn't let go until his breathing evens out and that gnawing urge to be close to subsides. you slump when he lets go, collapsing, leaking fluids.

hongjoong presses a wet kiss to your cheek, “don't worry they'll clean you up. i take care of what’s mine after all.”

[libertyybellls]

silver soul !

pairing; finnick odair x fem reader

summary; you’ve been reaped for the 68th annual games,as you say your goodbyes you realize the ocean is not the only thing you are leaving behind.

contains ; ANGST, sadness, unconfessed loves.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

you’re sitting atop the smoothest rock nearing the shoreline, too close to be dry but too far to be soaked. the air is cool despite the season. something somber lays in the air- as if nature can read the silence between you and finnick.

oh, finnick.

you wait for him to speak, for him to say goodbye and let you go. let you move onto your impending doom. but he doesn’t speak- he doesn’t even move. no noise is emitting from him, you’re not even sure you can hear his breathing- the typically obnoxious huffs and puffs he exudes are gone and he remains next to you in these final moments on district 4- refusing to speak.

he’d prayed to any god that would listen for the 68th hunger games to have mercy on you. he wouldn’t give just an arm and a leg for your safety. he would give anything that belonged to him to ensure that you’d return home, back to him, back to whatever you two were in.

he could’ve crumpled to the floor when he’d heard your name called, when nobody had volunteered. why you? why not anyone else? anyone but her.

“i’ll be okay.”

you couldn’t promise that, you knew it was a lie, you’re only 16, you have nothing to depend on getting you through the games.

“i’ll be your mentor. i’ll find you sponsors. let me help you.” finnick pleads, his eyes lowly looking into yours.

it is only then you want to break into pieces in his arms. you want to sob. you want to retreat back to your family, back to his safe presence. he looks so pure with the sparkle of grace in his eye, deeply at variance to the picture that’s been painted to the capitol. his altruistic belief in you when even now, you are certain you won’t make it far in these games, gives you a rush.

you don’t respond to his desperate offers. you only look down to your lap- at your dress playing with the simple garment. you laugh breathily, “what are the odds.”

‘not in my favor’ he selfishly thinks. he may still have a life whether you win or lose this game- but will he be alive? will he have his anchor?

he shames the world, shames the capitol, shames all of the people who sat back and let you walk onto that stage, shames the game makers who would ever let you step foot in that arena. he needs you to be okay. this world is cruel, cruel to do this to his girl.

“please trust me, i will get you out of these games. you will be a victor and we can live in peace, y/n.”

he sins. he lies. he deceives. straight through his teeth. no matter the outcome you will never live in peace once your out of this. you will never be the same girl.

you think back to his own games. though he has yet to directly say his nightly terrors, his daily horrors, the acts he’s committed that he will never say as he looks into your loving eyes. the capitol has not had lenience on this boy, only a boy, but with troubles of a man.

there is no outcome of this predicament that either of you favor. no scenario in which the world grants you the rest you deserve. you want to scream, cry, pour your heart into him. let him fully consume every fiber that holds you together, all the words you’ve never yet said to him lay heavy on your heart. now it is your turn to stay silent, to lose all oxygen in your lungs, let the blood leave your face. but your voice fails you, “i trust you finnick.”

i trust that i am safe with you. i trust that you won’t let me die. i trust that i will make it back to you. i trust you.

he pulls you into him, his cheeks are wet, there’s a lump in his throat but he does not speak. he simply holds your head onto his chest- his fingers lock into yours as if that’s where they were made to lay.

your words continue to lie dormant in the back of your shared minds- but you let the angry waves speak for you. the greying sky share your sadness, the cold drops of water that reach your legs will bring you back to life- rejuvenate your soul ties. this is the peace you’ve been granted- this is all that is fair in your life.

only in this moment will he have you as you are now, in his arms, still so fragile but he holds you intact.

[mithosis]

Lo and behold, a new little plant guy, now sprinkled with main-plot-flavored tragedy. A Commander, Aestus, the warmest, gentlest sunshine of a sylvari who tries to be the beacon of hope for others, often to the detriment of himself. He shares the verse with a cranky not-fully-alive Marshal, Trahearne Inmorte (@lady-quen), and the Pact's own morbidly whimsical frankenstein bug Morivitae (@commanderteag), Zhaitan's Scion. Together with Aurene they provide a much-needed light to the other duo's darkness (and edginess).

The main twist on existing canon with this guy is the mortifying ordeal of not being a necromancer during PoF and resorting to... a bit unusual means of getting back up. He had to become akin to his enemy in order to defeat the rogue God running around the desert, turning himself into a construct, like the Forged and Exalted, albeit with a bonus of keeping his body.

Obligatory warning for a lot more lore under the cut! This is becoming a tradition with me at this point, apparently (the smoothest Ken doll anatomy version of the art is also at the very very end, i don't want tumblr to smite me)

Aestus is a sylvari of the Dusk Cycle whose pod formed a little ways away from the main cluster in Caledon Forest — closer to the beautiful field of tall rose flowers than anything else. Once discovered, a mender had to be stationed there to keep an eye on it. The life within the pod was weak and unlikely to ever bloom, even with menders' help — their efforts only gave it small bursts of strength to continue developing. Until one morning the once-blue fruit was discovered hanging a little lower just after a visit of a warm, kind-faced charr the day before — now tinted slightly red at the center. It was surprisingly healthy, restored almost as if by a miracle.

When the sapling finally awakened after repelling the vision of a dragon within the Dream with Caithe, the cause for such rapid healing was discovered — the newborn sylvari had a small red shard poking through the center of his chest. A piece of bloodstone that fueled the pod with its magic, his new "heart", exposed for all the world to see.

Despite — or maybe because — the circumstances of his awakening, Aestus is grateful to be alive — a cheerful, warm and driven individual, the kind of person who lights up the room with his presence. Infinitely curious, he is determined to live his life to its fullest, with no regrets — even more so as he later finds out the shard's salvation wasn't as all-powerful as it seemed. While a source of magic in and of itself, it became more unstable the more energy his body took to function — which prompted an… unusual diet of consuming anything that looked even remotely magical or weird enough (woe, toxic hog be upon ye) to balance the scales. It proved to be a valuable exercise in patience as well later in life as Aestus was attempting to gain greater control over the elements.

Nothing changes too drastically from the canon events in his story in the beginning: he dreams of the White Stag, the manifestation of hope, and saves it, and kills Gavin, the Nightmare Courtier, in a duel. He was the first person he ever adventured with as equals, only for the man to turn out the very opposite of Aestus' morals — someone with a goal that would make hundreds miserable. The first friend-turned-enemy, and the first in a row of people to die by their own weapon.

It's only a confirmation of his curiosity for the world that he joins the Durmand Priory further down the road, finding their methods to cause the least amount of casualties involved, as well as provide the most insight into what had happened. When they work, of course. Not at all because finding adventure in long-lost ruins seems to be appealing to him too, no.

Throughout all his various exploits, Aestus is a person who tries to bring the light and comfort into everyone's lives, no matter how dire the circumstances might be, whether it is by dancing his heart out during a festival to invite others to join in, or keeping someone quiet company in the darkest hours of the night. He is constantly dedicating his life to others, more and more so as the story progresses, forgetting about himself in the process more than once. He is the brightest thing on and off the battlefield, bringing all the attention on him instead of his allies — the perfect bait for any who might latch onto the Pact. He trusts his friends, and relies on them to do what they do best while he distracts and pulls focus. He's a helping hand to the family he'd find in Dragon's Watch and a living inspiration to the people fighting against the dragons. And the ticking bomb of repressed emotions, those he can't articulate without breaking the warm and grounding image of the Commander he built over the years (he really said "I'm the Commander of touching grass, i can't let them see I indulge in self-destructive thought"). He is but a humble servant to those that need it most, and it just so happens that Tyria itself needs someone who could put things back on track.

This mentality, as well as the constant feeling of running out of time as the shard grows more unstable the more he uses his magic, aside from the very obvious pull of the Wyld Hunt, is what inevitably dooms him to die at the hands of Balthazar. The God of War and Fire, the embodiment of one of Aestus' greatest fears — becoming a dictator obsessed with power, hellbent on waging endless wars against any and all that he deems fit, the polar opposite of the virtues that the sylvari holds dear to his core — that "all things have a right to grow". And to top it all off, the mage's most trusted element is useless against the God that governs it.

This is the moment where that exposed heart of his breaks, the bloodstone shattering. It will heal, or, rather, "grow" in a different form, no longer a piece of magic, but living metal, as Aestus will take the "humble servant" part of his mentality even further to come back from the dead. Using an ancient Forgotten ritual he'd been studying in his spare time all the way since the assault on the jungle, he turns his own corpse into a construct, not unlike the Forged and Exalted, made of plant matter, metal and colorful glass as his armor and the desert's sands melted and fused together with the sylvari from the sheer heat of his battle against the rogue God. The new "heart" would now tie his soul to the body in absence of anything else holding the two together. It functions similarly to the masks the Exalted are wearing — it is his tether, and if violently removed or damaged beyond repair, the Commander would die a final death.

Similar to the world's view of constructs, he arrives at the same assessment of his own situation — the image of the Commander he is supposed to be — a servant, like an asuran golem, that can either be discarded or recalibrated to fit any need, any task. This "realization" accumulates over time, but despite it Aestus would still try to do what he likes best — making people he loves smile and thrive, even as he is burning from inside out to accommodate. Becoming the kindling this world needs just so everyone makes it out alive.

Killing Trahearne with his own hands, without knowing he would come back in this verse, was probably one of the worst things to happen to him — his own death doesn't compare to the anguish he feels every time a person close to him gets hurt. And despite not ever truly knowing what it's like to lose the Marshal completely, Aestus still feels guilty for being even a little happy he is still there. After all, it wasn't his choice to stay.

The woes of the Commander wouldn't end there. He would emerge victorious over Balthazar and end him for good — or so he thought. He partially absorbed his magic, and just like Aurene, became a new "representation", a new "version" of the God against his will for those, who believed in the tyrant before — the Zaishen Order in particular. The quiet whispers in his head came after. They grew in power until Aestus recognized them for what they were — the dead God's thoughts, his essence or even his soul that latched onto him from the Mists. And it wanted out.

The experience appeared similar to revenants who are able to communicate with the fragments of the Legends long passed at first, but quickly turned dire as Balthazar would try to possess the Commander on more than one occasion, making the gentle sylvari forget himself even for a moment to gain the upper hand. The warmest sunshine of Aestus, now tainted, threatening to become the same hellfire he fought against in Elona. He has his allies to help manage this new "condition", but it does interfere with his life unlike anything else, forcing the sylvari to remain on edge so as not to give up the life he built to someone who would see it brought to ruin.

So he goes on as the beacon, the guiding light for others, tryng to navigate his own problems as smoothly as possible. Colored like the hope of the ever-present butterflies that surround Caladbolg at all times, Aestus is trudging through the greatest challenges the world has to offer. He just has to believe his loved ones would make it to the other side, even if it means he won't live to see it.

The promised smooth sylvari

[foundedroses]

˚₊‧꒰ა ཐི❤︎ཋྀ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ “ Моя дорогая ”

Pairing: Fyodor x !f reader

Plot: when an early morning with your beloved boyfriend, fyodor turns into something more intimate, you can’t help but endure what else he has to offer…

Cw: sub f! reader, oral sex, lil bondage, use of cum, use of pet names (in both english and russian), possible grammar errors because im a lazy bastard who cant be bothered to edit this, part 2 of one of my previous fics of fyodor, restraints, and other shit. 

Wc: 1.2k

A/n: okay, so somebody requested a part two to my fic of fyodor, so here it is! And guess what, for once i didnt struggle to write this and wrote it thru one whole session of writing! Thank gosh for malice mizer keeping me motivated thru this lmao. FORGIVE ME IF THE RUSSIAN IS WRONG! Google translate sucks ass. Shh im not russian myself so dont burn me alive if i got some words wrong. @touyas-slut, didn't know if you wanted to be tagged but there you go :)

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Моя дорогая. That was the last thing that had left the man’s mouth. Fyodor’s mouth. Spending time with your hard working boyfriend was all you craved, that’s all you could’ve possibly wanted; but maybe you wished a little too hard, because there you were, pinned to you and your boyfriend’s shared bed with your wrists restrained, restrained with black silk fabric that you wondered where it came from, and with Fyodor in between your thighs.

Gasps and whimpers slipped out past your lips and you writhed your body in pleasure, the soft silk tugging at your wrists that made you squirm even more. “Hah~...F-Fedya?” You whined softly, attempting to speak fully yet nothing but soft moans tumbled past your pouted lips. 

“моя любовь?” The black haired man raised his head, his lips coated in a sheen coating of your slick and cum from your previous orgasms. His dark violet eyes reflected a sense of lust, and something else that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. “Is this becoming too much for you, my love?” 

Oh that rich Russian accent of his, it drove you wild, the way each syllable of each word rolled off of his tongue in the smoothest way possible sent you into a somewhat frenzy. Your eyebrows knitted together and you shook your head, almost frantically. “N-No~” Your heart began to race, the desperation that was circling your body taking over your core. “Keep…going~” 

Your words of affirmation was all that Fyodor had to hear for him to dive back between your shaking thighs, his tongue darting out past his lips as he slowly licked strips up your already moisten pussy, his wet appendage against your most sensitive area left your thighs trembling and your cunt clenching around nothing.

You mustered a strained groan and bucked your hips forwards into him. That damned silk that bounded your wrists, if only you weren’t restrained. “F-Fuck, fuck!~” Profanities were all that managed to leave your mouth, curses, words that meant nothing in the moment but would in the aftermath. 

“Oh, Моя дорогая?” Fyodor mumbled from in between your thighs as he gave a small kitten lick to your puffy clit, earning a struggling moan from you. “You know that I dislike hearing you say such Profanities~” His tongue again made contact with your clit as he gently flicked his tongue across it, feeling your muscles tense beneath his grasp. “I-I’m sor- fuck, fuck!~” You stretched your muscles and leaned your head back against the soft, white pillow beneath you, struggling to contain the words that spilled from your lip. 

After those vulgar phrases escaped your mouth, Fyodor lifted his head once again. His dark eyes locked onto yours with an intense, almost unnerving gaze that seemed to pierce straight through you. The chill that ran down your spine was inescapable, as his stare held you captive, reflecting a mixture of disbelief and something far more unsettling. “Oh, мой ангел~” Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the man crept up closer to you, his hands now on either side of your body, his eyes glaring down into yours. “Those words really don’t sound pleasing coming from a lady~ do you wish that I punish you for that behaviour, my dear?” 

You could’ve sworn that you could hear your own heartbeat echoing through your ear drums, your breath hitching each time the man crept closer to you. “I-I’m sorry, Fedya…” You apologised in a soft voice, your tone still trembling and still slightly breathy. 

Fyodor clicked his tongue and slowly backed away, his eyes looking down at your naked form, eyes tracing the curves of your figure, his pupils dilating with lust and something similar to anticipation. Without another word leaving his lips, the raven haired man grabbed both your thighs with his hands, blunt nails digging into your skin as he threw your legs over his shoulders. “Ни слова больше, любовь моя~” 

You didn’t know what your boyfriend had just said, his native tongue being nothing but muddled words to you, but even if what he said was in english, it meant nothing at the moment because before you could cough up a reply, Fyodor had his head already buried in between your thighs. Your eyes widened and your mouth fell open, a broken string of moans seeping past your lips as you thrashed your body against the mattress. “F-Fedya, fuck!~” 

Your crude words and phrases went over Fyodor’s head unlike the last couple of times, he mouth at your exposed cunt, tongue suckling and licking every inch of your core as if he had been starved for days on end, truly intoxicated by your taste, scent, everything that you had to offer him. “Моя дорогая~...” He moaned into you, tongue lapping at your slick folds, switching from circling his tongue at your clit to tongue-fucking you. 

Your back arched slightly off of the bed and you jerked your hips upwards, tears pricked the corneas of your eyes and your face felt like it was on fire with the heavy blush that flaunted your s/c complexion. The constant, repetitive heat that pooled between your thighs was becoming almost unbearable, goosebumps trailing your skin each time your partner’s tongue connected with your cunt. “My dear~...” Fyodor groaned against you, his tongue flattering against your folds as he savoured your sweet taste, the tip of his tongue swirled across your slit. 

Cold sweat trickled down the back of your neck and your body shuddered against the bed sheets, you sucked in a sharp, shaky breath as your body convulsed within the man’s grasp. That aching feeling that once lingered between your thighs finally lifted, that relief you were chasing for at last came crumbling over you like a tidal wave. Your jaw fell slack and you drew your eyebrows together, uncontrolled, deep groans spilled past your mouth as your pussy spasmed against the man’s tongue. “F-Fedya, fu..fucking hell!~” 

A low growl emitted from Fyodor’s lips, his hands clawing at your hips as you came, the almost alluring relish of your juices upon his tongue pushed him to the brink of madness. 

The Russian slowly raised his head from down between your legs, his eyes locking to yours, those violet eyes. They radiated with something that seemed so animalistic that it only tempted you further. “My love?~”  You were still huffing and panting when you nodded your head at your boyfriend’s attempt to grab your attention. “Fedya?” 

A soft moan fell past your lips when Fyodor grabbed a hold of your bounded wrists and neared his face closer to yours, his tongue lightly tracing the curve of your ear, his voice low but soft as he whispered. “Я хочу заниматься этим всю ночь, мой милый.~” 

“Huh?” You breathed out, you didn’t understand a single word the man had uttered to you. Fyodor noticed your confusion and he chuckled amusingly, he gently stroked the back of his finger against your cheek, the heat that glazed your skin radiated off of his. His lips curved upwards into a devilish smirk and he rephrased his words. “I said…I wish to do this all night, my darling~” Your eyes widened dramatically, and you let out a soft, breathless gasp, you knew how you were spending the rest of the day, and hell, you were prepared. 

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[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ day two of @tommykinardweek : acceptance, it also includes themes from day six : tommy begins!

a tiny early tommy ficlet <3 enjoy

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Tommy Kinard has always struggled with belonging.

It's not that deep. He's a man with his father's name who isn't welcome in his father's house. He's a gay man in a military family, where those sorts of things only happen to other people. He's engaged to a woman he doesn't love, working for a man he hates, in an industry that likes to pretend people like him don't exist, but at least if he keeps his head down and his standards high he might get out of this alive. There's no room for belonging in a world like that.

What might be a surprise, though, is that Tommy feels the least alone while flying. Up in that pilot's seat, it's him and his thoughts, and even if there's someone in the seat next to him or the jump or the cabin, there's something that's just less – pressured, about it all. Plenty of things for his mind to keep up with, maybe, to keep him from ruminating. Lighter air. Longer views. Could even be it's as simple as the thrum beneath his feet feeling like something he can control instead of knocking around on the ground like a pinball just trying to survive.

Either way, the rush of swooping into land is something he's missed since he's come back stateside. His stomach jolts as the wheels touch down – he's rusty, okay, maybe it's not his smoothest – and he can feel a smile tugging at his lips. He doesn't dare free it. He's on land now, and Captain McGuire is a no-nonsense man.

What, you want me to tell you you did a good job? He can already imagine him saying. Get out of here. Next!

To be fair, he doesn't even know the man; it's just what the leaders in his life have been like. He hasn't even really noticed how hard he's braced for disappointment until McGuire lets out a sort of a cheer, and claps him on the shoulder.

“Nice moves, Firefighter,” he praises. “Flying colours. When can you start?”

Tommy blinks. He still hasn't taken his hands off the stick.

“Just like that?”

“Well, not just,” McGuire amends. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a letter. “I asked Captain Nash what he had to say about you.”

Tommy's heart hammers. In spite of himself – he knows he's good at this – he almost expects: DO NOT HIRE. KINARD IS A NO-GOOD LOUSE WITHOUT A SINGLE BRAIN CELL BETWEEN THOSE GIANT EARS. Even so, he can't help but scan it. Words like exemplary stick in his throat and he wonders if that's what Bobby was smiling all wistfully about last shift. He hadn't told the man, and if it were anyone else he'd probably be pissed that one of his subordinates went around his back for a transfer interview like this. But apparently, that isn't how Bobby rolls, and Tommy's heart could just about combust.

“Captain Nash is a good man,” he manages.

“Reckons you are, too,” McGuire assures him. “Shall we say two weeks? Get your affairs in order?”

“I'll be ready in one, sir.”

“Well, alright.” McGuire nods and holds out his hand and finally, Tommy lets that smile crack through. He shakes it fiercely, knows he's clutching too tight, but McGuire takes his enthusiasm In stride.

“Welcome to the 217.”

[crackrodent]

Husk is scared of being on boats

Husk is afraid of boats

Angel Dust was not an idiot. He knew cats were afraid of water. I mean every cat he’d ever seen was. But Angel was a spider demon and didn’t go around making webs and catching bugs. Hell, he was even tied up in a moth’s nest almost eighteen hours a day recently. He really did just want to take Husk out on a date. They hadn’t had a moment alone since they almost kissed after rebuilding the hotel. Angel of course fucked it up by making a joke about Sir Pentious dying. He was always running away from everything good that came to him.

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

Anthony did like boats though. He had his own when he was alive, and she was beautiful. He used to joke that it was the only woman he would ever love. His parents thought it was hilarious and stupid teenage boy shit but his “friend” from school knew exactly what he meant. Oh, his boat was a sight for sore eyes. She was a dark almost black wooden color and her oars were the smoothest as they glided through the water. He had but cushioning on the bench in the boat. There was only one bench as he needed space for cargo his father told him. He was only fourteen when his father told him that and he took it genuinely. He found out a few years later that he needed space for the rats and troublemakers.

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

“How much fucking longer are we gonna be out here Angel!” Husk hissed. Pissed off at the sinner who wanted to provide a nice fucking date.

“Until you tell me what's your fucking deal with boats, Whiskers.” Angel challenged, hoping that in a few more minutes he would settle down.

“I AIN’T TELLING YOU SHIT!” Husk yelled. Apparently really pissed off at this whole thing.

Husk went back to huffing and puffing quietly and Angel returned to his boat. This one in hell sucked. It was fake wood. Like the stuff they used at his work. Easier to clean he assumed but he didn't know jack shit about cleaning floors.

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

He knew about cleaning boats though.

He didn't have to do it a lot. Sometimes his father would just tell him he had cargo for Poseidon and Angel knew what to do. Sometimes it would be a duffle bag of evidence or worse. If they were already dead then Anthony ready hadn’t done anything wrong. Self-preservation and all that. He was just glad their faces were always covered so he didn't have to see them. He had blocked most of it out.

He remembered the evidence though.

One time he tried to lift the bag and it was so fucking heavy that he just had to take a peak. It was his sister’s doll collection. Had to be twenty of the fuckers. Ever since she passed their mother spent most the day brushing their hair, cooing to them, calling each and everyone of them by their name. He knew all their names too. Anthony started pulling all of them out. And looking at them one last time knowing that he can’t take them back. His dad could handle them for his mother’s sake but since Ma passed- the dolls had to go. There was one doll though. Angel loved her too. I mean he had saved up for two years to get Molly the doll.

He saw it in a magazine. Her name was Beatrice. She had a blue dress so long it almost covered her little black shoes. Molly owed the same shoes. Anthony found her halfway down the bag. He stuffed the rest back in and tossed it overboard.

He stood there. Having broke his father’s trust for the first time in his short life. He was just a man of twenty-three. He couldn’t live forever without this piece of his sister. The memory of his mother. The reminder of his hard work earning the money for the first Christmas gift he ever bought instead of made. He was only ten that Christmas but that was the year his father gave him his first pocket knife. Said he had proved he was growing into a fine young man and would be a great father and husband one day.

Was a long talk about providing for a wife and joining the family business eventually. He liked the time. His dad was often too busy guiding his elder brother about his current involvement in business to give young Anthony much time.

Beatrice reminded him of that talk. Anthony laughed thinking back. A husband he could consider but a wife was out of the question. He was just going to be a bachelor as long as the family let him. He figured he could hide the doll in the bench. There was a small storage box. It was great for hiding up to six blocks of coke but he had one thing to protect more than that. The last good thing about this family was safe.

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

“If I fucking tell you will you let me go?” Husk snapped Angel back to reality. They were already coming up on the end of the route so he figured he would let Husk have this.

“Sure Whiskers. Spill your secrets.” Angel teased.

“It was a couple of years before I died.” He let out a shudder. “I should have stopped with the gambling and shit a lot younger but I was still able so I was still going.”

“Oh yeah? The engine worked well huh?” Angel interjected.

Husk ignored him.

“I was working with some people from Jersey. I was in Jersey well sort of. It’s where I was staying but you know how small the states are up there. I had business in New York too. They had this shitty yellow boat. The paint was chipping but it had so many layers of paint you couldn’t see the original wood at all.”

“Yeah Jersey ain’t far from my old stomping grounds at all,” Angel said and was ignored again.

“We went out on the water because well we had another boat meeting us out there. But theirs was very dark brown or gray so it was hard to see it.”

Angel felt his breath catch. He was certain he was wrong but what if-

“The bench I was on was wobbly. The one the brothers I was out with sat on was fine. The other boat approached. We could see the bags on their laps. We were trading off cash for jewelry. It was legal. Well, our jewelry was. Their money wasn’t. It was an unnecessary risk but the choice was out of my hands.” Husk looked down, “Well our boats were side by side and they tossed the money over but the jewelry was too heavy and I stood to make sure I could toss it over. I was older than every one of those guys. hell twice the age of half of them.”

“You stood on the boat!” Angel gasped.

“Yes,” He responded.

“Did you die?”

“Angel I already fucking told you this was a couple of years before I died.”

“Oh right.”

“Well the bag made it to their boat but I went overboard.” Husk looked down, “They got me back on the boat and I was freezing. They made me sit on the floor of the boat so I could be curled up a bit. Stay warmer.”

Angel felt bad for teasing him. This sounded like it bothered him a lot.

“That’s not the part that made me swear off boats though,” Husk said.

The suspense was gonna leave Angel double dead.

“From the spot where I sat, I saw two little latches. So well hidden if you didn’t know they were already there I doubt anyone would find them.”

“Standard back in my time Whiskers, New York knows their stuff.”

“Well I was cold and I thought maybe there could be a blanket in there so I opened it and inside was a crazy-haired witch of a doll. covered in years of cobwebs. I freaked out. I mean fuck I fell overboard again. Tipped the whole boat.” Husk put his face in his hands. “I didn’t notice right away. not until the brothers started laughing. We were only three feet deep at that point so there was. A man as old as dirt sitting in water and crying like a little kid.”

Angel was glad they had hit land or he would have tipped the boat laughing. He almost fucking called it.

“Was the doll wearing a blue dress? With little black shoes?”

“How did you-”

Angel’s laughter could wake up all of hell and it would be worth it.

“Husk you are not gonna believe this!”

[luimagines]

That Dragon AU Part 16

@cafecourage This is going to be a fun chapter :D

Masterlist

First Chapter/ Previous Chapter/ Next Chapter

Chapter 16: Not The Smoothest Exit

Warrior smiled. "I typically am. But they can't entrust the work to someone who's bound to leave at any moment, now can they?"

"I think if I save up enough we would be able to buy a place outside of Castle Town. What do you think? The castle isn't exactly... a decent place to house a family. I've seen the best and worst of it to be honest." Enno tilted their head.

"I can try to help out with money, but I would like to have a small garden." Enno sighed, thinking about the future now. "Having a place outside of Castle Town is also quieter. I just worry about the commute if you work super late into the night."

Warrior snort. "Not if I save up to retire early."

He sighs and leans back in his chair. "It wasn't something I thought I would able to have but I wouldn't want to actually want to do this work forever, you know? It wasn't even in my plans when I joined to army. I never would have thought I would have gotten up to this point."

Enno bonked his shoulder with their head. "It's your life. Again, I'll try to do my own thing to help out. I joked about it a few times but I've always wanted my own small cafe or bakery. We have awhile to figure this out." 

Enno finished their food.

Warrior perks up a bit. "That sounds lovely, Sweetheart. No harm in at least laying out desires on the table though, right? How else are we supposed to plan ahead anyway?"

Legend walked into the room then. He took one look at Enno and Warrior and turned on his heel, attempting to head out. Hyrule stops him. "Legend, be nice."

"This is too much in one week." He states. "First the Old Man now the Captain? It's got to be something in the air."

Enno stuck their tongue out at Legend. "I don't see the problem with this. You’re the one always joking that this was our honeymoon." They go back to having their head on Warrior's shoulder. "How has your week been?"

Hyrule snorts and joins the table easily enough. "It was great! I got to finally get the nurses teach me some stuff. Not really magic stuff though, which is a bit dull but I suppose we're all better equipped to deal with injuries in the future."

Legend smirks. "You should have seen this guy. He pulled out the puppy eyes and everything. The nurses never stood a chance."

Enno snorted. "Be nice to them. They don't get payed enough to deal with all of our shenanigan's. But it's good that you had fun." Pulling back, Enno grabbed their coffee because they were getting tired again. "Speaking of which, we have to go back to get the prescription. Almost at the homestretch."

"I'm just about done." Warrior looks at them. "Are you sure you don't want to eat more? You've hardly touched your food, hun."

Legend rolls his eyes, but he points at Enno with his fork. "If you have the same eating habits as the Captain and we weren't aware of it at the time, I need to you to be fully aware that I'll drag you to eat as well. Don't test me."

Enno groaned. "I'm don’t! I just don't really eat that much for breakfast. I had the toast and fruit. It’s fine. Let me drink my coffee in peace before threatening me." There was no malice there. They knew Legend was just like that.

Legend sticks his tongue out and eats his food without fussing. "My threat still stands."

Hyrule snorts. "It's like being threatened by a cupcake."

Legend's head snaps to him. "I can take you down."

"Try me."

Warrior clears his throat, getting Enno’s attention as the other two bicker. "Ready, Sweetheart?"

They snagged a mini bagel from the plate to get Legend off of their back. “Now that I apparently eaten more, yes, I am” They begin to break off pieces of the bagel to eat as they stand. “I hope it’s ready. Do you guys know where we are all meeting up?”

“Wild said the first lounge on the right of the entrance.” Hyrule spoke up, ignoring Legend and his threats of being buried alive.

"Coming in? Or going out?" Warrior stands as well, stacking the plates and pushing in the chairs.

"Going out." Legend salutes lazily.

"Got it." Warrior nods and takes Enno’s hand. "We'll be there soon enough then."

Enno began nibbling on the small bagel, waiting for Warrior and finished it by the time he reached for their hand. “See you!” They let him lead them away and out the door. “You got me thinking about a future with you now. Thanks. I don’t hate it but it didn’t need to take my brain cell and distract it.”

Warrior pauses with mild panic in his eyes before he relaxes, laughing. "Welcome to my world. It's lovely here."

He swings their hands and easily retraces their steps back to the infirmary. "You can write about it and we can see how many things we can make a reality."

“I could but I could also use this as ammo against you.” Enno looked around them, trying to remember the way to the infirmary. “Make you think about it more than me. Revenge.”

"I'm always thinking about you." Warrior says softly. He opens the door to the infirmary and takes a different turn. "Not a moment goes by that I’m not thinking about you."

Enno, however, had automatically went the other way and stumbled a bit following him. “First off, sorry. Second, you cant just say that. I swear-.” Enno’s voice dropped to a whisper. “If we weren’t in public I would make you melt and head empty.”

Warrior goes to open his mouth before he shuts it with a click, his own thoughts turning his face a bit pink.

"....I had a quip. But you're right... we're in public." Warrior ruffles his own hair. "Anyway... It doesn't take much for you to do that anyway. I've been completely smitten for a while now."

They snorted, looking away. “Oh really? I would love to know how long you’ve been like that. Since we haven’t been on this adventure for a long time now.” 

They reach the desk of the new area with a clearly exhausted young woman behind the counter.

Warrior doesn't answer their question and instead turns to address the receptionist. However, he only has to breathe in her direction before she looks up, startles before she stands and moves out. "I'll go see if they have it ready now, Your Lordship."

Warrior tries to not deflate. "Thank you."

He then turns to Enno with a nervous smile. "To answer your question....Try week 3."

“I can’t get used to the title.” They mumbled, beforeregistering what Warrior said. “Wait- 3 weeks since we’ve- huh. Honestly, I thought around week 5? But now I know that was just my brain being anxious.” They shrug. “Either way, I fell around 4.”

"O-oh." Warrior blushes unexpectedly and kicks his toe agaisnt the floor. "I uhhhh�� probably could have done something a lot sooner then, huh?"

He smiles boyishly. "But no... I fell pretty quickly when I felt like a moron after trying to do something cool and failed at it. It was less when Legend pointed it out. But you laughed... so hard. You joined in the teasing even. I didn't think I'd find someone making fun of me refreshing."

Enno was shocked, then looked down, blushing. “Oh….”

They didn’t know how that was the thing that got him. Honestly, they couldn’t remember which time that was because it really was a common occurrence. “I mean, while this whole trip was fast, I don’t think I would change it for the world.” They teased him.

"You and me both." Warrior looks towards them with hearts in his eyes.

The receptionist comes back with a small paper bag with a bottle inside. Warrior stood to go get it.

"Ok, so, eat with a meal, eat before bedtime, take daily. You have enough for two months. Do you have any questions regarding the medication?" The receptionist handed the bag to Warrior.

"I don’t." Warrior looks at Enno. "Do you?"

“Nope. Thank you.” They go up to him and took the bag from his hand. “Have a good day!” They pulled him along as they left the medical bay. 

“Anyway, Link?” Enno looked up at him. “I love you.” They turned to look forward and kept walking swinging their hands together as they walked.

Warrior blinks and goes soft, his hand squeezing theirs tightly. "I love you too."

They walked together in relative silence as he led them both through the castle to the lounge where everyone was.

"LINK!" Lana yells from behind the two of them.

Warrior curses under his breath "What now?"

"I'm coming with you. God forbid we get separated in the timeline." Enno turned around to see Lana running up to them.

"What's up, Lana?" Enno asked as soon as Lana could catch her breath.

Lana bends over, panting as if she run a marathon to get to the two of them. She opens her mouth to speak before she goes shock silent. Her eyes dart to their faint but visible new scars. She coughs, a blush on her face before she addresses the two of them. "I hate to be the barer of bad news but Cia is awake. She's looking for you."

Enno let go of Warriors to go to support Lana. "It's fine. Thank you for telling us. But please breathe." After she gets her breath again Enno asked. "Where is she currently? And is she on a rampage?"

"She's... calm." Lana says hesitantly. "That's what's worrying."

Warrior groans. "Well I was hoping to avoid her entirely. Do you think you can stall until we shift?"

Lana bites her lip. "I... can try."

Enno had HIGH doubts that Cia wouldn’t just come to them anyway. "Honestly, I'm more worried that we don't have a choice in that matter. I would rather not see her since she might see the things." They lifted up their marked hand. "It might make that calm instantly disappear."

Lana tilts her head. "That’s... impossible. But I wouldn't put it past her to try."

"Which is why I don't want to see her face." Warrior takes Enno’s hand once more before he pause. ".....No offense Lana."

She smiles softly. "I get it. She's done enough damage. How's your wing?"

Warrior shrugs. "Getting better."

"I was surprise you could still fly around yesterday." Enno mumbled, knowing that Warrior shouldn't have done so. They twisted their hand so they were holding his as well. "The shift or portal might be coming soon."

Lana narrowed her eyes. "I'm sorry, Link did what?"

"Ok! Thank you, Lana. Love and appreciate everything you do!" Warrior started to pull Enno away. "I'll be back before you know it! I'm counting on you! Buh-bye!"

Enno burst out laughing. “Don’t worry Lana, I got you! I’ll scold him!” Warrior was practially draggin Enno away before Lana could put more pieces together. They finally got to the lounge and rushed inside. 

Cia was already inside.

“Oh, well that was faster then I thought.”  Enno instantly hid their marked hand.

She seems calm. “I need to speak to Link.”

“You realize we’re leaving soon, right?” Pinky raised an eyebrow, not seeing Warrior or Enno in the doorway. A few of the others were already there but they were still missing Legend and Hyrule.

"It‘s because you are leaving at any moment that I wish to speak to him now." Cia crossed her arms. "I had not the chance for two days now. So, my apologies for the inconvenience."

"You didn't seem to care about that before." Wild mutters and Cia turns to him, spotting Pinky.

She stared at her for a moment and the poor girl tried to both meet her head on and also avoid conflict by looking away.

She clears her throat. "...Can I help you?"

Cia raises an eyebrow. "You can."

"Don't even think about it!" Wild growls.

Warrior adjusts his scarf around his neck and he clears his throat. He goes to speak with a blush on his face but his attention is snapped to the side by Cia speaking.

He pushed Enno to the wall and put himself in front of them. "I can't say I'm surprised. But I'm not happy about this."

Sky and Twilight both noticed them turn back in the corner and stood silent. Twilight was trying to focus if he can hear a plan from Warrior’s side of things.

Time let’s out a low, ferocious growl as a warning. He doesn’t want to have another fight breaking out. “Cia, be careful about what you do or say.”

"Cool." Pinky gulps, keeping a hand on Wilds shoulder.

Cia continues to stare at her and she stares right back.

"Well?" Cia bites.

"Well what? You didn't say anything else." Pinky frowns.

"I need you to come with me. Obviously." Cia looks over at Time. "Please."

“What do we do now?” Enno hissed, moving away from the doorway. “Don’t say you are going to do something alone that’s not gonna happen.”

Warrior cursed and left common viewing area. "I don't know if we can do something. Best case scenario, we wait for Lana to try something. Or we wait and hope we shift so she can be left behind. If there's a portal that opens we have an issue for real."

“No, you tried to kill her last time you were near her.” Time glared back at her, gaining the attention of the two by the door. “What ever you can say can be in-front of us.”

He also holds the sleeping Mask near him.

“That’s- Link- something is probably going to happen.“ Enno paused, turning away from the unfolding chaos. “Ok, look, Lana isn’t going to know to come straight here. Go get her since you’re faster then me. She probably didn’t get far from where we left her.” They looked back to the room. “I’ll try to keep things stalled for a bit. Keep things interesting. The boys are there. I’ll be fine if she does something.”

Cia huffs and looks at Time again. This time she notices Mask. "Nevermind then. This isn't worth my time. But the boy stays here."

"Over my dead body!" Pinky growled. "You have no right!"

"You are not even from here, miss street rat." Cia rolls her eyes and sticks up her nose. "I'm amazed you've survived this long as it is. I brought the boy here and I must put him back."

Pinky hesitated. The group doesn't know what to do next. She stepped out from behind Wild. "No."

"I don't like it." Warrior huffs, knowing that it was heading south and fast. "But you're right."

He leaned over to kiss them. "Don't do anything too stupid?"

He tilted his head with a small smile and dashed off to go get reinforcements.

"I'm not leaving my child self with you, ether." Time backs Pinky up. "You brought him into this The timeline has already changed. Having him here isn't going to break anything."

Enno strolled in casually. "Mask is freaking adorable despite what he is capable of." They “noticed” Cia and smiled. "Hey girl, what's up?"

They went to sit on the arm of the couch where Wind and Sky were. "You look better." Lifting their knee up onto the arm, they hug it. "I would have thought that you had to rest a bit more. So I'm a bit shocked" 

Finger guns.

Cia's nose flared and her gaze turns rageful.

Pinky stepped in her way, much to Wild's clear disproval. "Bri-"

"We have to leave. Whatever you need to say, make it quick." The pink girl said with gritted teeth.

Cia reaches out and grabs her shirt, tugging her closer. "Listen here, you would have had a decent life with Lord Neiflem. If you could have stopped from freezing-"

Mask woke up.

Pinky spat in her face.

"DON'T TOUCH HER!” Time had to catch Mask mid air. The mini dragon began squirming around. "I SWEAR I KICKED YOUR ASS BEFORE. I'LL DO IT AGAIN."

Enno put their hands on Pink’s shoulders, leaning forward. "This is how I've been dealing with her. Don't worry." They whispered giving her a pat and jumped up, getting between the two of them. Enno took Cia's hand off of Pinky by force. "Let's all calm down now."

"Neiflem didn't even care if she was dead or alive. You know nothing." Time growled still having to handle a raging small dragon. 

"Time-" Enno gestured to him like 'BOI', giving him the stick eye.

"She would have been fine if she didn't give up on finding a heat source or better yet, using her mark to summon him back." Cia spits.

Pinky clenched her jaw but stood silent. She moved back from Enno, just in case.

Cia looked back and ripped her hand away. "You both have done enough damage. You are no longer welcome within Hyrule."

"Us?" Pinky screeched.

Cia slams her staff onto the ground and a circle lights up beneath us.

Enno was quick to grab Cia by her upper arm and drag her into the circle as well, "We both know how this ends! It's always the same song and dance! Why do you keep doing this knowing he will hate you more?" They didn't care about the circle or any of the magic at this moment. "You don't always get the person you think you deserve, Cia! Why can't you accept that!"

Mask escaped Time’s grip and dashed to Pinky, trying to knock her out of the lit up circle.

Mask all but crashed into Pinky and sent them both stumbling outside the circle’s circumference. 

"So be it." Cia hisses.

"Wait, Enno, you don't know if it's the right place!" Pinky tried to reach out to them to pull them back, needing to fight Mask to let her go.

Cia lifts up her staff to finish the spell right as Warrior came back in to kick her to the side. He's in his half form, his wing partly torn once more.

Warrior turned to Enno, panting. "What did I say?"

He takes their arms and gently tugs them out of the circle. Its still activated.

Warrior looks over them tenderly before he turned to Cia, glaring at her.

Lana came in running a moment later. "Oh my goodness! By the three- what happened?!"

Twilight was at Pinky’s side with Time and Wild. "Are you ok?" Twilight asked, looking them both over. He tried to seprate the young/old dragon off of her.

"No!" Mask only burrows further into Pinky, holding on like his life depended on it.

"I'm alive." Enno leaned on Warrior. " Also to be fair, she started it. All I did this time was say 'hey girl'." They noticed his wing. "Wait, sht- your wing!"

Hyrule and Legend walked into the mess "What the fck happened." Legend muttered under his breath as Hyrule was quick call up his life spell.

Warrior coughed. "I had to be fast."

Hyrule hisseed and got to work. It didn’t even look fully healed from the previous attack. "What on earth did we miss?"

Legend hovers around nervously. He kept looking at where Sky, Four and Lana were trying to form a wall between Cia and the group.

Cia still looked calm despite being kicked by her Precious.

Warrior has been growling lowly, staring Cia down. He let Hyrule work and he knew that Enno was close but he's too angry to hold back his more volatile tendencies. 

Cia for her part, was not acknowledging the others in front of her, nor did she even look at Lana.

No one noticed the staff, which has been discarded to the side once she went flying.

Enno looked back at her. They knew they could make it worse. The temptation was strong. Not having her pull a full on tantrum was weird. 

"So what now?" They asked her calmly, not getting up from their spot. Legend gave them the side eye but didn't stop them from talking. "You know what I said before was something you said during the war. Why are you struggling so hard to accept it?"

They weren't going to call Lana out on her crush. That would be mean.

Cia continued to stare before they noticed that her eyes sharpened. Now she's looking at them.

She snaps and the staff fires from its position on the ground.

It's directed at Pinky and Mask. It hits the couch and a portal opens. Pinky couldn't hold onto anything fast enough. She fell backwards, reaching for Time-

They both fell through and half of the couch falls with them.

The portal closes.

[ideas-of-immortality]

Rook is so unbelievably autistic okay. He and Ben are the literally poster children for the Autism x AuDHD BFFs/Power Couple... I just

*clawing at my enclosure*

Rook obviously having heightened sense meaning he is more sensitive to literally everything but I can imagine bright light and strong smells make for a special kind of sensory hellscape.

Idk special interests maybe weapons/martial arts and earth culture. He's a Terreaboo :P

But also the absolutely hilarity of

"Ben stop messing with your watch!"

"OKAY YOU STOP MESSING WITH THE PROTO-TOOL! At least the watch won't accidentally put a HOLE IN SOMEONE?!"

Ben being a living fidget spinner 90% of the time.

But I can also imagine rook being significantly heavier than ben, my personal HC is the atmosphere on Revonnah is denser and the planet has higher gravity so everything on earth feel lighter to him? But ben absolutely saw the chance to be crushed alive and insists on rook just fully lying on top of him on bad days like:

"I have a desire to be crushed"

"That sounds incredibly dangerous and inadvisable."

"No man like you ever seen those hydraulic press videos and gone man that's me?"

"...no????"

Rook also not admitting to anyone but partially missing his Bithnak (however the tail thing is spelled), cause he used it to stim like flapping one's hands but with a tail instead.

The reason that boy wears the damn proto armor and sleeps in nothing but his boxers is because of sensory issues. Fur plus fabric is a NIGHTMARE, the suit is designed to be the smoothest possible texture. Boy sleeps on silk sheets.

HNRGGGGGG AUTISM ROOK

[the-fluff-piece]

Tropetember day 10

Zosan drunk confession

After discovering their mutual attraction, their blossoming romance was cut short by the events of the timeskip

But they didn't forget each other, they just need a nudge in the right direction

This is part 3

Part 2

Part 1

Zoro

He knew that they would meet again. After two years, the strawhats where reunited and celebrated together.

Neither Zoro nor Sanji have openly acknowledged what happened on Thriller Bark. It was almost as if it didn't happen.

The cook was swooning over the girls like always. While Zoro drank by himself. Like always.

For two years, Zoro had trained to become stronger, to lift a bit of the burden off Sanji's shoulders. To keep all of them alive.

When he woke up in Mihawk's Castle, Zoro desperately craved for the cooks food. For another secret embrace. No day would go by where Zoro wouldn't think about him, build scenarios in his head where he might have landed. And imagined how they would meet again.

Yet, sanji didn't let on anything. For all Zoro cared, he could pamper the girls all night long. But being so blatantly ignored hurt. For every time Sanjis eyes wandered past him, he drank.

Sanji

After two years in hell, he was finally back where he belonged, with his crew, the ladies. And Zoro. Not that he missed him. He missed the fighting. Missed a real man....

During lonely nights and stressful days on that wretched island, he often wished that Zoro would come and help him defeat ivankov and his subjects and save him.

But he couldn't admit that there was more to it. The whole picture of his manhood rested on his devotion to ladies, and his feeling put all of it into question.

He couldn't look at the swordsman right now. He had gotten broader, taller. More handsome. It was too much.

He went outside for a quick smoke, it was already late. As he stared up at the night sky, he heard someone approach. Uneven, loud footsteps.

"Marimo, drunk already?" He turned around - and was slammed against the wall with force. Enough to make him really feel it, but not so much that it hurt.

Zoro's hand was flat on his chest and held him in place.

"What's up with you?" He spit the cigarette bud on the floor, ready for one of his fights with Zoro.

"Finally looking at me?" Zoro said, his speech slurred, "I could almost think...that you're not happy to see me." He focused on Sanji with his good eye.

"As happy as I can be, seeing you" Sanji said. It meant all and nothing at the same time.

"Well I am....I am really glad that you made it back. Didn't forget what you did for me on Thriller Bark. And after." The pressure subsided and he let his hand fall to his side.

"Marimo, you're drunk. Go to bed." Sanji could smell the Sake on Zoro's breath and turned to leave.

Zoro's hand shot up in front of him and slammed into the wall, barring his escape. Now he was angry. He turned to Zoro, ready to kick, when he was taken off guard. He expected to be slammed into the wall, to be thrown around, hit by a sword hilt in the face.

Anything but Zoro's face coming nearer, pressing a kiss to his lips. It was a drunk kiss, rough-lipped, surprising and messy. Desperate.

He couldn't help but return it in kind, holding on to Zoro's arm that had stopped him before.

"I knew it" Zoro broke the kiss to whisper, "you missed me, too. Had a long time to think about you. Us."

Sanji was at a total loss for words, his head empty.

"If you're not talking..." Zoro grabbed his chin and devoured his mouth once more. The only answer Sanji had to give was to draw the swordsman's body closer. Zoro understood perfectly.

"I want you, too" He answered unspoken words between kisses. "I need you, too."

Sanji turned his head away, panting. He couldn't let Zoro take all the credit, do everything.

He may not be the smoothest gentleman right now, but he also wasn't with a lady. No rules he had ever obsessed about applied here. He didn't need sweet words, didn't even need to be gentle. He grabbed Zoro's coat and yanked him around, taking charge.

"I l..like you, too" the words came stuttered and insecurely, but the important thing was that he said them. He looked into Zoro's smiling face and knew - nothing would be as before.

_________

So full transparency: I am not really sure about it and of course I started far to late and have no expence in writing the couple.

Let's just see it as my personal practice for more ZoSan in the future.

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Guaxinim the smoothest man alive literally sliding into bed next to Pac I'm crying, he's so funny

[sloelimbs]

Babe I'm gonna give you total creative freedom bc I trust you completely, BUT if you want a prompt, let's go with 'pineapple.'

since i'm down to my last two requests (i know it's taking me forever, i'm sorry, i have medical shit going down) i'm just going to pop in here that my askbox is open and i take requests! now, the story:

The line comes to him with the same kind of flash of inspiration as a riff, or a brilliant lyric, several years into his employment at the Hideout. He still plays on Tuesdays, because he and the guys could never give up on the double Cs, but more or less every other night of the week he’s in there serving drinks and cleaning glasses. It’s not without resentment that Eddie acknowledges he’s met more girls with a cocktail shaker in his hand (because Fridays are ladies nights, so cocktails are on the menu) than with his guitar.

Of course, that was before Chrissy Cunningham started working with him. Okay, so she doesn’t exactly work with him but she’s in the goddamn bar, ain’t she? It doesn’t matter that she’s also, you know, on the bar. He wouldn’t let anyone actually touch her (and nor would the other girls, for that matter) but God what do they do to the cheerleaders in this town to make them so consistently hot? It’s clearly not the uniform (he’d been worried about that), so what? The natural rhythm she has, moving so that her skin lights up like she’s covered in scales, hipbones glowing beneath low riding shorts, and how (even covered in sweat with her hair dark and curling from it) beautifully alive she is with the music replacing the blood in her veins? He knows she feels that too. Music is a living thing that takes a person over; this he knows because he makes it. Eddie suspects Chrissy was born with it.

Anyway, the line he comes up with smacks him clear between the eyes - a chord progression, a bridge appearing from nowhere - just as the last stragglers are being shooed out of the door and Chrissy is drying her hair perched on a table. It’s beyond fucking genius, he just knows it. He’s about to pick her up with the smoothest shit that’ll ever leave his mouth and he’s extra fucking cocky about swaggering up to her with a towel over his shoulder and his arms crossed over his chest. He’s always grateful that his work clothes are flattering but tonight he’s seriously considering thanking a God he doesn’t really believe in for his luck. She looks up at him quizzically, then smiles a smile so big that actually he thinks his smoothness might have a little pulp in it after all. Shit. Fuck. It’s too late, he’s already opening his mouth, and what falls out of it is;

“If you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple.” What that fuck was that, Munson, you enormous fucking clowncar of a man? Smooth his fucking foot oh God he’s going to run his own head over with his van. The fuck is he talking about? What is this nonsense?

Why can’t Chrissy be as easy to talk to as the bimbos that come in here with their bachelorette parties?

“Wow.” But she’s laughing! That’s a good sign! It’s not even polite laughter - it’s a hideous little giggle that he immediately wants to find again, grin immediate on his mouth, watching the gaps between her teeth. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Normally I’m much better than this.”

“You realise that makes you sound like a womanising jerk, right?” Chrissy crosses one long bare leg over the other and brushes the rhinestones hanging against her collarbone over her shoulder, raises her eyebrows and puckers her mouth at him. Sweet baby Jesus. That’s not true, not really, not from his perspective but if this is a game and this is how she wants the rules to be then he can do that. He sits at the table and folds his arms on the top.

“Maybe you should make an honest man of me, Cunningham. What time do you get off?”

“Same time as you, obviously.”

“I have some kush back at my trailer, if you felt like joining me.” The smile on her face grows, and her eyes flick from his own to his mouth, and it doesn’t matter that the pick up line ended up being the most embarrassing thing he could ever say because she leans down over him and slots her fingers along the bone of his jaw. Now he knows how all the heroines feel when the hero finally catches up with them. It’s a very strange place to be. Worth it, though. Oh God, so worth it, because she parts her lips against his and her tongue is coated in sugar and cinnamon from shots of cherry sours and Big Red bubblegum. When she pulls back, that tongue lingers for a second between his teeth and with a shiver he starts to laugh. He can’t help it. “It’s pineapple. The kush.”

“Wow. I can’t believe I’m going home with you and you’re this much of an idiot.”

“Chrissy, what can I say? I’m a talented guy.”

[angrenwen]

"

“How do you know, if they don’t come out?” The woman with the bow was frowning.

“Sometimes the people I guide find the bodies of those who came before,” I said calmly. “Sometimes not all of them reach the Stone Door. Those who survive know that there were others who did not. I will guide you, if you want my help.” The armed pair still looked dubious, but both peasants said ‘Yes’ quick and loud. When I looked closer, I saw that they were trembling with weariness. “Then come. You can rest, and eat, in my cave, before we begin.”

They sat by my fire, and ate the flesh of monsters and fruits that grow nowhere but here. Not everyone dared to eat what I offered, in this place, but those who did were the stronger and the swifter for it all their days. These had no choice, having no supplies with them, and when they had eaten they fell asleep, even the man who tried to sit watch.

The boy woke up first. The young recover quickly, and he had eaten well of my strengthening food. He found me awake, and came to sit beside me while I finished securing leather straps to a basket, so it could be carried on the back. “Is that for us? For supplies?”

“Yes. You’ll need it.” The baskets, and the skin bottles for water, are the only things I ever really need to replace. They tend to go through the Stone Gate with those I rescue, and I need to make new.

“Thank you.” The boy crouched beside me, and started running his fingers through the pebbles that floor this part of the cave. He picked out some of the smoothest stones, and held them up. “Can I take these? For the sling?”

“Yes.” It was good thinking, and I was impressed again. “It’s wise to go armed, here.”

He picked through the stones, filling a small pouch, while I finished the basket. Then he looked up at the wall, and pointed. “What’s that?”

“A sword.”

“It’s green. I never saw a green sword before.”

“It’s bronze.” I rose and took down the sword, handling it carefully. I haven’t touched it in… a long time. It was the first sword I ever held. “Bronze swords were what was used before iron, and iron before steel. Bronze turns blue or green when it gets old, not rusty.”

“It’s old, then.” He took it, when I handed it to him, examining it curiously. “I never saw one this shape. It’s like a willow leaf.”

“They all used to be like that.”

The boy looked at the sword, then up at me. “How long,” he asked slowly, “have you been here? You talk as if you know, as if you remember, but that must have been hundreds of years ago.”

How long have you been here? I’ve been asked that before, but not like this. As a challenge to my knowledge, yes, but… not with concern. Not by one who wanted to know, really know, the answer. Because he thought of me, and not himself, I gave him an honest answer. “I do not know how long it has been… but I can show you, if you like.”

“Yes, please.”

I led him to the back of the cave, where a narrow opening led into another, deeper cave. It was lit by glowing stones – I find them in the gizzards of some of the monsters – and he looked around with wondering eyes. I keep… mementoes here. Weapons, mostly – it’s wise to keep an armoury, in this place, and the dead don’t need them any more. Some armour, too, though there’s little made by men that equals the protection of vaalith hide, which is why I wear that now. The weapons of the dead deteriorate, over time, but it takes a long time for a well-cared for blade to wear out.

I watched him examining swords and maces the like of which he knew, then the older ones, working his way to the back of the cave. There he stopped and stared.

Time passes differently, here. What a person is carrying when they come in doesn’t age, any more than they do, not while the person is alive. Food does not rot, dyes do not fade, weapons do not tarnish – though they can be broken. So the clothing I wore when I first entered the forest has not altered since I stopped wearing it and laid it in the cave. The boy gazed at the leather tunic, the fur cape, the shoes that were just wrapped hides, and the small flint axe. Then he turned and looked at me. “How many hundreds of years,” he asked in a whisper, “has it been since men made axes of stones?”

“I don’t know,” I said quietly. “A long time.”

“Can’t you leave?”

“I could if I wished to.” I heard voices in the outer cave, and pointed towards the gap. “Go tell your people I haven’t eaten you.”

He went, but I knew there would be more questions.

Two days later, we camped by a cliff, roasting the flesh of a crues-beast. “If the Stone Door moves every day, how will we ever find it?” The woman with the bow, whose name I had not troubled to learn, was frowning. “We can’t make any kind of systematic search.”

“I am… good at finding the Door,” I told her, turning the improvised spit. “I have been here a long time. I know the signs.”

“How long?” The man winced, and laid a hand on his bandaged leg. His scepticism hadn’t lasted past the first attack by the monsters. It usually didn’t.

“Since axes were made of stone.” The boy’s voice was quiet. “I saw her old things, in the cave.”

“Axes of stone? I never heard of such a thing.” The man frowned.

The woman with the bow looked stunned. “I have. There was an old mound, a burial mound… but it was thousands of years old. Thousands.”

“Then I have been here for thousands of years.” I kept turning the spit.

They all stared at me in silence for some time. “Were all people as short as you, when you were in the world?” It was the peasant woman who asked.

I nodded. “Mostly. I was middling tall, then.” I had noticed that people were getting taller – most people who come through now have a full hand’s length of height on me, or more. They are paler, too, their skins pallid instead of the good brown of my people, and they no longer tattoo their skin with woad or braid their hair with bones. The first time I saw yellow hair came as a shock, and red even more so. But that was a long time ago. “Time is… different, here. I do not feel the weight of years, nor does it seem so long to me.”

After that, they obeyed me without question. I wondered if I should start telling the travellers how old I am, to make them mind me… but no. I answer questions, but I do not volunteer information.

The boy crouched beside me while we drank from a stream and filled our water bottles. “Why do you stay here?”

I looked at him, thinking. I have been asked that question before, and usually I answer only ‘because I choose to’ or ‘because it is laid on me’, but again this child was different. He thought, hard, about what I told and showed him, about me. So I sat back on my heels. “This place was not made by wizards,” I said quietly. “It has always existed. It was old when my people wandered the mountains, and we told legends of it. It is a… testing place. Those who come out of it are… special. Great warriors, or leaders, or wise people. It changes people. Especially if they eat here.”

The boy nodded. “I am already stronger. I’ve noticed.”

I nodded too. “There is a rule. If one enters, one can leave again. If more than one enter, but only one survives to reach the Stone Door, that one can leave. But if there are two or more, then one must stay behind, living, and wait for the next time someone enters the forest.” I drew a mark on the mud at the end of the stream. “This mark was for my clan, once. It is long forgotten now. We were almost wiped out, in battle with another clan, and the last of us, fleeing, came here. I was… wise woman, for the tribe. Sorceress, you would call me. When we reached the Stone Door, I chose to stay behind, so the rest of the clan could go through. And I made a vow, then, that I would stay. That for as long as I lived, I would let others pass through, and remain behind.”

“For thousands of years?”

“I did not think it would be that long,” I admitted. “I fight and hunt the monsters every day. I thought one of them would win, sooner or later. But I made a vow. And I stay.”

The boy nodded slowly. “To save one’s people is… important,” he said slowly. “And a vow should be kept, no matter what.” He copied the sign I had made, drawing it in the mud with a dirty finger. “I will remember this. What is your name?”

It took me a while to remember it. “Oba.”

“I am Artur.” He smiled, and he wasn’t handsome, but he was charming when he smiled. “I will remember you, Oba.”

I got them out – all save the woman with the bow, who fell to a vaalith – and I remained behind.

Some time later – I never knew how long – a young man came through into the clearing, wearing steel plates over most of his body, etched and painted in marvellous patterns. On his breast, in a circle, he wore a familiar mark. “What is that sign?” I asked him, surprised.

He looked down at it. “It is the sign of our kingdom,” he said, seriously. “Our first king, King Artur, was given it by an ancient sorceress of great power, and he placed it on his standard and on his shield.”

I snorted. “Ancient I may be,” I told him, “and wise woman, but great my power is not. But I will take you to the Stone Door, if I can.” He goggled at me, and I turned away to hide my smile. That boy had been clever. I’d expected greatness from him. But a king, and one who remembered the ancient sign of my clan after seeing it drawn once in the mud… that impressed me. That peasant boy with his sling had gone far, and remembered well. “He is dead now, I suppose,” I added a little sadly, remembering the thin face and charming smile of a boy.

“Yes.” The young man sounded awed. “But they say that he made a vow, before he died. That if ever the people needed him again, he would return.”

“Then he probably will.” I glanced over my shoulder. “That boy knew the weight of a vow.”

I got the young man out, though lighter by a leg than he’d been when he came in. I have not heard more of the king, Artur, since then. But I remember him, better than most who pass through. A boy who thought, and asked questions, and knew that a vow must be kept.

If he does rise again, perhaps he’ll come back. I’d like to see him again… whatever form he wears."

You entered a forest filled with monsters. The exit constantly moves, you don’t age in the forest. When exiting, one person must stay unless they are the only one in the forest. Many a time you found the exit but let others leave. For the first time, someone asks how long you’ve been here.

[wisteria-tarot]

Could you do a reading on Alexander Isak Newcastle United player? Personality (in a relationship with girlfriend/spouse), his future spouse (career, personality, foreign- from his home African country or elsewhere?)

Disclaimer: This reading is only for entertainment. Take it with a grain of salt. These are my personal interpretations of the cards with a sprinkle of intuition. Tarot is not set in stone it is not the end all be all of someones life.

What is his personality like when he's in a relationship?

9 of wands (rx), the devil (rx), 4 of pentacles, 7 of cups, 9 of pentacles (rx), 5 of pentacles (rx), 5 of wands (rx), 4 of swords:

He’s clingy, might be insecure and probably overthinks everything. He’ll latch on, and while that can feel flattering at first, eventually you’ll realize it’s more about his own need for validation than connection. He does have commitment issues, always fantasizing about what else is out there, and has a ton of emotional baggage. He might be possessive and controlling. While it can be said that he is trying his best to break free of toxic patterns, it’s a bit of a work in progress. Expect him to retreat into his own world when things get too real, and maybe even avoid conflicts until they boil over. He’s definitely not the smoothest when it comes to communication, and if you’re not careful, it could feel like walking on eggshells.

What will he be like when he gets married?

3 of cups (rx), 7 of pentacles, ace of cups, ace of wands (rx), king of cups, 10 of cups, king of pentacles (rx), 3 of wands:

When he gets married, he’s going to be emotionally invested, but not without some challenges. On one hand, he’ll work hard to build a solid future, and he’ll want a stable and loving home life. He’ll be emotionally mature, be a solid provider, and want to make the relationship work. However, there will be times when the excitement and the financial stability may waver. He might feel a bit uninspired or face some stress about the material side of things, other than that, he’ll be a good partner, focused on building a lasting, loving connection. Expect him to look to the future and be someone who’s committed to working toward a long-term vision with his spouse, but there might be some struggles with keeping the balance in other areas. His marriage will likely be filled with love, but he might need to make a conscious effort to keep the passion alive and stay grounded financially. He’ll likely value family and emotional connection above all.

What is the career of his future spouse?

justice, the tower (rx), the world, the lovers (rx), the fool, the hanged man, strength (rx), queen of swords:

They’ll likely have a career all about justice, ethics, and accountability. They’ve probably gone through some crazy career shifts, and they might have a turbulent relationship with coworkers or work partners. They’ll probably do big things reaching a point of some kind of recognition. Expect them to take risks, follow unconventional paths, and reinvent themselves. But, when they’re burned out or feel weakened, they’ll need their space to recharge. I see them most likely having a quick tongue.

What is the personality of his future spouse?

3 of wands (rx), 6 of swords (rx), 9 of swords, the hierophant, the hermit, knight of wands (rx), the fool (rx), queen of wands:

On one hand, they’re a bit of a worrier and can get stuck in the past, so they may come off as anxious and constantly running from one drama to the next. They’re not always forward-thinking or ready to take risks in their personal life, so there’s a little hesitation in them. They might even be reluctant to take that leap into new things or new commitments. But this person has depth. They might seem quiet or even detached at times, but they have a strong sense of tradition and loyalty that makes them a rock in relationships. They want a stable personal life. They’re got a magnetic personality, even if they don’t always show it. When they let loose, they’ll definitely be the one lighting up the room, full of confidence, passion, and a little drama thrown in for fun.

Is she a foreigner or will she from his home country?

king of wands, page of cups, 8 of pentacles (rx), the star, 4 of cups, the devil, 9 of wands, 8 of swords, the hierophant:

She might be a foreigner, or someone who feels a bit out of place even if she’s from her country.

[xruiningth3sh0wx]

His blonde hair was as beautiful as could be,

With eyes the color of blood,

Palest, smoothest skin I ever did see,

Those fangs of his made my heart drop with a thud!

 

Whispered things in my ear,

Saying I should come with him, see a different side of things,

“Young man, this ain’t no way to spend your best years!”

My eyes went wide, and my soul began to sing!

 

I took his hand and I left my old life behind,

Our fates were each other’s from this point forth; forever intertwined,

Had tongue like a snake, and a voice like that smooth-talkin’ devil himself,

But Heaven don’t seem like much fun in hindsight; “beautiful fellow, drag me with you straight to Hell!”

 

My folks couldn’t bear it, my lips on another man’s,

Yet, I wasn’t up for sticking with any plans,

Not God’s, nor theirs,

A rolling stone without any cares!

 

Rambling from town to town,

Dancing off our feet,

Vibe with any cool folks around that we could meet,

And when we were alone, we made music of our own; the sweetest of sounds!

 

Now they all said, “boy, that man is trouble!”

Good and godly’s so damn boring,

Preacher man and lawful bullshit’s got me snoring,

If he’s trouble, then goddamn! Please let me have double!

 

One night he says to me, “won’t you join me for eternity?”

I paused to think, for I was meek; “am I truly worthy?”

Eyes shining so bright, he purrs, “you’re the best thing I ever met; yes you heard me!”

And with a resolute nod, I offered my neck; that’s when he turned me!

 

Lo and behold, the night is my new domain,

Anyone gives me and my man any lip, and I’ll give them some pain,

Unbound by man-made or angelic decree, they say I’m insane,

The way I see it, I had so much to gain!

 

To live free or die, it’s the only I follow!

 

Existing any other way seems so dead and hollow!

 

My skin is cold, my heart don’t beat, but I’ve never felt more alive!

 

Perhaps it was always my wyrd; always how I was truly meant to thrive!