#if that last line didn’t exist maybe I’d think otherwise

[okapiandpaste]

was this scene never adapted by anyone bc it’s too homosexual or bc no one could figure out whether holmes was joking or in actual distress

[storiesforallfandoms]

our next step ~ swaggersouls

word count: 1611

request?: yes!

“hey hey!! i adore your work and was wondering if you could do a swaggerwouls x fem!reader? maybe something along the lines of the reader also being a youtuber and them having a baby together and announcing it to their fans?🥺i’ve been having major baby fever lately lol. super sorry if this goes against any of your rules and it’s totally cool if you’re not comfortable writing it! :)”

description: in which they decide to tell their fans the major update in their lives

pairing: swaggersouls x female!reader

warnings: swearing, two uses of y/n, rpf

masterlist (one, two, three)

Being content creators with a very small social media presence outside of YouTube and Twitch made it incredibly easy to hide my pregnancy.

It’s not that we didn’t want to tell our fans. The majority of mine and Swagger’s relationship was online for everyone to see since we vlogged and gamed with each other regularly. If anything, it made more sense to tell everyone when I found out I was pregnant. And I had actually filmed most of my pregnancy to make one big vlog once the baby came.

But, like I said, the majority of our relationship was online. Not only that, but most of my life since I was in my late teens was online for the world to see. We decided that we wanted something for just ourselves, even just for a little while.

Neither of us posted on social media enough for it to be suspicious if we were suddenly MIA for months, and my face cam when I was streaming was always positioned in a way that showed me from my shoulders up, so my bump wasn’t on camera. The only thing my fans would notice was some weight gain in my face, which was easy to just say was because I had gained weight in general.

The other Misfits knew, of course. We told them shortly after we found out. Tobi was ecstatic that her son was going to have a Misfits friend. The guys were all happy for us, too, but Cam teased Swagger about being the last person in the group any of them expected to become a father.

“So, you’re giving up weed then?” Cam asked after we told him.

“Fuck no! I’ll go smoke outside instead.”

After nine long months, plus roughly six hours of labor, our baby girl came into the world and our family was complete.

She had Swagger wrapped around her tiny fingers from the second he laid his eyes on her. He loved her almost more than he loved our cats, which is definitely saying something. But, I did say almost.

A month or so after our daughter, Daisy, was born, Swagger and I were laid in bed together. I was reading while Swagger was watching stuff on his phone with little Daisy asleep on his chest. I kept glancing over at them and smiling at the sight. I couldn’t help it, seeing Swagger as a dad just made me happy. Especially seeing him with the little human that we made. It was hard to explain the level of joy I felt.

“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” Swagger said, giving me a playful smile.

I hadn’t even realized I was staring until that moment. I shook myself out of my thoughts and retorted, “That’s not as insulting as you think it is. If I could reach my phone, I’d take so many pictures of you right now.”

“Oh, I am well aware.” He reached out to hold my hand while trying to move very little as to not wake Daisy. “What had you thinking so hard anyways?”

I looked at Daisy again, another smile involuntarily tugging at the corners of my mouth. I just couldn’t help it.

Instead of telling him what I had actually been thinking about, I found myself saying, “Should we tell our viewers about Daisy soon?”

“We did say we’d announce it after she was born,” he said. “And they’ve definitely noticed that you haven’t vlogged in months.”

“Do you think it’s time?”

Swagger looked at Daisy and asked, “What do you think, Daisy? Should we tell the world you exist?” The baby let out a heavy sigh, but otherwise didn’t move or wake up. “I think that was a yes.”

~~~~~~

The next day, I broke out the old vlog camera that I hadn’t used since before I developed my baby bump. Surprisingly, the battery hadn’t died even from lack of use.

“This feels foreign,” I said as I turned the camera on. “I haven’t vlogged in ages. I wonder if I’ll even remember how to do it.”

“You’re just setting it up to sit in front of it,” Swagger teased.

“Hey, that’s hard to do when you haven’t worked a camera in, like, a year.” I set the camera up on the tripod and turned to him. “Sit your ass down, knight boy.”

“That was a terrible insult.”

Swagger sat down on the couch, wearing his ski mask and holding Daisy in his arms. He had her positioned in a way that her face was hidden from the camera. We both agreed that we would not be showing her face on camera while she was a kid, but we also thought it would be hilarious to start the video with Swagger just holding our baby that no one knew even existed.

“She’s going to be terrified if she wakes up and sees the mask,” I said as I sat next to him.

“She’ll have to get used to it eventually,” he said. “Maybe I’ll just walk around the house with it on.”

“Do not do that. I know you would use that as an excuse to just scare me.”

He gave me a look, and I could tell from his eyes that he was smirking under his mask.

“Anyways,” I said, turning away from him. “Hello. I know you guys are all wondering, what is this thing.” I gestured to Daisy.

“Thing,” Swagger snickered.

“This is our baby,” I said, ignoring him. “It is the bun I baked for nine months, and now here she is. And I know you’re also all wondering, (Y/N) and Swagger, when did you guys have a baby?”

“About a month ago,” Swagger responded. “And technically, (Y/N) had the baby. I just put the baby in her.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.” To the camera, I said, “We know you guys have so many questions. The short story is, we weren’t trying for a baby. It was definitely a shock to us both, but it was a good shock. Announcing my pregnancy wasn’t the first thing we thought of. Actually, it took, like, a week for us to realize we hadn’t said anything online about it, and at that point we kind of came to the conclusion that we wanted the pregnancy to be an us thing instead of a shared internet thing.”

“We were being very selfish,” Swagger said.

“But we’re not sorry,” I added.

“Oh, not at all. We love you guys, but sometimes we do need some privacy, and this was definitely one of those times.” He glanced down at Daisy, his eyes lighting up just looking at her. I decided against teasing him in that moment because it was just too cute. He continued, “And I’m going to answer the important question, which is no, not even becoming a father will stop me from smoking weed.”

I playfully rolled my eyes.

“Everyone was thinking it!” Swagger argued. “Obviously I’m not smoking 24/7, or around the baby, but I’m not giving it up all together. I’m not becoming a square just because I have a kid.”

“Should we tell everyone her name, or are we just going to keep calling her ‘the baby’?”

“I don’t see a problem with telling everyone her name.”

“Her name is Daisy.”

As if hearing her name, Daisy made a soft cooing noise and opened her eyes. Swagger moved her so she would look at me first. We were joking for the video before, but we were actually a little nervous about her reaction to seeing Swagger in his ski mask for the first time. It was something we’d have to ease her into when she was much older.

“Hey baby,” I said, taking her from Swagger. “Woke up to be in your first ever video, huh? You’re ready to be a star.”

She looked up at me with her big, brown eyes. Ever since she was born, everyone said she looked exactly like me, but not her eyes. She definitely had Swagger’s eyes.

“That’s it, I guess,” I said. “We’re going to take some time to take care of this one and get used to having a baby, then we’ll be back to regular streams and uploads eventually. Uh...yeah. Bye, I guess?” I looked over to Swagger. “Can you turn the camera off? I’m holding Daisy.”

He got up and did as I asked. Once the camera was off, he pulled off the ski mask and tossed it off to the side. “That went well.”

“I’m weirdly nervous about it,” I admitted. “My heart is pounding. Daisy can definitely feel it.”

“You don’t have to be nervous. I don’t think anyone is going to react poorly to us announcing we’re parents now.”

“I’d doubt it, but weirdly I still am.”

Swagger sat down next to me and put an arm around my shoulder. I leaned into him, stretching my legs out and resting Daisy on them so she could look at the both of us. She was very interested in her surroundings. According to my mom, babies can only see so far when they’re first born, and their vision increases as time goes on. I’m not sure if that’s completely true, but it was adorable to think that she was just now seeing everything for the first time.

“I can’t believe we made this,” I said. “We made a whole human being.”

“We can make another one, if you want.”

I shot him a look. “No way. My body does not need to go through that ever again. We can practice, though.”

“Deal.” He pulled me close and kissed the top of my head.

[shatterthefragments]

🎵💛🌴

🎵 Last song you listened to?

Bad Omens’ Kingdom of Cards (I’ve been singing it to myself all day at work whenever alone ish) (I typed this yesterday after work but passed out)

(Like I am half considering recording myself singing this and seeing if it’s any good as I continue to think about my “record one song” mini project/assigned resolution plus once I figure out which daw I’ll use I can practice layering vocal lines for this too… but also I have been Very Wrong about all significant amount of lyrics oops) (…or I could just play Stardew valley it’s been so long 😭)

But also The Room Below’s Blood Sport video that I need to queue still UPDATE I HAVE QUEUED IT ♥️😭

But since I’m sort of going back and forth between tumblr and working on writing this I am BACK to kingdom of cards 💖

(When this fades a bit I’ll be back to Turntail probably or perhaps listen to something I’ve intended to or the new music from artists I follow or something. But today again has been Kingdom of Cards)

💛 Do you have any piercings?

I do not!

But I may get my ears done so that I can eventually switch to little gay silver hoop earrings arrrrrrr (<- meant to be read like a gay pirate)

Even my sister is so enabling of this that she has offered (unsure if still willing to) pay for it but I couldn’t take her up on it because it’s Jump In The Ocean Sail Away time for me soon!! (She has several ear piercings)

If I didn’t have major hang ups over stuff being inside my body and healing I would’ve probably had several many ear piercings by now at the least. (And started getting tattoos before uh. This year ✌️) but in my head I WILL get at least the one hopefully :) (fuck I want to do a semi impulse trip to go get another (my artist is in [redacted from public] which I love but that means I have to travel there… but I think I can make it work… if they haven’t filled up all their space for tomorrow…)

🌴 Desert island item?

I adore your answer of a sturdy knife. 100/10 very practical, so I’m going to go for some whimsy and rambling!

I’d love a ship. If it’s too cheating for it to be like. A yacht that has capabilities to make it easier to sail on one’s own (wait am I alone on the island or do I have a friend? If so: a nice, sturdy house) then a semi-cheat is a tall ship. It has enough space for me and all my stuff (probably) but is too difficult/LITERALLY NOT MADE (or able??) to be sailed on one’s own. (Literally the crew has to be at least 6 or seven people and we the 30+ trainees have to help too bc otherwise the whole thing doesn’t really work.)

Or if it’s not cheating to have to sail a ship on my own. Then a small sailboat that in theory can be sailed on one’s own. (I am… not a good skipper based on my dinghy sailing. I am good at following directions from the actual captains of tall ships. I primarily rely on other people knowing more than me bc even if I *should* be one with the ocean, I don’t truly retain enough of the knowledge I’d need to safely and reliably sail myself any distance. But if given long enough (and if there’s a desalinator on board 👀) with the sheets mostly in so I can keep relative control and uh. Hopefully not die. It could maybe be possible? Us sailing with only the jib on stormy days has opened up Options. (I was with a coach though so we got to go ZOOM and hike out and that was super fun!! Would be less fun if not with an expert though ahaha. Like these people have sailed since before they reached double digits. I started at. 22 I think)

If that or the house is too cheating.

Then. A lifetime supply of Tokyo Milk Cheese Factory cookies. (The single best thing I’ve ever eaten …honestly I think I just want one right now brb I have had one 😌)

Or An indestructible book with all the knowledge I’d need to survive (if I can’t refer back to something does that information truly exist?? It goes POOF!)

Or A storage container I guess.

Or for my entertainment (Assuming I have a dry space) a cello 👀 strings my BELOVED!!

Actually. Adding desalinator. Dehydration incapacitates me by lowering the threshold for my headaches by a lot so that would probably be the most important thing for me.

[sapphic-woes]

Sevika x Fem!Reader - Two Faced

A/N: I just really like her. Anyways Sevika witnesses a woman tell off her shitty boyfriend and thinks it’s a riot, so of course she follows her to the restroom. Minors DNI. 

Word Count: 4k.  AO3 Link

Pt. 2

__________

You had standards. Admittedly, they were insanely high.

“Fuck off!” You shoved past your disappointment of a boyfriend, heels clacking with purpose. What was it with your luck these days? It had hardly been a month, and already he was grinding your gears. It seemed all the universe had to offer was one useless man after the next, and it was starting to become redundant.

You stormed into the ladies' restroom, pissed out of your mind. From the moment you’d met up at the club to party with his friends, he’d been the same; inattentive, dismissive, and rudely belittling. Worst yet, he only ever remembered your existence when there was an itch between his legs–and you wanted anything else but that.

“Mother fucker…” You muttered, eyeing the alcohol spilled on your expensive, tiny, off-the-shoulder, red dress. Sure, you were dating, but you hadn't done anything yet. Like every guy before him, sex in your mind was something to put off for as long as you could. You didn't get the hype–men were gross, annoying and sleazy–or at least, those were the excuses you told to yourself to avoid the obvious.

That maybe, just maybe…you simply weren't interested in men at all.

When your stiff reactions to his advances became clear as day, his slimy ass didn't give up. No–he had to try and trick you into stripping off your dress. Like hell you were dumb enough to follow him to a secluded part of the club just so he could “dry you off” after dumping half his fucking drink on you. That man was a walking red flag, and you were done. Either you were picking up another boy toy tonight, or calling it quits altogether.

At least, if he wasn’t standing right outside the bathroom door. Which, while you didn’t know that for certain…with the way he was acting tonight? It was highly plausible. 

“I should take my Louboutins," you groaned in frustration, hands gripping the sink counter, “and castrate him.”

“That…would definitely be a sight.”

You jumped, having not noticed someone else come in. You frowned, ready to tear this person disturbing you a new one before glancing to the side. Shit. You did a double take, and despite wanting to hide it, your eyes widened with fear.

No one in this club didn’t know that face, or that body. She was impossibly tall, with intimidating broad shoulders and a scowl formed by the devil himself. Sevika entered, and suddenly the bathroom felt too small for the both of you. Her presence alone was that overwhelming, making you suck in a shaky, terrified breath.

If having a problem with your boyfriend was a threat, having an issue with Silco’s right hand was a death wish…and no matter how prideful you were, even you knew better than to cross that line.

Well, at least you thought you did. Your friends would probably swear otherwise.

“I couldn’t help but see what happened back there. You made quite the scene.” Had you? Oh right–

–you splashed your entire drink over his head when his hands got too close to the hem of your dress, ignoring his sputter of surprise. You rose, downing his own shot of whiskey he claimed was too strong for you before wiping your glossy lips with the back of your hand.

“First of all jackass–even if we were the last people on earth, I’d rather jump off a building than have your nasty dick shoved up my ass. Seriously–what the fuck is that? It looks like you need to spend the night with a fucking doctor, not me.” You hadn’t seen shit, but yelling it loud enough would make him never set foot in this club ever again…and well, you were too mad to be nice anymore.

“Second? You’re boring as hell. Why don’t you go find a personality instead of spewing the same misogynistic shit every dude still living in their mom’s basement says? Yeah I’m hot, I’m stuck up, I’m a goddamn slut–but guess what?” You flipped him off as you gathered your things.

“This “stupid whore” still isn’t going to fuck you. So you know what you should do instead? Fuck off!” Oh. Looking back, you guessed you had made a bit of a scene. Was she here to kick you out? 

“And…?” You inwardly cursed at your disinterested tone, turning back to the mirror and eying your makeup. “I didn’t know you dealt with stuff like this." Were you egging her on? No, no, no–there was no way you were dumb enough to–

"...Being his right hand and all.” Fuck. You were egging her on. 

Your heart pounded in your chest, hairs standing up on the back of your neck. Where you expected a furious reaction, you were met with a look much, much worse. A devilish, downright sinister grin spread around her cigar. Tense, you studied her from the corner of your eyes, plagued over how she would eventually react. 

No matter what she does, she demands attention. Maybe her lack of retaliation was a tactic. If so, it was working. Your eyes were glued to her, and you had to admit, seeing Sevika simply standing there made your heart skip a beat. The woman was as equally captivating as she was terrifying, and this situation only made that fact more evident. 

Sure, her mechanical arm glinted like it was one twitch away from gutting you, but her clothes fit her like a glove. Those fine arms and the peek her top gave of her scar-riddled waist was damn near criminal. If I’m going to die tonight, I might as well get a closer look, right? 

You’d only ever seen her passing by or talking with a group of people equally as intimidating as she was. Now she was less than a few feet from you, and despite her smile, she didn't do anything at your snide remark. Rather, she let out a short puff of her cigar, smoke escaping past her lips with an easy chuckle.

Then, there was silence.

It would have been better if she reacted with rage. Anger was something you could handle. But this? She hadn’t said a word in response, yet you still felt like a caged animal. You were running out of things to fake your attention on while you watched her, dabbing the same patch of alcohol on your dress for the twentieth time. After several seconds passed, your patience ran thin.

I can't just stand here waiting for her to kill me. Who cared if that man was waiting for you outside, you needed to get out of the bathroom as soon as you possibly could. However, just as you thought it couldn’t get any worse, Sevika suddenly caught you staring at her through the mirror. Shit–! 

Quickly, you turned away, moving to open your purse as if you were busy. Sevika snorted, and you inwardly cringed. You were painfully aware of the long drag she took of her cigar. She let it out as a slow puff, shamelessly eyeing you up and down as she did. Where her gaze lingered, your body burned, and you weren’t sure whether it was from embarrassment or fear. Sevika moved to put her cigar out on the bathroom’s marble countertop, and you were certain that if anyone else had done so, Silco would have killed them.

Hands in her pockets, she took her time walking towards you. There wasn't any reason to rush, the both of you knew why.  

“I don’t.” Her voice this close was smooth, running down your spine as she stood behind you. 

“Not unless I can gain something from it.” Damnit. You calmed your pounding heart.

“You're cocky,” you raised your eyebrow at her through the mirror, “not that I’m surprised.” The corner of her lips twitched. You knew this was a dangerous game to be playing. It wasn't like you'd never seen her work before. In fact, you wished you never did. She didn't fight for an opponent to recover, no–if she didn't kill them, she broke them–and, you thought with horror, what if she did the same to you?

You looked away from her, becoming too scared to hold eye contact. However, there was no way in hell you were going to show her that. Instead, you pulled out lipgloss, intending to obnoxiously fix your makeup. The plan worked. 

Slowly, you dragged the strawberry shimmering substance across your top lip, and Sevika didn’t shift her gaze away. You spread the gloss over your bottom lip next, dramatically pressing them together to even it all out. The entire time, Sevika watched the action in a near predatory manner. The taller woman didn't look away when you spoke, lips drawing out a teasing statement.

"My eyes are up here, darling." To your surprise, the Sevika froze. It was less than a second, but you caught her off guard. It was clear you were the type to say a lot of bullshit, but to call her darling? When she was twice your height and width? Sevika thought you were something else. Definitely in over your head, but still… Her eyes narrowed, and she took a moment to study you, taking in the little shiver you tried to suppress. 

Cute. She wondered what it would take until you could no longer hide your fear, or even better, your trembling.

“Do you talk like this to everyone?” You paused at the tinge of annoyance in her voice. A part of you wanted to backtrack and profusely apologize. Another told you that was exactly what would get you killed. In the end, you played off freezing up by simply offering her a smirk.

“Please, you followed me all the way here…then expect me not to believe my attitude isn't what you like?” You were bluffing, sort of. Even if it was a fairly logical explanation, it was still hard to fathom the Sevika wanting you. It wasn’t like you weren’t a catch–being gracious, you considered yourself to be an 11/10–but you were still a nobody. Sevika was a name whispered in hushed voices out of fear that she might show up. Yours?

“You fucking bitch!” Banging came from the door, making you flinch in surprise. Sevika didn’t even move, eyes still trained on you. “I can’t believe you said all that shit–come out! You can’t stay in there forever!” Well, you didn’t even get the decency of someone actually using it. Fuck, I almost forgot about him. What were you going to do? He was right, you couldn’t just stay here–

Your focus was elsewhere, and perhaps that's why you missed her advances until it was too late.

“You’re right. I am interested. You walked in here looking like arm candy, only to explode and leave that man without a shred of dignity left. His company wasn’t worth your time, but mine?” When had she gotten so close that the heat from her body warmed the back of your neck?  She was bigger than you, that was obvious enough, but the proximity made it suffocating.

She loomed, making the air around you fill with earthy spice. Whatever she smoked, it was expensive. To your alarm, a large hand rested on the countertop to your right, and another to your left. You were caged in, and you didn’t dare move–not when the slightest shift created friction between you two, and Sevika’s eyes darkened in a way you knew all too well

“Sweetheart…” Her voice was an enticing rumble by your ear, and no amount of self control could stop you from shivering in delight. “I’ll do everything he could never do.” It was a bold claim, though you doubted it came without experience. That asshole is still out there…and the bathroom isn’t soundproof, right? 

You were a bitch alright. The worst of them all. To fuck Silco’s right hand man while your shitty ex heard it all? You couldn’t pass up a chance like that, even if it was dangerous. With a casual hum, you fixed a goading stare on Sevika through the mirror, prettily tilting your head to speak.

“Well…I suppose I can let you entertain me for a while.”

_______ 

You’d been in out of your head, that was for sure.

You’d never come across greed in the form of hands, let alone commanding ones. Sevika’s touch was everywhere; over your hips, waist, and breasts, as if she was trying to consume all of you at once. Your breath was faulty, tingling all over as her rough palms memorized the shape of your body. How was this so good, already? She had yet to even slip a hand underneath your dress, yet you felt naked. It was as if the barrier of the dress meant nothing, and her touch shot little fireworks through your skin regardless.

“W-wait...” You were breathless, gasping as a hand flicked over the peak of your breasts from over your dress.  You instinctively buckled, but an arm wrapped around your waist brought your back flush against her. Her metal arms reached up, soothing against your burning cheeks as Sevika held your face in her palm. 

“A word of advice?” Her voice was a sultry drawl, muddling your mind as she turned your face to look up at her, “don’t go biting off more than you can chew.”  

With that, she closed the distance between you two. The kiss was hot, carnal in nature as your lips parted and she took the invitation to kiss you deeper. It was focused and intense, with her hand holding your face exactly where she wanted it. You swore you were melting, becoming a puddle from that first kiss alone, and when she pulled away to look into your glossy eyes, Sevika smirked.

“You might just choke on it, darling.” She was never going to let that go. Too bad you weren’t known for not being petty either.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” You muttered just as a metal thumb brushed over your smeared glossy lips, “you go down smoother than wine.” The woman snorted, dark lips curling as she moved to kiss your bare shoulder.

“Is that so?” That was all the warning you were given. Suddenly, a hand on your back pushed you forward. You let out a startled gasp, hands slamming against the sink counter. 

“What are you doing?” Your pissed off words dwindled in your throat as Sevika finally slipped her hands under your dress to hike it up over your ass. A hand gripped the side of your panties, and in a split second you knew the answer to your own question. 

“No, wait–!” The sound of threads breaking apart made your heart stutter, and your eyes widened as Sevika unceremoniously ripped your underwear right off you. That was expensive! 

“What the fuck is your–ow!” Another forceful shove had you completely on the countertop, sideways with your heat exposed to the towering woman before you. You huffed, shuddering under the dark eyes tracing over every part of you. Sevika looked at you like she had been starving for weeks, her own chest heaving as she hummed. She let the fabric in her hand drop to the floor, stepping towards you and making your breath hitch in your throat.

“There’s no difference whether you wear it…” Her hand caressed the inside of your thigh, gently spreading your legs so she could step between them, “or not.” 

Oh God. You watched with wide eyes as she lowered herself, shrinking her overwhelming shadow until she was kissing the top of your neck. She trailed down, leaving her marks everywhere until she got to the top of your dress.

She took a single finger to pull the garment down, exposing your breasts for her to adore. You moaned as hot lips suckled them, breaths shallow as you crumbled underneath her.

“Ah…shit, my fucking heels…” She chucked into your chest as you struggled to kick them off. They loudly clattered onto the bathroom floor, but you didn’t care, able to wrap your bare feet around Sevika’s waist now. A bite was given as a reward, and you jolted in pleasure, hands moving to caress the side of Sevika’s face. 

Again, the woman was surprised by you, pausing at the gentle touch you offered. Usually, when she picked up cute little things like you, they were too scared to dare touch her back. Even if they were lost in pleasure, it seemed no one could see past the metal arm, or the power Sevika held. 

However, from the moment she’d entered the bathroom you treated her no differently than anyone else. If anything, you were more aware than most–the way you studied her like a prey looking at a predator told her so–yet despite that, you’d sneered and judged her anyway. Now, her eyes flickered up to look at you, taking in your rosy cheeks and lopsided smile, eyes half-lidded as you spoke.

“You're laughing? Those shoes cost my entire paycheck, jackass. No way I’m messing them up just for you.” Your nose scrunched up in an adorable little snarl, or what Sevika believed was supposed to be one. It hardly did the job of one. Rather than appearing threatening, your attitude only invited her to do more.

“Poor thing,” She muttered, mouth trailing down over your dress until she got to your exposed ass, “it must be hard being so high maintenance.” The mocking words earned her a glare, but it quickly disappeared as her hot breath tickled the inside of your thighs.

“How about this,” your breath grew rugged as she nibbled on your sensitive skin, full on biting to garner a shuddering gasp from you. Her deep voice switched into a commanding tone, and it was hypnotizing, making you hang on every word.

“If you take this well and let out that pretty little voice of yours, you won’t have to worry about ruining another pair ever again.” Her hot breath against your dewy folds only made them soak more, and you bit your lip. Your voice was weak as you attempted a retort.

“And if I don’t?” She scoffed, hands shifting to hold your legs shamelessly wide apart. You swallowed at the firm grip–there was no way you could get out of that–and when Sevika saw the realization finally start to set in your eyes, her lips curled up into a wicked smile.

“Trust me, you will.”

_______

“W-wait–it’s already been–ah!” Frankly, you’d never been so disrespected in your life. Sevika did what she wanted, in the most devastating way possible, leaving you a shivering mess clinging to the mirror behind you in an attempt to pull yourself away. She was skillful–too skillful–turning you into a numb puddle of ecstasy only to go down on you again. Was she never satisfied?

"F-fuck…" Her tongue did wonders, making your back arch and voice cry out. God, was it rude–the way she simply pressed harder whenever you tried to cling onto some sliver of dignity, relentless until you did exactly as she told. The gruff mutter of louder, against your folds before she went right back to her assault had you spiraling, shuddering as you attempted to comply.

“Shit, Se-Sevika–” That wasn’t good enough, and suddenly she focused more on your twitching bud, quickly turning you into a blubbering mess.

“Wait–please–it’s good! Fuck–God…” Tears filled your eyes as you whimpered, hands weakly gripping fistfuls of Sevika’s hair. You felt her lips smile, smug as she simply continued. This bitch–! The burning in your core built up, and you let out a string of profanities as you reached your peak once again. In the midst of it you hit your head against the glass behind you, though you hardly processed it. However, Sevika did, just now starting to realize how bunched up you were on the countertop. 

“Here,” it was all she said before she flipped you over, lifting you up at the waist with her mechanical arm. She brought your back flush against her again. However, this time she held you up completely, toes only occasionally brushing against the floor. Processing this new position made your cheeks burn and swallow nervously, your voice hoarse as you complained.

“I can barely reach the floor…” The slight embarrassment at your height difference didn’t go unnoticed by Sevika. She snorted, then hoisted you higher up against her, until you dangled like a rag doll in the mirror.

“I’ll hold you up here…” She tightened her grip around your waist, and her other hand snaked downward, “and here.” 

Without another word, she plunged two fingers deep into your heat. You buckled, nails digging into her metal arm as she fell into a torturous rhythm. 

"Ha–ah." You couldn't handle yourself, squirming in pleasure. They were so impossibly thick, making you struggle just to properly breathe. Your knuckles turned white as you held onto her, neck arched back to look at her through teary eyes.

"Se-Sevika, ple-ase, it's good–so good–" You were reduced to barely comprehensible babbling. Sevika herself had furrowed eyebrows, cheeks colored with a tinge of pink. Pretty... Mindlessly you reached up with a shaky hand, softly pulling her face down to kiss her. You felt her lips falter against yours for a moment, but when she kissed you back it was the kindest she’d ever been. It was sensual, and she tasted you as if you were a sweet delicacy she wanted to be tender with.

Though, her hand was anything but gentle.

You gasped against her lips, letting out a strangled sound of startled delight as she drilled her fingers into you faster, deeper thrusts making your toes curl and legs straighten out.

“Shit!” It was the only word you could muster as you saw stars again, overwhelmed with pleasure before finally the euphoria ebbed away. Mercifully, Sevika finally stopped–though you weren’t sure if it was because you physically deflated in her grasp, or because she was actually satisfied. 

Vaguely, you sensed her gently setting you down on the bathroom counter to wipe you down and fix your dress. Your shoes were retrieved and placed back onto your feet, and you mindlessly giggled when Sevika’s touch tickled them. A murmur of hold onto me, had your arms lazily wrapping around her neck, and before you knew it she was carrying you in her arms and out the door.

“Finally, now who the hell were you fucking–!” You had completely forgotten about your ex boyfriend, but now he stood in shock, looking up at Sevika carrying you bridal style. You offered a weak, sneering smile, lifting your hand to flip him off. You could see the anger boil up in his eyes before it sputtered out at Sevika’s warning glare, and with a huff he stomped away, pushing through the crowd.

At that you laughed until your exhaustion quickly took over, snuggling into the body holding you. Sevika stiffened before relaxing, and as she began to make her way out of the club she muttered with a raspy voice into your ear.

“Sleep. You did a good job for me, darling.” The praise made you sleepily smile, and you lifted your head to peck the corner of her lips.

“Mmh…” You wanted to say something witty like, and you were good entertainment, or something, but your mind was shutting down faster than you could speak, slumping completely in her arms as you fell asleep. 

While you pleasantly slept, Sevika simply stood. 

She was frozen, and the place where you’d kissed her tingled more than anything you’d done before. For a moment, she stared down at your squished face against her chest. The noise of the entire club grew silent in her mind. 

When she moved again, it was with a loud grunt. Others around her shuffled out of the way in fear she was angry, but Sevika knew herself that she was feeling an emotion much, much worse. 

[shihalyfie]

Since some things related to Frontier have been recently translated, I thought I’d call attention to some things I personally think more people ought to know about:

You know that infamous line about flying over the trash can in Frontier’s OP? It’s a reference to Wada Kouji’s demo tape getting tossed in the trash can and having it be fished out by sheer happenstance, leading to Butter-Fly and the rest of his career. The lyricist, Yamada Hiroshi, seems to have been very inspired by it.

Kouji seemed to be the most popular character among magazine readers during Frontier’s airing. Probably not surprising.

Original series producer Seki Hiromi, who, bless her, is known for her astonishing amount of frankness about things, finally formally revealed the reason Frontier was the last Digimon series: the economy around anime IPs was just bad in general. (Of course, it was previously inferable if you looked at Tamers having barely over half of 02′s toy revenue and the fact the viewer ratings were already dropping fast enough for higher-ups to start panicking even back then.) Seki had earlier allluded to having “a hunch” that this would be the last Digimon series, but now we know for sure that this hunch was going on before the series had even started planning (and if you look at merch sales patterns, it’s too obvious they were already cutting off lines before Frontier had even aired that much). So if you see someone talking about Frontier “killing the franchise”, we now have tons of evidence that proves otherwise. It didn’t save the franchise either, but it wasn’t the primary killer; rather, it was their last desperate effort.

On the flip side and on a happier note, because everyone seemed to know it was the probably the last one, it seemed the staff was intent on making this as good as they could make it and going out in a dramatic, explosive fashion so they wouldn’t have any regrets. This probably explains a lot about Frontier having that kind of festival-like, bombastic atmosphere -- and it seems the second ED was explicitly written with the idea of gathering all of their feelings together and making something as heartfelt as they could.

Kouichi and Kouji are apparently based on...something. (Seki calls it “Cain and Abel” in the interview, but the translator linked above believes she may have actually meant Castor and Polllux. Or maybe it’s both. We’ll never know unless we get another more accurate statement on this.) This is apparently why Kouichi died. Also, he’s apparently not dead because they didn’t want to leave the last Digimon series on too sad of a note. I don’t want to think about whether this implies he would have stayed dead if not for that. Let’s just agree with Takuya and the others that it was a miracle for the poor kid.

Apparently The Last Element exists because Miyazaki was personally distressed about not getting to be on Tamers and thus personally went up to the music producer begging to be on an insert song.

[iyumeu]

What are the demon brothers really, especially good at when it comes to their obsession/possessive nature over their darling? Like, who’s really good at setting up an escape proof room, who’s the best at gaslighting their darling to hell and back, who’s got the most roofies they can slip into drinks and food so they can cuddle a sleepy darling. I hope any of this makes sense…

I'd like to think that in an ideal horrible world, they would realize that they all have to work together to keep MC with them, so as you've said each of them would be good at different things.

Lucifer would definitely 100% be the one to set up an escape proof room. In fact, I'm in the midst of writing a sequel to spirit guardian and in it Lucifer traps you in a special room he's prepared for you. From one of the in-game chats it's mentioned that Lucifer is the possessive type while Diavolo is the stalker type and Barbatos is... well-adjusted?! and with his tendency to prepare in advance, he'd be done with a specialized, well-hidden room even before anyone else had the idea of making you stay with them, permanently.

After all, didn't he keep Belphegor, one of the strongest demons in hell, up in the attic with little to no trouble? His enchantments are top notch; say hello to your new attic room, MC. Don't worry, it's comfortable and people can still visit you, and it's decorated almost the same as your kitchen room! And, if you're good, you might get let out!

Asmodeus would be good at charming and gaslighting to make things seem like they aren't as bad as they are. At first he seems like he's listening to you, as you scream and shout, he really does look like he's empathizing! And then once you're tired, he'd hold you and shush you and say, yes, Lucifer really is too much, yes, how could his brothers just lock you up like this, yes, you deserve to go out, he'll take you for a walk tomorrow! He'll ask Lucifer for permission, and Lucifer's bound to say yes especially if he realizes how sad you are! He's just a little frustrated now, you know that the Devildom is a dangerous place and we don't want you to get hurt! We only want you to be safe, you know that right? We love you, so we just want the best for you. I'm sure you can understand that! Can't you? So just stay in this room, alright? We're doing this for you, after all.

Leviathan's pretty good at guilt-tripping you as well. He just throws a big pity fest and you'll just rush to try and placate him, telling him no, he's not trash, you don't hate him. And he'll ask you if it's something he did, that made you want to leave them all so badly? Or if it's something they did in general. They can change, please, as long as you stay. MC, they can't live without you. MC, what are they going to do when you're gone? They can barely function without you. Besides, did people in the human world even realize that you were gone? They didn't even leave one message for you (didn't get a chance to, all communications were removed before they could even send anything), but the demon brothers would! They think about you every single day, the human world doesn't know what they have, they don't appreciate you, they don't care about you, but we do, MC. We're the only ones who care about you.

Apart from that he also installs cameras all over the House of Lamentations, especially near the exits and in your room, as well as bug your phone. He'll always be watching your every move, oftentimes even forgoing anime to just stare at you through the screen hours on end.

Satan is in charge of security. It's a responsibility he shares with Lucifer and he hates it, but he understands the importance of it. It's essential that no one can get into the house and, more importantly, that you can't get out. He has everything from tracking to sedation spells on you, ready to be activated at a moment's notice. He also took the liberty to enter the human world to track down everyone who ever knew you, private investigator style, and erase their memory of your existence. It's a subtle erase, too, like you're aware that the person exists, but they don't seem to be very important to you. You have better things to do than think about them. Once he's managed to manipulate the memories of everyone, then maybe you'll be allowed a little trip to the human world... just for you to see that the only place you truly belong is with them.

Beelzebub is the one in charge of physically restraining you if you ever get strange ideas in your head. You thought that he was a softie, that he would be the one you could break through to, to let you go, but he and his family were united in this particular decision to keep you by their side. You were, after all, a lot safer here in the Devildom than you were in the human world. What if you fell ill? Or someone attacked you? They wouldn't be able to reach you in time! Beel wouldn't be able to reach you in time, and he doesn't think he would be able to live with himself if he lost another person he loved. His family wouldn't be able to take it either. So he is quiet even though you scream and thrash in his grip, thrown over his shoulder, mouth gagged so that you were unable to command anyone to let you go. Your resistance hurts, but he knew it would be worth it in the end, and soon you'll realize that too.

Belphegor was another person you thought you could negotiate with, having been trapped in the attic himself. However, like Beelzebub, you could not be further from the truth. After millenniums of hurt and hatred, here you were, a ray of light into their world, a little piece of heaven just for them. He'd be damned he he were to let you go. You made Beel happy too, so you really were a fool to think that you could have convinced him otherwise.

He was in charge of dreams. The sleeping mind is malleable to suggestion and your dreams are no different. Most of the time he'll give you nice dreams. Warm memories from the past to remind you why you should stay, digging into your fantasies to play them out (the ones that involve the Devildom anyway) to give you incentive to stick around, and sometimes even raunchy dreams to ease you into the future... But sometimes he would give nightmares and all of the nightmares have one thing in common: they begin with you successfully running away from them. Different things will go wrong in your nightmare, from your family members not recognizing you or caring about you and being painfully alone, to being murdered or being kidnapped. All he needed to do was to plant a seed in your mind, that would take root and sprout...

Mammon was the last one to be on board with this plan. To the very end he still cared about your well-being above all else and when he realized that his brothers were never going to let you go, he stopped bargaining for your freedom. In the end, he was still selfish enough to want you to stay with him and, well, it's not like you'd be able to hide from his brothers anyway. So why not just give in and make life easier for yourself? And somehow, he would be the one to break you, even if he doesn't know it. His nonchalant attitude to the whole thing... He had been on your side at first but then he just... gave up?

He'd end up as another gaslighter, telling himself that he was doing it out of good intentions just like the rest of them. He would try to convince you to take it easy, take one day at a time. If you were good, then Lucifer would tell the brothers to give you more freedom! No one knew Lucifer's bottom line like Mammon, so just listen and do as he says! Life doesn't have to be miserable, it's all up to you!

Days pass, and then years... and you realize that you aren't aging. In a manner similar to Solomon, your pacts were keeping you alive and immortal. You would not die.

And, at the very end of the line, all you would have left would be those demon brothers you once called friends.

[kuroopaisen]

takes one to know one || fushiguro megumi

➵ megumi just wants to buy some flowers from the nice stall attendant he definitely doesn’t have a crush on in peace. gojou has other plans.  

wc: 2.4k

warnings: gn!reader, incoherent chaos

a/n: gracie dearest this one’s for you :( you are so sweet and so lovely to me and i’m so, so glad we met in this hellscape (i would personally like to thank psycho-pass for existing) i hope i did your boy well! 

By the time he arrives at Jujutsu Tech, Megumi knows the flowers are a mistake.

“For me?” Gojou gasps, hands clasped and mouth agape in perhaps his most punchable smile. “Oh, you shouldn’t have.”

Megumi’s fist tightens around the handle of his bouquet. Today, it’s lilacs, irises and white lilies. It’s also much bigger than usual – too big to inconspicuously leave on someone’s fence or place in the school gardens.

“You can have them if you want,” he murmurs. What else is he supposed to do with them?

The delight on Gojou’s face collapses into a precarious mix of genuine confusion and insatiable curiosity. “Hah? They’re not for anyone?”

“No,” Megumi says. And if they were, I wouldn’t tell you. Although he doesn’t say that last part. Gojou would perceive it as a challenge, and the less he knew about Megumi’s private life, the better.

“So…” A grin splits Gojou’s face. “The person you bought them from must be special, then.” 

Megumi freezes for just a second. But he knows a second is enough for Gojou to glean all the information he needs.  

“Ah,” Gojou hums. “I see.”

“No, you don’t,” Megumi mumbles, well-aware of the heat rising in his cheeks.

“But why would you go out of your way to buy a bouquet of flowers, hm?” Gojou grins, shit-eating grin back on his face. “They don’t hand these out for free, you know.”

Megumi’s grip is so firm he’s scared he’ll crush the stems.

Although, he still doesn’t know what he’s going to do with them. It doesn’t feel right to throw them out – not when you’d spent time putting it together – but he wasn’t about to revamp his room with a distinctly floral accent.

Is it against social protocol to give the flowers back to you? Not now, of course, but maybe on his evening walk… or tomorrow morning…

He still doesn’t know why he didn’t just walk past you that first day.

But something about the way you were gazing out into the street, eyes wide and hopeful as you watched people ignore you on their daily commute… something about that drew him in.

And once he’d bought something from you once – just a small flower, one he didn’t know the name of, but seemed appropriate behind a cute girl’s ear – he couldn’t very well start ignoring you.

Not when your smile is so bright, your eyes sparkling with gratitude whenever he takes whatever floral arrangement you’ve lovingly bundled together out of your hands.

But now he’s paying the price – in more ways than one.

✧ ✧ ✧

Your flower stall is just a few feet away from one of the trendiest cafes in this area of Tokyo, and whoever oversees your little operation is obviously trying to capitalise on that. Setting up so early must be an attempt to catch the rush of bleary-eyed corporate workers craving their necessary morning coffee.

What use an office worker has for flowers, Megumi doesn’t know. But he has a feeling that you’d probably say something along the lines of “it’ll help brighten the place up.”

As usual, you’re waiting there patiently, eyes hopefully scanning the streets for any potential customers. Your face positively lights up when you finally catch sight of him – something that still makes Megumi nearly trip over his own feet.

“Good morning!” You call out, waving to him.

Megumi raises a hand in response, shuffling towards you with all the embarrassment of a high schooler on their way to their first date.

“Can I interest you in a floral arrangement on this fine Saturday morning?” You grin, eyes twinkling as you make your marketing pitch.

“Sure,” Megumi sighs, scanning the vast array of flowers currently on display. He’s getting better at picking them out, but he still can’t name any of them on sight.

You wait patiently, hands folded on the counter. If you think he’s an idiot, you keep it to yourself.

“Those ones,” he says, pointing at a group of blue heart-shaped flowers.

“The morning glories?” You ask reflexively, reaching over to pluck a bunch out of their display.

“Yeah,” Megumi shrugs. He has no idea what a morning glory is. The term sounds like something Gojou and Yuji would snicker at.

“They’re gorgeous,” you smile, taking a moment to admire them.

“Yeah,” Megumi says again.

Flowers aren’t really his thing; God help him if he was ever asked what his favourite kind was. But there’s no point in saying any of that – not when he’s already spent an embarrassing amount of money at this one stall.

“You’re keeping the business afloat, you know,” you giggle, as if reading his mind.

Megumi blinks at you. “Really?”

“Mhm,” you nod. “It wouldn’t be amiss to say you’re our most important patron.” You beam at him, same sparkle in your eyes as always.

He’d be furious, if you weren’t so nice.

How is he supposed to focus when you’re looking at him like that? How’s he supposed to ask who ‘we’ is? A business partner? A partner partner?

But you look so young. You can’t possibly be running a business. But you might have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or both. Or a partner of an otherwise non-binary gender.

Too many questions, no social capacity to ask them.

“So,” Megumi begins, his voice calm and composed as ever. His mind, however, is scrambling around like a fast-food joint at rush hour, trying to string together a sentence that’s not only coherent but also fascinating.

“How old are you?”

Whoops.

It’s the forbidden question. Or, at least, that’s what people always say. People, in this case, is Gojou. It usually is.

You seem unbothered. “I turn seventeen this year.”

Was it only a forbidden question for people who’re older? But in that case, surely knowing someone’s age was pertinent for the whole ‘respect’ thing. Maybe Gojou just didn’t think he should ever ask anyone’s age because then he’s not beholden to honorifics.

But Megumi can’t imagine him using them properly anyway.

That’s not the point. The point is that you’re the same age as him. You weren’t somehow twenty-seven with a baby face.

“Oh,” Megumi nods. “Me too.”

The smile you give him is almost unbearable. How is it even more of a smile than your usual smile? That doesn’t make any sense.

There’s a certain excitement bubbling in his gut that he doesn’t recognise or like.

Wait, if you’re his age, then…

“Do you not go to school on Saturdays?” He asks.

Is this conversation too dry? He’s not sure. He doesn’t usually make an effort at this sort of thing.

“My school doesn’t have classes on Saturday mornings,” you smile, meticulously wrapping brown paper around the stems of a set of particularly bright morning glories. You always do it so delicately; where on earth do you find the patience?

There’s something… graceful, about how you go about it. Sure, it’s your job, but Megumi still enjoys watching you work because—

“Hello there!”

Megumi knows that voice.

Oh no.

“Hello!” You fold your hands in front of you and give your new customer a bow. But your usual smile has been replaced with an expression of middling confusion as you look him up and down.

Megumi doesn’t need to turn around to know who’s standing behind him.

“Who’d’ve thought there’d be so many kinds of flowers in bloom, huh?” Gojou grins, slinging a lanky arm around Megumi’s shoulders.

Megumi glances to the side.

A pair of startingly blue eyes peek at him from behind black shades.

“What are you doing here?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“Oh, I thought I’d just come out for a morning stroll,” Gojou sighs, gesturing to the sky. “Don’t you think it’s gorgeous?”

Megumi’s ready to commit a murder.

“And look at all these flowers!” Gojou exclaims, bending down to peer at some asters closely. “Did you grow them all yourself?”

“Of course not,” you laugh. “I just sell them.”

Jealous maybe isn’t the right word. But there is a twisting in Megumi’s gut upon the realisation that within minutes of meeting you, Gojou had made you laugh. Megumi, on the other hand, was yet to do that.

“Well, either way, my student is a big fan,” Gojou smirks, shaking Megumi’s shoulder. Megumi’s soul is currently leaving his body.

“I was just telling him that he’s our most valued customer,” you smile, tilting your head at the pair of them.

“Ah, is that so?” Gojou grins. It’s amazing, really, how he manages to capture all the terror of the apocalypse in one smile. “I never really took him as a flower guy.”

“Everyone’s a flower guy, sir,” you tsk, shaking your head. “Even you.”

Gojou places an affronted hand on his chest. “So quick to make assumptions!”

“Not at all,” you smile. “You’d be surprised by what our customer base looks like.”

“You don’t say,” Gojou grins, turning to Megumi.

Megumi considers the consequences of punching Gojou right in the nether regions. He doubts he’d be punished for it by the higher ups; if anything, he’ll probably be rewarded. Maybe even pushed up a grade for his invaluable service.

“Fushiguro!”

Oh no.

Megumi’s eyes widen ever so slightly. His head whips round to Gojou. His teacher is already looking straight at him.

“Ah,” Gojou grins. “I told Yuji to meet me here this morning.” The glint in his eyes strikes terror right through Megumi’s departing soul.

Sure enough, Itadori barrels his way towards them, damn near colliding against Megumi with a ‘thump’.

Megumi can do something but stare into the abyss, hoping, wishing, praying this is just a nightmare.

Unfortunately, it’s not.

You give the newest addition to this strange little posse a customary bow. “Good morning!”

Itadori beams at you, his entire face lighting up. “Good morning!”

A strange panic starts to rise from Megumi’s gut. If he thought about it, you and Itadori would get along well. Too well.

Thoughts of you and Itadori walking hand in hand down the street as you laugh, Itadori offering you his coat on a clod morning as you blush, Itadori walking you home, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully as you lean towards him and –

Megumi blinks the thoughts away. What is wrong with him today?

You and Itadori have just met. And what was it to Megumi anyway? It’s not like he—

“Megumi?” Itadori tilts his head at him.

Megumi stares back blankly. “Hm?”

“I wanted to know how you found this place,” Itadori asks, voice bright but with the uncertain quality inherent to repeating oneself.

“Oh,” Megumi murmurs. “Well, I…”

In truth, he doesn’t remember. He just saw you one morning and decided to approach. He still doesn’t know why. But he doesn’t regret it.

“I roped him in with my charm,” you piqued up, picking up the lull in conversation.

Try as he might, Megumi just can’t concentrate. Itadori’s pressed against him, Gojou’s still got his arm slung around his shoulder, and—

“Ah, Nobara’s here!” Gojou beams, waving a hand over his head.

“What are you doing here of all places?” Nobara frowns, raising an eyebrow at Megumi. “I wouldn’t have taken this as your sort of scene.”

If there’s a hell, Megumi’s sure it’s this.

Conversation is bubbling around him but none of it is registering in his mind, he can see Nobara’s dissatisfied look as she takes in the situation at hand but he doesn’t have the energy to retort, Gojou is playing with the petals of one of the display flowers but Megumi knows he’s not going to buy it and—

“Hey, Megumi?”

He snaps back to reality at the sound of your voice, gentle and concerned.

“Are you alright?” You ask, tilting your head to the side. It’s as if you’re completely ignoring the rabble, as if you see him and only him.

Next to him Gojou, Yuji and Nobara watch with rapt attention.

“Yeah,” he lies. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

You frown at you look at him. Something flashes in your eyes and you suddenly duck beneath your countertop.

Megumi and his gaggle of fools blink in surprise.

In a moment you hop back up, something purple bundled up in your hands. “Here,” you smile, handing it out to him, “this is supposed to help you sleep.”

One whiff and he knows it’s lavender.

“How much?” Megumi asks.

You shake your head. “Oh, no. It’s on me.”

Megumi’s heart flutters as you smile. Despite the chaos going on around him, despite the fact that he knows he’s going to be mocked for this for weeks to come, he’s grateful.

Somehow.

“Sorry about this…” he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s fine,” you giggle, shaking your head.

Megumi feels Gojou chuckle quietly, his chest rattling. Itadori is unusually quiet and Nobara seems moments away from a laughing fit.

“I should go,” Megumi says quickly and suddenly. He doesn’t give you time to respond, zipping down the street as fast as his feet can carry him. He needs a shower and then a run and then he needs to beat a training dummy up and then—

“Wait, Megumi!”

He freezes in his tracks. That’s… your voice.

And around his wrist is… is…

He turns to look at you over his shoulder, eyes darting for where you hand wraps around his wrist. Why is his heart racing so absurdly fast? Why does it feel like his head’s about to explode? You’re just holding his wrist. You’re not even touching his skin. Not that it matters—

“Will I see you tomorrow?” You ask, not quite able to meet his gaze.

It brings him back to the moment.

“Of course,” Megumi answers reflexively.

You finally lift your eyes up. They seem to be sparkling. “I look forward to it.”

Before he even has time to process it you’ve let him go and trotted back to your stall, tending to your flowers as if nothing’d happened.

This has been too much embarrassment for one day. He’s not entirely sure what’s going on and he’s not sure he wants to know. But man, he needs at least several hours alone to process everything.

As Megumi shuffles away, Gojou bounds after him, still grinning like a fool.

“So, Megumi’s got himself a—”

Megumi elbows him in the stomach before Gojou even has a chance to finish his sentence.

[ptergwen]

I think your requests are open (I didn’t see anything that said otherwise but I suck at this app lol) but I was wondering if you could write a peter x reader (likely college-age) where they have an academic rivalry and just tease each other a lot and lots of fluff and shit? It can be an established relationship or like a friends/rivals to lovers or really whatever you want. Sorry if this is super specific! Anyways, I love your writing, it always cheers me up :)

friends close, enemies closer

ik this is cherry BUT i had to

w/c: 1.6k

warnings: swearing and hints of suggestiveness

a/n: thank you my love ! i’m actually obsessed with this concept so i’m super super happy with how it came out n i hope you are too :,)

-

you wipe sweat from your upper lip, peeking at peter’s laptop screen. he’s more than halfway through the paper your english professor tasked your class to write. he looks to have not a worry in the world as he continues to type away. growling at this, you dive right back into work.

you’ve been at each other’s throats since the beginning of classes when you both wanted the same spot. first row, middle seat. peter had officially claimed it in the end. you’d flopped down next to him and his irritating smirk.

the dude is smart, you’ll give him that. his knowledge of literature is almost as impressive as yours. almost. he raises his hand any chance he gets, effectively stealing your thunder if you dare to participate.

peter is also a bit of a people pleaser. he’ll chat up your professor at office hours, fascinate her with his hot takes on things or stupid anecdotes. you often get so annoyed that you bail before you even attempt to woo her yourself. the sight of you storming off is something peter thoroughly enjoys.

bottom line is, golden boy peter parker never loses. underneath the sweet, innocent persona he hides behind is a ruthless fighter. you’re determined to end his winning streak, thus sparking your ongoing competition to be better than the other in every way possible.

this time, your goal is to meet your ten page paper requirements the fastest. they aren’t due for weeks, but you and peter are banging them out in one sitting.

you’re hauled up in the campus library, sat side by side despite your wishes for peter to get his own table. he’d insisted on sharing with you. why, you haven’t a clue. you can’t stand him, and he isn’t the fondest of you either.

that’s what you tell yourselves, at least.

“progress report?” peter requests from you. “page three. you?” you grunt back. he props his feet up on the table, arms flexed behind his head. “finishing up page seven. you already knew that, though... creeper.”

god, you can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice.

you glance over at peter, doing your best to ignore how his biceps bulge under his hoodie. nerdy little parker is ripped.

“worry about yours, i’ll worry about mine. thanks.” you reread the sentence you wrote prior to peter’s chiseled body distracting you. “oh, the irony,” he sighs and nudges the edge of your laptop with his sneaker. scowling, you shift the screen away from him.

about a minute of silence goes by until it’s unfortunately filled by peter. he stretches his arms out, finally removing his dirty shoes from the table.

“i’m gonna take five. maybe, you could use it as an opportunity to catch up to me,” peter cockily suggests. “spare me your charity, peter. i’m doing just fine without it,” you retort, letting out a scoff. peter raises his hands in defense. “if you say so, princess.”

here you were, naively thinking peter couldn’t become any more insufferable than he already is.

you slam your laptop shut and jab a finger at his chest. “jesus christ, how many times do i have to ask you not to call me that?” a patronizing pout adorns peter’s lips. “aw, i love it when you get all bossy on me. so cute.”

he grabs your hand still on his chest, pressing a light kiss to the back of it. you’re quick to wipe it off on his hoodie. nevertheless, there’s an undeniable heat rushing to your cheeks.

“well, i hate it when you call me princess,” you deadpan. peter tilts his head to the side. “do you?”

of course not. deep down, you live for the fuzzy feeling you get whenever the nickname slips from his tongue. oh, his tongue and the things it can do. poking out as he focuses hard on a question, running across his pink lips…

you have to reel it in. this is peter parker you’re fantasizing about, your mortal enemy.

“yes. i hate it, and i hate you,” you unsuccessfully convince the both of you. “no, you don’t,” peter rasps, darkened eyes scanning over your features. his stare is intense and intimidating. he grasps your chin between his thumb and index finger, slowly leaning in closer.

he’s not going to stop until you make him. you don’t want to, but you will.

you shove his shoulder, dragging your laptop towards you again. “on second thought, i could use that catch up. you’re not gonna throw me off my game, parker.”

your rejection seems to disappoint peter. his expression matches that of a kicked puppy, brows furrowed and arms crossed over his chest.

“we’ll see,” he murmurs and swings a leg over his chair. “alright, i’m gonna run to the caf. you want anything?”

he’s offering to buy you food now? what’s his angle here?

“i’d say yes, but i’m afraid you’ll poison it somehow,” you half joke. peter hops to his feet. “don’t give me any ideas,” he warns, snatching his backpack off the floor. “i’ll just surprise you.”

although you’re curious what his mystery snack choice for you would be, you can’t accept. you’d be going against your entire dynamic.

would that be so terrible?

absolutely.

you wave him off towards the double doors. “i’m good, peter. really. i’m not that hungry, anyway.” shaking his head, peter throws a backpack strap onto one shoulder. “y/n, your stomach’s been grumbling for the last hour. you gotta eat.”

he’s not wrong. you’re starving, but you’ve been too preoccupied by your essay to break for dinner.

“fine, surprise me,” you concede. peter flashes you a smile, this one void of its usual condescendence. “i’ll be back. try not to miss me too much,” he calls as he walks backwards to the library doors. “i won’t. shoo already,” you dismiss him, a laugh falling from your lips.

peter winks at you, then disappears into the night. you’re left with a serious case of butterflies and a certain freckle faced know-it-all on your mind.

that’s a problem.

you’ve managed to get another page done when peter reappears. he sits back down and slides a bag across the table, you closing your laptop. you dig into it to figure out what he picked for you. you’re not too pleased with his selection, however.

“oh, yummy. vomit in a cup,” you announce as you hold a green smoothie in your hand. peter reaches over and pats your thigh. “it’s good for you. drink up, princess.” you slap him away. “hard pass. i’d rather you have gotten me nothing.”

narrowing his eyes, peter pulls two cookies wrapped in a napkin from his pocket. “i’m guessing you don’t want these either? more for me, then.”

they’re chocolate chip and m&m, your favorite in the cafeteria. they just came out of the oven, so they’re still warm.

“how… how did you know i…” you trail off, peter setting the cookies in front of you. he offers you a lopsided grin. “i know a lot about you, believe it or not. i pay attention.” you surprise yourself by returning his smile. “thank you, peter. how much do i owe you?”

“nah, it’s on me,” peter assures you. “enjoy.” pushing aside your unappealing drink, you seize the cookies instead. “you have to eat, too. let me at least split these with you.” there’s a beat before peter nods. “fair enough.”

that results in you two munching on your cookies while pretending to write your papers. you’re sneaking glances at each other whenever the other isn’t looking, in reality.

once it’s about time for the library to close, you’re on the verge of passing out. peter is concluding his essay until he hears a thump from your side of the table.

he finds you with your cheek smushed against your keyboard and hitting random letters, snores escaping you.

chuckling to himself, peter places a hand on your shoulder. “hey, y/n?” he speaks in a hushed tone. you awake with a gasp, drool pooling at the corners of your mouth. “easy there, princess. it’s only me.” he rubs circles on your back, and it’s oddly comforting.

“keep doing that,” you purr, momentarily forgetting how much you’re supposed to despise peter. he lets his fingers dance across the exposed skin of your lower back. “we should probably head out. it’s kinda late,” peter decides.

you sit up, bones aching and eyes forced open. “not yet. have to beat you first.” you start to delete the gibberish you accidentally typed. peter cups your cheek to turn your head towards him, your movements halting. “this one’s a tie. you did good, y/n/n,” he coos. “finish the rest another day.”

“why’re you being so nice to me?” you nearly whisper. peter uses his thumb to swipe the drool from your lips. “‘cuz i care about you. i might not show it, but i do,” he admits with the hint of a smile. “besides, i need you… for the, uh, the healthy competition.”

laughing softly, you twist his hoodie strings around your fingers and tug. “your intentions are pure as always. sure that’s all you need me for?” peter’s gaze darts to your lips, then your eyes. “we’ll see,” he repeats.

rivalry be damned.

“mm. i care about you too, parker. thanks again for tonight,” you hum. a blush coats peter’s cheeks, even in the dim library lighting. his sweet and innocent side might truly exist. “no problem.” peter links your pinkie with his, the gesture giving you that fuzzy feeling. “i’ll walk you back to your dorm?”

you lean over and kiss his pinkie intertwined in yours.

“lead the way.”

[mrs-gucci]

Subliminal Pleasures {anesthesiologist!Kylo Ren x Reader}

author’s notes: hellooo! thanks to my good friend @safarigirlsp​, I finally wrote my first darkfic. thanks for ruining me a little bit, Shannon! ;) I’ll warn you now, this is honestly the darkest thing I’ve ever written before, and at first I was a little nervous, but I’m surprisingly pleased with how it turned out. and hey, it’s called fanFICTION for a reason, right? 

**THIS IS A DARKFIC THAT CONTAINS DARK THEMES/CONTENT!! please read the warnings and tw’s before proceeding!!**

warnings: smut. non-existent medical practice ethics. kylo’s a bad doctor, but damn, he looks good doing it. mentions of a medical procedure. some fingering. light dirty talk. masturbation. praise.

tw’s: noncon (but it’s not unpleasant, if that makes sense?). somnophilia.

word count: a touch over 2k

When you came into the hospital today for your dental surgery, no makeup and clad in baggy sweats, you weren’t prepared to meet anyone even remotely interesting or attractive, much less the anesthesiologist. 

And, when he walked into the room, your heart immediately skipped a beat, maybe even two.

He was one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen before. Handsome seemed like an insult and injustice to his beauty when it came to the broad, raven-haired god. He wore a very stern expression as he sat over in the corner of the room in a stool much too small for his great size, gathering his tools. 

“Hmm,” His eyes scan the file. “Miss Y/N?”

You nod over at him.

“That’s me.”

He turns back to preparing himself for surgery. “I’m Dr. Ren, the anesthesiologist.”

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Ren.”

A silence stretched between the two of you, the only sounds coming from his movements or your adjusting positions on the paper-covered seat. Then, he speaks again, voice even deeper and somewhat huskier than before. It sent a shiver down your spine.

“Have you ever previously been put under for a medical procedure, or otherwise?”

“I have.” You reply. “Although I didn’t think that I’d need it for this type of procedure?”

He turns around in the stool, a small smirk on his expression.

“Would you like to be awake when your teeth are hammered into pieces and pulled from your mouth?”

Normally, you would’ve laughed at this joking question, but his delivery and sinister demeanor chilled you to the bone.  “N-No, not really.”

“Then you’ll be put under.” He simply states, pulling on a pair of latex gloves before handing you a fabric gown. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Strip and put this on. The snaps should be on your left shoulder, otherwise you’ve put it on incorrectly.”

Looking into his eyes takes your breath away, out of captivation or a bit of fear, you were unsure. He holds onto the gown a bit too long before releasing his grip, eyes lingering over your face before walking out of the room with commanding footsteps.

Despite his chilling intensity and seemingly emotionless demeanor, you still found yourself incredibly attracted to him. There was something...magnetic about him, like the mysterious aura surrounding him draws you in. The warm tingle between your thighs was undeniable as you stood and removed your clothes, tucking them in your bag off to the side before slipping the gown on over your mostly nude body.

Dr. Ren comes back in as soon as you lay back on the chair once again, his timing impeccable. He puts on a surgical mask and rolls the equipment over on a small cart, parking it next to your head.

“We’ll put you under now.”

“W-What?” Your eyes widen. “But the doctor hasn’t even come in yet.”

He glares down at you.

“Must I remind you who the medical professional in the room is?”

“No, sir.” You shake your head, lips pursing as your eyes dart away.

The mask is placed over your nose and mouth.

“Breathe in and out deeply, count to ten.”

Your eyelids grow heavy almost immediately as you begin taking deep breaths, letting the invisible medication into your lungs. 

“One...two...three...four...five...s-six...sev-seven...eigh...t...”

Kylo grins when you’re finally under, body limp as you sleep peacefully under his influence. He loved his job, loved having complete control over someone’s consciousness, loved having the power between life and death.

His cock hardens in his pants as he reclines the chair so that you’re now laying flat. You don’t move a muscle, and he quickly removes his latex gloves along with his mask, tossing them into the bin.

He’s never had a patient like you before, so beautiful, so docile and obedient, so...seemingly innocent. He wants nothing more and would take great pleasure in absolutely ruining you, turning you into his pretty little slut.

The doctor wasn’t even here yet, as you were his first surgery patient today, but Kylo knew without doubt that he needed time alone with you. He needed to have his way with you.

With one last flicker to the locked door, he brings his hand down beneath his trousers and wraps it around his hardened cock, groaning under his breath with the first pump. Your vitals are stable as his other hand begins popping the snaps of your medical gown.

He pulls it open and lets it hang down over the side of the table, exposing your body to him. All you’re wearing is your undergarments, and yet, Kylo’s length pulses in his hand at the sight. You’re truly a sight to behold, even with your intimate areas covered.

You squirm just a bit when the doctor’s large hand grazes over your ankle, but he knows he won’t wake you, not completely anyways. His hand trails up over your calf, then over your thigh, climbing until he reaches the underwire of your flimsy bra. 

There’s not enough time to remove it, to expose your pebbled nipples to his hungry gaze, but he spreads his large hand over the mound, squeezing it gently. In your unconscious state, your back arches slightly and a soft sigh escapes your lips under his touch. 

His hand pumps his cock faster as he bends down and presses a few kisses to the fabric over your nipple, walking around to give your other breast a similar treatment. Then, he walks to the foot of the table and mounts it, kneeling between your legs. 

Both his hands spread out on your inner thighs, gently spreading them apart before tracing his thick, calloused digits across the crotch of your panties. You squirm again, hips subconsciously rocking up to meet his touch.

“That’s a good girl.” He purrs, rubbing small, lazy circles on your clit over the fabric. “Even like this, you still want it. You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Kylo dips his fingers beneath your panties, cock twitching under his pants as his fingers swipe through the considerable amount of slick there. He finds your clit, rubbing it gently, enough to stimulate but not disturb you.

“Look at this...you’re absolutely soaked for me, little dove, and you don’t even know it.”

His hands grip your hips and lift them up as he slides your panties down, revealing the glistening treasure that lay below. He lines a single finger up with your entrance, then pushes it in, growling softly when your cunt clenches.

You stir just a bit, but not nearly enough for him to worry. He lifts his digit up inside you, enjoying the way your hips suddenly jerk as he rubs over the spongy surface of that special spot. Then, he pushes another one of his fingers inside of you, hearing a soft whine from beneath the mask.  

He begins fingering you gently, just enough to prepare you, making sure not to force you back into consciousness. Soon, it became too much for him, and he pulled his digits out gently, observing the slick that coats the two fingers. He brings them up and takes a quick whiff, cupping his clothed erection and squeezing as his tongue pokes out to lick some of the substance off, hips bucking forward at the semi-sweet taste.

“Oh, little one, you’ve got such a tight little pussy. And you taste so good, just as I knew you would.”

The young doctor wipes the rest off on the paper below, then makes quick work of his pants and underwear, pulling them down just enough to expose his aching length. It bobs in response, desperate for attention as another bead of precum forms over the slit. His finger spreads the semi-transparent substance over the fat mushroom head, groaning breathily. 

After giving his thick length a few strokes, he brings it down to rub through your slick. They buck forward out of instinct when he slides over your puckered entrance, wanting so badly to be buried inside of you. 

His body leans over you, one hand next to your head as the other lines himself up, aiding in direction as he presses his hips forward, burying himself inside your wet welcoming walls. His eyes flutter shut as he bottoms out, but quickly snap open when you moan.

Luckily, you hadn’t woken up with his intrusion, and he takes a long sigh of relief before drawing back and pressing forward again slowly. The table trembles on its legs, bolts creaking as he fucks you steadily but gently, extra cautious of your vital signs and level of alertness.

Part of him wishes that you were awake, that you could see what he was doing to you and enjoy him, but the feeling of knowing that even unconsciously, you were still wet and tight for him was one too good to resist. It was all so arousing; an ego feeding greater than his regular days work could ever offer.

Your face scrunches in pleasure with more rolls of his hips, moaning and whimpering each time he buries himself inside you. They’re all so gentle, your noises, and Kylo finds himself lost in each quiet breath.

“Good girl--fuck--oh, good girl.” He says quietly, using every bit of his willpower to keep from pounding into you. “Such a good little cunt, taking my cock so well.”

You tighten around him, then, and he growls, fists clenching next to your head. His teeth grind together as he picks up the pace ever so slightly, feeling his climax approaching quickly.

“T-That’s it, that’s a good girl.”

His head hangs, eyes squeezing shut. He’s close, now, and his own noises get a little bit louder and a lot more frequent as his balls begin to pull and tighten.

“Gonna cum, little dove, you’re g-gonna make me cum so hard with this tight pussy.”

Unbenounced to him, you wake up slightly, eyes opening just a crack. You see him on top of you, body flexing with each thrust, and you feel the obvious intrusion in your lower half. You’re surprisingly not bothered by it, nor do you feel uncomfortable with it. Before you can think on it further, you slip back into the blackness.

He can’t cum inside you, he knows that, so just as he teeters on orgasm, he pulls out as gently as he can and drags his pulsing cock against your lower stomach as thick white ropes paint your soft skin.

“O-Oh y-yes...so good, d-dove.”

Kylo takes himself through orgasm and right into oversensitivity, pulling away and sitting up when this happens. His length softens, the extra skin re-covering his head as it does so. He tucks himself back into his pants, prepares a wet cloth and wipes the cum from your abdomen before pulling your panties back up over your used cunt. 

His fingers quickly re-button your gown and he runs a quick hand through his hair before the doctor comes in, completely oblivious as to what’s just happened. Kylo greets him nonchalantly and takes his place off to the side as the doctor begins the surgery.

Your eyes flutter open lazily, grogginess hitting as you awaken a couple of hours later. Immediately, you feel the pain in your mouth, but more noticeably, you feel a certain ache in your lower half. You have no recollection of what you saw, as this memory is now trapped in your subconscious, but somehow you just sort of knew what’d happened.

You’re disgusted at yourself that you don’t mind the idea, that you don’t feel violated or like you’d been assaulted. You should feel those things, he did those things without your express permission, but...you don’t.

In fact, you feel as if your feelings for the mysterious doctor have grown even stronger. The gaping hole he’d left, the orgasm he’d robbed you of, just ached to be fulfilled. It was an itch you couldn’t scratch, sensations you couldn’t recreate on your own.

Only he could satisfy this desire, this need. 

And, as you sit up slowly and the doctor debriefs you, you know that you must fulfill this new destiny: Find Dr. Ren and make him yours once again.

[academicdisasterfic]

Letters in Transition, 23 May 2022

A collaborative correspondence between @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm and I, inspired by our encounters with fic as queer, trans boys. Letters, words and art exchanged at the start of an unrestrained life.

Previous entries can be found here. In this letter I reference freely, as men strive for right by @bixgirl1

Dear Joy,

I could try and fail for all eternity to express how proud I am of you for coming out to your parents; you are my constant and relentless inspiration, one of the bravest humans I know. I couldn’t possibly start this letter without telling you that.

My god, it’s been a month. I don’t really know where to start. It should be impossible to feel so much, for so many emotions to exist in one space. 

I’m in my new city! I’m in a new home! I have bought bedsheets and cleaning supplies and plants; I have applied for jobs; I have at least three whole friends here (two of them are my housemates and the other I met through fandom, but it still counts). It’s a pretty decent start.

I also went on a road trip earlier this month with two of my best friends. They flew all the way from the States to come and see me, and that in itself is enough to cripple me with emotion. But they also liked me.

In freely, as men strive for right, it takes Draco over fifteen years of marriage to let Harry tell him not just that he loves him, but why he loves him. And even at the end of the story, he doesn’t fully comprehend it; but he allows it, allows Harry to have his own feelings.

I don’t like myself. I wish I did. I wish I felt like a good ghost, as you say; able to fill out all of my complicated edges with some neat, easily defined lines. 

The only time I ever saw my ex truly furious was when she threw a towel across the room and screamed, ‘Why don’t you believe that I love you? What will it take?’

Obviously we didn’t last, so I suppose I never really believed her. It’s a particular kind of cruelty to not believe your loved ones, to not trust them, and I absolutely despise it about myself; don’t know what sort of monster builds a wall that impenetrable, that vast.

I’ve never allowed the people around me to love me without demanding reasons, justifications, testing their limits as far as I can.

Except, apparently, with these two humans; who told me repeatedly and incessantly, from the moment they landed, that I was not just loved, but loved because I was funny, kind, smart, valuable. 

Perhaps it was my Draco moment, a necessary letting go of the narratives I’ve spun for so many years; perhaps I don’t believe them, but I can let them believe it. I can let them think I’m good. I can let them tell me, and maybe let them fill out my ghostliness, let that love make me a better person.

I was distraught when they left. Not just because I knew I’d miss them—and I do, as if two parts of my heart are gone—but because I’ve never let people in like that before. And, rather selfishly, I wondered whether I’d be able to do that with anyone else.

I’m trying to. I’m trying to think of Draco, sending Harry into fits of anxiety because he won’t simply let Harry give him love. I’m trying to remember that no matter how much I convince myself otherwise, there are actual people who care about me, and it hurts them when I reject their love, when I dismiss how they feel about me, feelings as valid as my own.

I’m trying to be the person who gives, rather than takes. 

This is a very self-indulgent letter, perhaps not directly about being trans, but I think in a way it really is.

I think I didn’t acknowledge my transness for a long time, because to acknowledge it would allow love in with such greater ease. 

I’ve never been able to love like I do now. It’s as painful and as joyous as I always imagined it being. It's torturous and wonderful and I feel alive, like every cell in my body was built for it.

You can't love like that hiding behind a wall. Maybe I was never a monster, or at least not a bad one; I just needed to see what laid on the other side.

I hope you're feeling at home. I hope you know I love you for a list of reasons so long they wouldn't fit on a page.

I'm thinking of you,

Rooney x

[powdermelonkeg]

Wild Skies: A Skyward Sword/BotW Architectural Study

This post is free of Skyward Sword plot spoilers, but NOT free of location spoilers.

If you frequent the theory section of the Zelda fandom often, or you look at a lot of my posts, you’ve probably seen the comparison of the Springs of Courage and Power to Skyview Spring and the Earth Spring.

If I can, for a moment, I think it’s weird that the Spring of Power matches Skyview more than Courage does—

But I digress. I’m here for the architecture, not whether or not two trees can last 10,000+ years with only a foot of growth and what that means for the already confusing maps of Hyrule.

So, without further ado, we have four locations to compare to Skyloft:

The three springs of Power, Wisdom, and Courage, and the Forgotten Temple of Tanagar Canyon.

The springs have very similar designs, particularly in Skyward Sword, where even the same support pillars are broken.

In BotW, though, they have a little more variation to them.

They all line up rather nicely with Skyward, despite having no sign of the temples they should have been attached to.

We have the feathered crests of Hylia

The geometric U shape on the pillar base

The octagonal center plaza

The stepping stones that lead to the altar, with Hylia’s crest on them

And the shrine to Hylia, which, they all have the same right-side break on the altar.

So the Zeldevs of Botw are just as guilty as Skyward’s in terms of model duplication.

Interestingly, though, we have a few differences between the shrines.

We have Din, Nayru, and Farore’s symbols behind where the floating crest of Hylia should be.

They’re also missing all that gold marking and the glittering red gems that the Skyward version has on spokes either side of the Goddess statue.

We can assume, from this, that the gold parts of the shrines are gold paint, and that the gems fell out of their setting over time. Maybe the gems were stolen as valuables; a lot of artifacts and sacred locations in our world are often defaced for a profit.

Behind each of these altars, there’s a shrine that you can access through dragon scales.

But what’s really interesting to me is the doors that lead to those. In my main file, I got the doorframes

...Huh. That doesn’t look like a Sheikah-made door.

If we look at it up close, it’s got the geometric U that was everywhere else, and it’s the same weathered stone that the altars are made of. So...these were here to begin with?

That U shape is important. It’s not just at the springs; in fact, it’s just about everywhere in Skyward Sword.

On the Isle of the Goddess, it’s all along the wall.

Same with the Temple of Time.

And in Sealed Temple...

The Light Tower...

Even the Isle of Songs.

So, pretty safe assumption is that anything with this symbol is either built pre-Skyward Sword, or inspired by Skyward Sword builds.

Back to that doorframe...

The U shapes mean that the doorframe, at least, was built by the same people that made the altar.

But what about the actual door?

Well, I didn’t have a means of seeing that door on my main file; I’d 100%’ed the shrine quests.

So, I booted up a new file to investigate what it looked like pre-dragon. Maybe it was Sheikah tech built onto Skyward stone?

Nope.

We have that U shape again.

And birds!

So...what does that mean?

Logically, it means that the shrine behind this door had to have been built before it. Otherwise, why would the Sky architects have built it at all? There’s never anything back there besides a puddle.

We do know, though, that the door doesn’t exist in Skyward time.

Between the missing door and the symbol carving on the Goddess altar, this implies that the springs were modified post-Skyward. Possibly by the Skyloftians themselves. That’s a little bit of proof towards Tapestry era’s placement in the timeline.

Now, the Forgotten Temple.

We’ve got that strange U sign again.

As well as the biggest Goddess statue we can find, comparable in size to the one in Skyloft.

It isn’t, however, the SAME statue. Ignoring the existence of Sealed Grounds at all, we see two main changes.

First of all, the base.

Forgotten Temple’s statue is flush with the ground, and sitting atop a brick floor, ruling out the possibility of the statue sinking into the ground on its own.

And then there’s the design on the landing in her hands.

The crest of Hylia is framed by trapezoidal carvings, with a pocket in its center for an offering.

The Forgotten Temple statue has no such pocket, with a lower and larger crest.

Also in the temple, we have various bird carvings on walls and pillars:

It looks almost like a flattened/stylized version of the carvings on the Goddess statue and bird pillars on Skyloft:

And lastly, more interestingly:

Big Loftwing statue.

You can find it at the entrance to the Forgotten Temple.

One more thing, since we’re on the topic of architecture. In the newest Bo2W trailer, we see lots of ruins throughout the sky like we’ve never seen before.

One in particular caught my eye, during the scene where we see the strange Zonai robot.

You see that weird pedestal in the middle?

Does that look familiar to anyone else?

[liz-allyn]

shudder; part 6/6 [agent mobius x reader]

Series Summary: Pre-Loki series. You are one of the most dangerous variants the TVA has ever recovered, but Mobius knows what makes you tick. Five times he made you shudder, and the one time you returned the favor.

Words: 4.4k

Chapter Warnings/Tags: smut, language, soft daddy kink, sex in otherwise unsanitary conditions, writer's horribly pathetic attempt at dirty talk

A/N: Here it is guys. I struggled with this chapter a lot, also mad respect for gn!writers. I don't think I succeeded in keeping it neutral (welcoming feedback on how I can improve) so I removed that tag.

You watched a small fire crackle in the darkness of an elevator shaft, being used as a chimney. Rain spilled down the walls, running over old steel and concrete, but at least you were no longer in it.

Once you had had the strength to move off the beach, you found a footpath scaling up the face of the cliff which led to an abandoned mining post.

The population of Olympus-V had steady decline for decades, either by migration, poverty, or famine. The planet had been practically barren for years, save for some mining operations to squeeze the last of the planet’s natural resources.

It was in one of those posts where you were now taking refuge with Mobius. You sat on the ground near the elevator shaft, your clothes still soaked, while Mobius fiddled around with building a fire. You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself and tried to keep your teeth from chattering.

“You know how many centuries it took early man on Earth to figure out fire?” Mobius mused as he tended to the flames. “I mean, it’s not a competition or anything, but other civilizations had it down in like a few decades, max.”

You rolled your eyes miserably. “I got him killed, you know,” you replied, not having the energy to follow Mobius into another one of his “fun-facts-about-history” rabbit holes. You’d been quiet for a while, with Mobius having to hold both ends of the conversation. The grim tone in your voice gave him pause.

“The new guy,” you clarified, your tone flat as you spoke of your deceased partner. The last time you and Mobius had spoken, he had sang his praises. “It was only our fourth mission together and he’s dead. Because of me.”

Mobius sighed and turned away from you, “That’s one interpretation.” He dropped another piece of coal into the flame and came to a stand. “Or,” he added, “you could say he was a great analyst who made rational, competent choices and was working with the best data he had. The fact that he trusted you doesn’t make him any less responsible for the outcome.”

He idly wiped his hands on his pants, carrying on and providing no harbor for your self-pity, “I probably would’ve done the same thing.”

“No. You wouldn’t.” Your tone was icy. “Because you weren’t there.” You glared at him from across the smallish room you were huddled in, bitterness souring your voice. “You sent me away, remember?”

He let out an exasperated sigh, rolling his head slightly. “I had no other choice,” he parroted the same old response.

That wasn’t an answer that satisfied you. At all.

“Why?” you bit back with a mocking tone, coming to a quick stand. You pulled no punches. “Because the TVA told you to? Because if the Time Lords—”

“—Time Keepers—”

“—Time Fascists,” you hissed, “think that I have a crush on you, they'll zap me out of my useless existence?”

He glanced over at you, smirking with his head tilted slightly. He replied with a voice as sweet as caramel, “Are you saying you have a crush on me?”

Your shoulders dropped. “You’re insufferable.” You turned away, wishing you could find a different mine.

“Hey, considering my recent valiant and heroic efforts to rescue you,” he replied, “you’d think you’d be a little nicer to me.” You let out an exhausted sigh, but he kept going - cool as a cucumber. “I thought we had a thing going there. I mean - first, you kiss me—”

You spun on your heel. “Kiss you!?” you scoffed.

“Yeah,” he drawled. “On the beach.”

“I was resuscitating you!” you argued. “You call that a kiss?”

He shrugged innocently, a sparkle in his eyes. “Well, I wasn’t going to say anything,” he responded matter-of-factly. “But, uh, yeah - it was a little underwhelming.”

He grinned slyly. You wanted to simultaneously melt into him and burn him alive. You scoffed, shaking your head incredulously.

“What was the point?” you exclaimed. “What’s the point of rescuing me if I’m nothing but a - a tool? A blunt hammer for the TVA to snuff out anyone that steps out of line?”

The pain in your voice was unmistakable, and Mobius dropped his playful banter.

“You think I’ve enjoyed spending the last - however long it's been - hopping around the timeline hunting people who are no different than me?” Your heart ached with every word, “You think I enjoy killing?”

“No,” he answered, weighed with guilt, “I don’t.”

Your rage flared. “Then why won’t you just let me go!?”

“I can’t,” he quietly explained, eyes cast down. He wouldn’t even look at you.

Fuck this infuriatingly charming, cowardly little TVA sheep-whore.

You felt the venom pooling on your tongue. “God! You’re such a company man, aren’t y—”

“I can’t!” he raised his voice in a way that you’d never heard before, stunning you into silence. He lifted his gaze and looked at you solemnly, his expression filled with regret. His words were weak, broken - barely above a whisper. “...Let you go.”

You stared blankly at him, reading the tragedy written on his features. With his defenses down, you could clearly see every word: I don’t want to let you go. I need you, forever. You are mine and I am yours and nothing else makes sense beyond that. I’d do anything to keep you safe.

Were those his thoughts, or yours? You didn’t know anymore.

Mobius reached up quickly and loosened his tie, before deftly undoing the buttons of his shirt.

You were staring like a deer in the headlights. “Wha-Wai-what are you doing?” you blurted uncomfortably with a furrowed brow.

He rolled his eyes. “Not catching hypothermia, if that’s alright with you,” he snarkily said as he pulled off his jacket and shirt, revealing a soaked white undershirt beneath. You remembered that you both were freezing and wet. “I’m drying my clothes by the fire. We still have 10 hours and 23 minutes until we hit the radiation peak.”

Ah yes, you had almost forgotten.

Ten hours until the end of the world, or at least of Olympus-V. And because Mobius’ TempPad was unbelievably conveniently out of juice, and unable to open another Time Door, you were pretty sure you had about the same amount of time left to exist.

Mobius confidently felt otherwise. He rattled on some jargon about needing a massive source of energy to power the TempPad - something about electromagnetic waves, solar bursts, radiation of a dying star, the “sweet spot” between a steady charge and a gruesome death. You honestly stopped listening back at the beach.

You were too busy questioning his motives and your own. Were you happy that Mobius was trapped with you, about to be swallowed by the sun? Or were you furious that he idiotically ran right into an apocalypse and now you both were going to die.

He quipped that at least that technically made him a hero; maybe he’d get a plaque in the TVA cafeteria. You would’ve made some kind of cheeky comeback, but you were already dying inside at that devastating thought.

“Not to be too forward, but you should probably do the same,” Mobius added, bringing you back to the present situation where he was undressing in front of you. “You’re shaking like a chihuahua right now.”

You were about to question the puzzling thought of him being in a place in time to observe a chihuahua, but then he pulled his wet t-shirt over his head. You turned your gaze away reflexively as soon as you spotted human flesh.

Here you were - former soldier, mercenary, and spy, and fearsome hunter of the Time Variance Authority - blushing like a shrinking violet. It’s not that he didn’t have a point, it was just--fuck, he’s undoing his belt— is this real life right now?

“Don’t worry,” he scoffed flippantly. “I’ll even turn my back to preserve your innocence and sanctity.”

He was being facetious but it made you wonder if he had any idea how un-sanctified you were. Your eyes widened at the thought: Did he watch that on the highlight reel too?

Now he was pulling his slacks off, and you were tracking in real time again. He kept his promise and had his back to you, allowing you the privacy to undress. And you did.

You peaked over your shoulder to see him lay his clothes out in front of the flames. He dragged over an old canvas tarp he’d found - pieces of which he’d stripped off for kindling - and moved it to a safe proximity from the fire. He sat down in the middle of the tarp, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around him.

And he kept his underwear on - boxer briefs, you’d called it - not that you were trying to look below his waist or anything.

Once he was at rest, he rubbed his hands over his bare arms to create friction. You mirrored his steps one-by-one, until you were also sitting in your underwear on the canvas with your bare backs inches apart.

You both were quiet for a long time, facing opposite directions, surrounded by the cold darkness, and the sound of trickling water. You could still hear the waves thrashing and the rain bartering on the rocks outside. The crackle of the fire - the way the flame danced and dimly lit your surroundings, brought you a sense of peace. It was almost... romantic. Even if it was the end of the world.

“I know this is my fault,” Mobius declared, breaking the silence. You could hear struggle in his voice. “I know I was supposed to stay within my lane. My purpose is to preserve and protect the timeline, and that’s it, it’s just....” He sighed, and you listened carefully, hanging on his words. Was this doubt?

It sounded like he was trying to understand himself. “Something’s different now,” he explained, with a little bit of wonder and fear. “When we’re together, I feel… like I’m someone else. And I’m not who I was before. Before you.”

You quietly listened, thinking about how much you identified with what he was saying.

“My head is telling me it’s all wrong,” he said, “that I’m making a mistake. That I’m playing with fire.” His next thoughts brought the tiniest grin to his otherwise grim voice. “When I’m with you… I feel like a dope… Reckless.” The smile faded as his thoughts sobered him. “Dangerous.”

In the silence that followed, you wondered again whose thoughts you were hearing - his or yours.

“How can something that feels so right be wrong?” he mused openly - for you, the Time Keepers, and all the Sacred Timeline - to hear.

The question that hung heavy in the air had such a clear answer, of which you were certain. Your mind raced trying to think of how to respond, how to explain. You simply couldn’t find the words.

So you turned your body towards him. You reached over Mobius’ shoulder gently to cup the side of his face, and pulled him into a kiss.

It was slow and chaste, projecting every intention and emotion that you lacked the words to describe. Each time you moved your lips, you took another breath; you wrote another line of your love letter to him. He sank deeper into your kiss, as your souls tangled and caught fire.

And then you felt it.

You were positioned behind him, with his back to your chest when a burst of lightning crawled up his spine. A desperate shudder racked his body. He pulled away from you breathlessly, his eyes closed, as you both panted and glowed with the heat of the moment.

“If I didn’t know any better,” your lips curled into a sultry smile, “I’d say I was making you nervous.”

He opened his dark bronze eyes at that, drinking you in. He couldn’t help but mirror your mischievous smirk. In an instant, he snatched you up and pulled you onto his lap. You kissed him hungrily, straddling him, as his hands glided over your body.

Your mind went foggy, as any composure you had in the situation was evaporating. His lustful kisses scorched your skin as they traveled down your neck. He lifted you higher so that he could drink more of you in. You gasped and sighed at how your body reacted to him, your fingers digging into his scalp. He groaned with pleasure as he found your open mouth again, your tongue a welcoming partner.

He pulled you in tighter, your hips grinding further into him. You felt his want, hard against your body, and you felt the last of your innocence pooling between your legs. The friction made you let out an un-sanctified moan, breaking away from his kiss. The sound of your voice intoxicated him.

You were in a controlled descent backwards as he lowered you to your back.

When did you start trembling? Has it really been that long since your last time?

Your hands danced across his chest, triggering goosebumps. Even his skin wanted you. You writhed beneath him as he positioned himself between your legs. You were bursting like a firecracker with anxious need. Your hands groped him, nails gently grazing - traveling down his torso and beneath the waistband of his boxers.

He gasped as your fingers wrapped around his organ, fluttering his eyes shut at your touch. You were on autopilot, your physical need in command of your body, as you attempted to pull his stiff erection from his boxers.

Mobius snatched your hands and you froze. He pulled your arms up, grasping your hands tightly, and pinned your wrists to the floor on either side of your head. You were hit with a wave of confusion, followed by shame.

Maybe you’d read this wrong. You looked up at him, half-expecting to read an expression of disgust.

What you found was the opposite.

His eyes— gentle, dark, and focused intently on you— telegraphed a message for you to read carefully:

You were not the one in control here.

You felt the wind of butterflies deep in your core as you realized he had clear goals for you in mind. He was asking you - imploring you - for command of your body. For the record, he already had it - whether or not either of you were conscious of it.

You lay still, save for your chest’s gentle movements, as his eyes unravelled the layers of your being. Trapped in his gaze, you were stripped bare in more than just flesh.

You were time travelling again - years into the past. The pages of your chapters fell away, until you felt like a pupil again, watching your master navigating the geography of your body.

His grip softened, giving your palms an affectionate squeeze before he released your hands. His leering gaze was already gliding down your valleys, and his hands followed, letting his fingertips brush the delicate flesh of your forearms as they travelled.

All your mind could do to focus was count your every breath as his touch and kisses grazed your skin. You wondered how long it had been for him. You quivered at the thought of him planning this moment.

He took time tasting you with each kiss - down your chest, your belly, the crest of your hips. You lifted your core with his encouragement, allowing him to pull away your last remaining piece of clothing. You were finally unveiled before him. He sighed softly, mind buzzing, as he delicately spread your legs apart.

He moved so slowly with intention, relishing each moment. You were on the verge of losing it and he had yet to touch your most sensitive areas. He could feel your hips squirm with anticipation.

“I want you,” he pacified you, “more than anything.” He tenderly kissed the inside of your thigh. “But I need to know that you want this too. Without a doubt in your mind.”

You were desperate by this point, way past “willing.” Regardless, he met your eyes, waiting patiently for your consent.

You were consumed with lust. “Please,” you stuttered in passionate exhilaration. You could barely recognize your own voice, “You can do anything you want to me.”

His face twitched into a sinful smirk. “I know.” There was that confidence again. “But that’s not what I asked.” He steadied his composure and fixed himself in your sights once again. You gazed at him with a more sobered expression, giving this moment the respect he wanted.

He watched your lips now that he had your attention. “Tell me you want me to make you feel good,” he seductively implored. “Tell me you want me to take you, here and now. I need to hear you say yes.”

The way he asked for your consent could’ve put you over the edge by itself.

“Yes,” you practically moaned under your breath. It was a sinful, thirsty plea. “God, yes, please. I want you to touch me.”

That ignited his fuse.

He lowered to his elbows, positioning his arms beneath your legs. His mouth was on you, leaving you aghast at the force. It was like he wanted more than just to please you - he relished in devouring you, like a frozen dessert on a hot summer day. You jolted and gasped, more from surprise than pain. He took note anyway, and steadied his animalistic pace.

It wasn’t long until your eyes were rolled in the back of your head. You were thunderstruck, arching your body and moaning with ecstasy.

The way his name sounded each time it sprang from your lips made him drunk. Every time you uttered it, you felt him tense and groan. It was a perpetual cycle. Your hips would reflexively buck from the intense pleasure and he would just hold on tighter. He forced your thighs apart as you encouraged him to unleash more rapture on your body.

This was not a particularly new position for you, but it was good. You weren’t sure where he got the experience, but he was really, really good.

And if “Sacred-you”— “NC-17-rated,” “parental-advisory-warning-labelled” badass-you—could just see yourself now: writhing on the floor while being laid out by an older man, one whom you’d rarely seen out of a brown suit and tie. You didn’t think this man knew how to fire a gun before, but you were practically mewling for him like a kitten.

And god, he really seemed to enjoy it.

You warned him that you couldn’t last much longer. You felt the tension building inside. You wanted desperately to satisfy him, to feel him inside of you, to have him enraptured with you. But unless he slowed down, you were going to lose it right here with his mouth on you. You knew he had needs, and you began to plead with him to let you fulfill them.

You pushed down on his shoulders, begging him to let you have a turn. He pulled away, pausing only briefly.

“Uh uh,” he chastised you with a wicked grin. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

He was back on you before you could reply, this time reaching two of his fingers into your core.

Your head dropped backwards at the sensation, and now you were obscenely begging him for more. You’d happily given up any attempt at controlling what happened next, focusing solely on the nuclear fission in your body.

You blossomed for him as his fingertips pulsed on the most sensitive flesh inside inside you. Muscles you didn’t even remember you had repeatedly contracted. He impurely hummed and he lapped greedily at the fruit of his labor.

You were gasping for air, beaded with sweat, as you came down from your high. He leaned over you to witness the sunset of your orgasm. Eyes full of lust, he pulled himself free of his boxers and discarded them as he watched you.

When you glanced down to see the stunning sight of his stimulation, it re-electrified you. You pulled yourself into a sitting position on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your legs straddled him eagerly as he lifted your hips over his member.

The erotic sound you both made as you slid down his shaft was sinful enough to cast you both into hell. You kissed him, open-mouthed, and tasted yourself on his tongue. Now that you were on top of him, wrapped around him, he seemed more frantic and less calculated with his movement.

He was gazing up at you like a lustful teenage boy, letting himself be taken by passion. “God...” he whispered, suddenly less skilled with words. “You feel so... ah!... s-so beautiful...”

“You’re so hard…stretching me so tight,” you groaned into his mouth, and he growled in agreement, nodding his head.

He broke away from the kiss, “God - yes, ah, you’re s-so tight, baby...” You grinned excitedly as you climbed and descended his length. You moaned like a porn star as you rode him.

“I can call you that, can’t I?” he said through his own breathless moans. You glanced at him in confusion. He looked concerned. His hands braced your hips as you continued your movement. “Is that okay?”

“Wha-what?”

“The pet name,“ he explained through sighs, “B-Baby? I-I don’t want it to sound de-demeaning, or... patronizing—”

Okay. Now he was overthinking it.

“It’s fine,” you urged him to move on, growing more frustrated, but now he was babbling nervously.

“I could call you something else—”

“—don’t care—”

“—’s’important to me that you know I respect you, and I’d never—”

“I don’t care, I—You can call me whatever you want. Please, daddy… Just— fuck me…”

You crashed your lips on his, but felt his breath hitch as he tensed you immediately. You either said something very right, or very wrong. The sex had all but come to a screeching halt, as you reluctantly met his eyes.

He gazed at you thoughtfully, gears turning.

Timidly, you searched his face for judgment, for any sign of disapproval, but instead, there was a look of almost— awe.

You watched the change in him as the devil overtook him. His eyes turned three shades darker, pooling with lust. His expression of wonder melted into a devious smile. Your dirty talk awakened something in him, like he was remembering a long-forgotten visceral part of himself.

He scooped you up and laid you on your back again, pulling himself out of your body. You only had a brief time to revolt, until he sat up on his knees and he lifted one of your thighs up, pulling your leg over his shoulder. You watched curiously trying to figure out what he was doing, until he gripped your hips and pulled you downward— over his shaft.

You let out a painfully delicious cry as he bottomed out inside of you. He hungrily watched your expressions and relished in the sound of your moans.

His hand braced the inside of your other thigh, holding your legs open so that you were spread at the right angle for him. As soon as he began to thrust, you were done for.

You groaned with ecstasy. “That’s... it..,” he praised you, eliciting more cries from you.

There were no more performances. There was no more pageantry. No more room for pretending to be anyone other than who you are.

You were coming undone for him, and he watched every moment. Every dirty thought and fantasy you ever had might as well have been written on your body. He studied each line.

“Oh god, Mobius—yes,” you babbled as you squirmed.

“Yeah?” he breathed, teasingly. “Does that feel good?” You nodded frantically.

Sweat beaded down his chest as his hands roamed to find your sweet spot, and another desperate wave of ‘yes’s flooded out from your lips.

“What did you call me?” he enticed, his mouth watering for your response. “What name did you call me before?” You were struggling with words, but he wouldn’t stop until he coaxed the right one from you.

“Say it.”

You tangled your fingers in your scalp, turning your head away. He thrust into your hips a little deeper, and you cried out obscenely.

“Say it,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “I wanna hear you say it again. I wanna watch you say it to me.”

More lewd noises dropped out of your mouth, as you propped yourself up on your elbows. “Yes, please, I love what’re… doing t’ me… I need it, daddy…”

He groaned with a lecherous smile, biting his lip. “You are so good for me.”

Lust was dripping from each word as he drew them out. His honeyed, Southern accent had returned. His eyes were blown black as he cooed with praise, “You make me wanna be so bad.”

You were gone after that. Your head tilted back, crying out through another climax. He could hear his own voice—that’s it that’s it—moaning in the distance somewhere, but he was enthralled with your little pleas. The tones of your voice washed over him; he used them to quell the blaze inside.

He knew everything he wanted to do to you, and everything you wanted him to do. And he couldn’t get past the feeling, as he buried himself deeper inside of you, that this was all... familiar.

This picture of you, spread out gloriously beneath him, was impossibly familiar. He imagined a bed that wasn’t his own, and light blue cotton sheets that couldn’t have been his, and the sunlight peeking from a sheer curtain, and falling across the ecstasy-filled face of his lover that he couldn’t have ever married...

That was....you.

Your voice was echoing in Mobius’ head. You whined and whimpered, glowing with passion, signaling that you were moments away from your climax. And then he was here - on Olympus-V with you, and he felt you tighten and flutter around him.

The sight of you, writhing beneath him as you reached orgasm, pulled a deep moan from his chest. White hot light flooded his vision. His body jerked and reacted in unison, filling you with his seed.

For someone for whom time had little meaning, he was now obsessed - trying to catch and hold back each fleeting moment. He leaned forward, his body spent, and you pulled his chin down into a longing kiss.

His mind was spinning. His lungs were still taking deep breaths. He pulled away slowly and rested his forehead on yours, his eyes closed as he struggled to make sense of what was real and what was a dream.

“I could never let you go,” he declared, deep in contemplation. You didn’t quite understand the connection in the present moment. You didn’t remember.

“Then stay with me,” was your gentle reply.

He gazed once again into your eyes with a knowing smile. “Always.”

A/N: And I'm leaving it there. For now. Please reblog with feedback, or send me a message on your thoughts. This is my first attempt at writing in a long, long time. Also it's my first attempt at smut so be nice with your feedback :-)

THANK YOU to all of you for your wonderful comments. Please reblog for support!

@generalhugzzz @isaxbella749 @yodaboo @aloyssia @simsiddy @coloursforyourportrait

[redorich]

Hello! Can we get a little something for the hermit canyon AU? I was thinking something Karl centered, maybe they accidentally find his library or otherwise find out about his "travels". They're probably invisible for the whole thing, but do they do anything afterwards? Do they leave little notes and reminders? Would they try to help at all? Or would they push it to the back of their minds and try to forget about it?

Unlike most discoveries made by Hermits, Joe does not find a secret location on a normal surface run. When Etho found the Pogtopia ravine, it was a mystery to him, unsettling and vivid. When Grian found Technoblade's snowy cabin, it was on complete accident, just because Grian needed to explore, to get out of the canyon for a few hours.

When Joe exits the canyon, as he rarely does, he makes a beeline for Karl's library. Time is... not something Joe concerns himself with, but he prefers to constrict himself to the linear travel of the fourth dimension nowadays-- if such a thing as "nowadays" can be said to exist when tangling with time.

Where was he? Ah, yes. He moves quickly, because he dislikes spending more time away from Xisuma's side than absolutely necessary, even if the admin has been having a run of good health days and there are twenty-two other Hermits to attend to the admin in an emergency. He doesn't bother with invisibility, or walking, or other mundane things. Joe simply hovers in the air, flying toward his destination and perhaps fiddling with the tick speed just a little, just enough to get him there faster.

There's a residual feeling of familiarity, like a relationship with an ex-girlfriend which has long since turned sour, near the canyon. There's a whisper there of magic, of gleaming white spires, but all Joe can see is red.

"It's a shame, what they did to this library," Joe mutters with a tsk. Posters of hazy LSD-esque drawings of various time periods and locations line the walls, molding away as red vines climb on them, devour them.

He shrugs. Might as well move on; nothing of value remains here.

To the south is a place Etho has visited only briefly and in passing: Kinoko Kingdom. It's a hotspot of activity at times, and a ghost town at others. Etho didn't even know the name of the place until Puffy reported it. Joe doesn't care. For all that Etho likes to present himself as a cryptid, scaring poor innocent wood-dwelling folk who are just looking for a big fuzzy triclopean spouse, Joe is the one with experience as a cryptid. Let them see him. What are they going to say, "I saw Herobrine"?

He touches down, finally, in front of another library made from mushrooms and wood. Allowing his eyes to flash white for a moment so that he can ferret out the building's secret room, he is both disappointed and unsurprised to see it empty of life. Karl Jacobs, resident time traveller, is not there.

Joe closes his eyes. He doesn't want to have to do this. For decades, there was a place he called home, a place he built from the ground up. It was a place in between life and death, and so he called it the Inbetween.

He opens his eyes, and he is there. It's like walking down a street you've been down a hundred thousand times before; even with your eyes closed, you know where you're going. There are no longer dozens of imperfect copies of himself running around, brainless and waiting to be culled like lambs to the slaughter in order to fuel an affront against nature. Now, there are many iterations of Karl, all wandering aimlessly... save one.

The only version of Karl wearing color stands in an open-air corridor near the courtyard. Even from a distance, Joe can see his chest rise and fall far too rapidly for him to actually be getting any air. (Joe sees everything here, where his eyes are white and cannot be anything but white.)

"Why am I here?" Karl babbles to himself. "I haven't time-travelled-- or did I already forget?"

"You didn't forget," Joe reassures him. It does not have the intended effect.

Karl screams, turning around so quickly that he falls on his ass. He scoots away like a crab missing a leg, scrambling for some distance. "Your eyes--!"

"Come closer," Joe says. "I won't hurt you."

"You're Herobrine!"

Joe exhales slowly. "I was Herobrine. What I am is the only person who can help you."

Karl warily clambers to his feet. None of the other Karls dressed in white pay the two men any mind. "What do you mean?"

"You've got yourself stuck in a dimensional loop of Homestuck proportions, Karl," Joe says. "So did I, when I built this place. It took me decades to figure out how to get out of it, and I knew what I was doing. You don't have that."

"Am I stuck here forever, then?" Karl says mournfully. He waves a hand at the carefree automatons wearing his face. "Will I become one of them?"

Joe takes a few slow steps closer, keeping his hands where the stressed-out time traveller can see them. "I'll take care of things on this end. You won't ever have to come back here again."

Karl sags in relief like a marionette with its strings cut.

"Does the name Eret mean anything to you?" Joe asks. It's a name he's heard from Puffy's lips once or twice, and if her information holds true, things could get much easier.

Karl blinks. "Uh... Yeah? What about them?"

Joe continues. "Dark hair, tall, white eyes like mine?"

"I've never seen Eret without their sunglasses, but I guess, yeah," Karl replies. Of all the things he would have expected Herobrine to ask about, Eret isn't one of them.

"Imagine what Eret looks like," Joe suggests. "Think real hard about them. Imagine them here, in the Inbetween, right in front of us."

Karl has no idea why Herobrine wants him to daydream about Eret (even if their voice is very nice), but if the man is pulling his leg, well-- it's fucking Herobrine, he can do what he wants.

Speaking of that nice voice, Karl hears the voice in question scream out of nowhere. Karl flinches away from the sudden loud noise, before his eyes catch up to his brain and he realizes that he just magicked Eret into existence in the Inbetween.

"What the fuck," Eret says. "H-Herobrine, uh, long time no s-see..?"

"Sorry about that time I kinda tortured you," Herobrine says brightly. "I'm nicer now."

"I doubt--" Eret begins caustically, then remembers exactly who they're talking to and shuts their mouth. "...Why is everything so dark?"

"Take off your sunglasses," Herobrine suggests.

Eret grimaces, but obeys. This place is practically humming with magic, so they just know they're going to get blinded by it the moment they remove their glasses, but they remember what happened last time they pissed Herobrine off.

Wincing, they remove the sunglasses, expecting pain and receiving... nothing. The glint of light on quartz is a bit uncomfortable, but that's a normal human uncomfortable that Eret hasn't experienced since they were a teenager.

Herobrine smacks them on the forehead with his palm. "I take back what I said about 'living with this power for the rest of your life', and all that," he says. "You can turn 'em off now. I'd recommend not turning those eyes back on, though-- at least, not here. It's a little bright, magic-wise."

Eret gapes. All these years, they feared the day they'd meet this powerful man again, imagined what they'd say as they cursed his name or begged his forgiveness... and here he is, giving them exactly what they desperately hoped for but knew they'd never receive simply because he's 'nicer now'.

"Herobrine," Eret says, "why have you done this?"

"Call me Joe," Herobrine says.

Karl interjects, "Joe mama," under his breath. It is with the utmost shock on Eret's behalf that Karl does not in fact get immediately smited into oblivion, merely smacked on the forehead.

"Now you won't forget," Herobrine-- Joe says. "Anyway, I have shenanigans to be up to back in the canyon, so I'll send y'all back now. Those red vines are bad news, and so is their egg, so y'all better take care of that, please. It's really messing your server up."

Karl blanches. "The canyon?"

"Oh, look at the time. Have fun, be safe, bye," Joe says with affected mild disinterest.

Both Karl and Eret have so much to say, so many questions to ask, but they fade away before they get the chance.

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Long Way From Home Part 2

Summary: You and Natasha are left with the realization of what your future holds. 

Genre: Fluff

Request: Yes / No

Word Count: 2,408

* * * * * *

You weren’t entirely sure what to expect after Katya’s return home. Hope led you to believe that the situation would draw yourself and Natasha closer. But realism made you understand that if/when that ever happens, it wouldn’t be anytime soon.

Natasha was even more shocked than you were to find out that Katya was her daughter from the future. That shock went even deeper when she realized that Katya’s other parent was you.

Maybe it was that realization that pushed her to stay away from you. And you didn’t want to further push her away by being overbearing.

So for the first few days, you’d given her all the space she needed. You resolved to not speak to her unless she spoke first, you made sure she knew you were there whenever she was ready but didn’t become annoying about it.

But days turned to weeks and she hadn’t said or done anything. With the knowledge of what the future held in your head, coupled with the feelings you already had towards Natasha, you decided to take a different approach.

Switching some things around on your personal and work schedule, you made it so that the two of you spent more time together: working out and training, going on missions, having breakfast together whenever she was actually hungry. Hell you even volunteered to do public appearances with her and everyone knows how much you hate those. 

It was all in an attempt to get the woman you cared so deeply for to at least speak to you.

Luckily, it worked. Whatever the case may have been, her noticing the effort you were putting into being there for her or her getting annoyed with how persistent you are, she started to strike up little conversations when you were together. 

None of the topics ever held much weight but they seemed to make you both happier, helped lift that tension between you two. 

In a few weeks you two grew closer, as you’d hoped, occasionally throwing the term friend around which definitely grabbed the attention of your teammates, especially those who knew exactly how you felt about the redhead. 

While neither of you brought up Katya or what her presence meant, both of you thought about it a lot. With good reason. 

Having learned what you did from Banner during the “Time Heist”, you know that it’s possible that in this particular timeline you and Natasha don’t get together, or maybe you do but you break up, or you just never get married, or don’t have kids, or you adopt so you never have Katya. You’d have to talk to Doctor Strange to know the true number of possibilities but your head was ready to explode whenever you thought about it so you were fine not knowing. 

The one thing you hoped with all hope, was that you kept Natasha in your life. No matter what the future became you just wanted- you needed Natasha there. 

Only problem is, after all that progress you’d made in your relationship with her, everything stopped. Conversations, hanging out, seeing each other around, going on missions together. All of it went away. And it wasn’t because of you.

With how much your new schedule allowed you to see Natasha, you wouldn’t have dared to change it. Which let you know that it was her schedule that changed. Better put, she changed her schedule.

You aren’t sure what you’d done. The last time you spent together, the two of you had watched some movie that she really wanted to see. Conversation flowed freely, laughs and smiles exchanged in between. You’d ended up falling asleep during the sequel of the movie and woke up to her in your arms, her head tucked under your chin.

The moment had left you feeling completely content so, with her soft breaths against your neck and your arms wrapped around each other, you fell back to sleep with ease. Only to wake up to her gone. And you hadn’t seen her around since. 

After everything, after all of that, you refused to take steps back. You’d fight for her until she told you to stop. 

“Um, anyone see Natasha?” You ask, stepping into the kitchen.

Today marks a week of not seeing the redhead around as she continues to dodge you. You had been looking all over her, your search interrupted by Steve calling you and Bucky into a meeting regarding your last mission with him. But now that it’s over you’re back to looking for her. 

Sam, Bucky, and Wanda look up at you as you walk in. Your brunette friend raises her eyebrows at your question, tilting her head in silent curiosity. 

Chuckling quietly, Sam asks,“ she still avoiding you?” His eyebrows wiggle slightly as he asks, amusement in his eyes. 

You raise your eyebrow,“ I’m sorry Wilson I don’t understand what’s funny.” You tilt your head challengingly at him.“ Last I checked she’s still not giving you the time of day at all.”

Bucky and Wanda snort, struggling to hold in their laughs. Wanda bites her lip and turns away from Sam, having to sit her mug of tea down as she finally lets her laugh out. Which breaks Bucky’s resolve. Splutters of laughter leaving both of them as they face away from you and Sam.

He smacks his lips and waves you off,“ it ain’t even that funny.” He grumbles and looks down at his lunch. 

“What’s not funny?” 

Your eyebrows raise at the voice behind you, eyes slightly widening in hope as you spin around. Green eyes look into yours and Natasha’s pink lips press into a thin line before she turns on her heel and walks away.  

Looking back at the trio, you point at the spot Natasha had been in with a disbelieving chuckle. Only to have Wanda shoo you away, gesturing for you to go after Natasha. Understanding what she means, you immediately take off after the ex-assassin.

Luckily for you she hadn’t gone far.

You turn the corner and see her marching down the hallway. She’s moving much faster than you’d like, not giving you time to truly appreciate the tight yoga pants and tank top that adorn her body.  

Instead you focus on catching up with her, which doesn’t take much due to your enhanced genetics. Catching up to her just before she can get to her bedroom door, you reach out to grab her arm, gently pulling her back.

Only for her to twist her hand, grabbing your wrist and nearly slamming you into the wall, your arm twisted behind your back. You know if she wanted to she could make this hurt but she doesn’t. Most likely using it to intimidate you as she speaks.

“Stop following me Y/Ln.” She practically hisses through clenched teeth.

You turn your head to look at her over your shoulder.“ Usually I’d agree to that but not this time. I think I deserve some answers Tash.”

Using the little nickname causes her hold on you to loosen, her jaw unclenching.“ Don’t call me that.”

“Fine,” you huff, shoulders dropping as you turn your head slightly to hide your smirk.“ Just talk to me Natty.”

Her eyes roll and she drops your arm, stepping to the side and pushing her bedroom door open. Your eyes widen and you slip inside before the fingerprinted door closes and locks behind her. 

She quickly spins around as you step in and the door closes. Irritation writes across her features even deeper than before. 

“You can turn your ass right back around Y/Ln. I told you to stop following me.” Her arms cross over her chest.

Shaking your head you say,“ and I told you no.” A frown forms on your face as you look at her. Staring into those green eyes causes your feelings to swell.“ Don’t you see how this is hurting me? Being ignored by someone I care about without a single explanation as to why? And you can pretend that you don’t but it’s obviously affecting you too or you wouldn’t be so upset with me trying to talk to you.”

“Y/n just leave it alone. If I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to talk.” She tries to brush it off.“ We’ve gone without talking to each other before so just, go back to that.”

For a second you’re ready to walk away, catch her at a better time but you were done chasing her.“ No. I don’t want that and I don’t think you do either. Stop avoiding me and your feelings and just talk to me!” Your frustration pulls the words from your brain out of your mouth in an exasperated exclamation.

Natasha wastes no time returning the frustration.“ No okay!” She shouts, running her fingers through her hair.“ I don’t like feeling like this so I don’t want to talk about it!”

Eyebrows pinching together, you tilt your head in confusion.“ Feeling like what, Natasha?” A heavy sigh falls from your lips.“ You aren’t telling me something and it’s killing me.” 

Silence falls between you, once again stirring up that frustration.

“What feeling?” You beg her to tell you, more thankful than ever for soundproof walls, otherwise the whole team would hear your yelling.

She glares at you as if you’d personally offended her, then shouts,“ like I’m falling in love with you!” Her hands rise and fall with her words. Resting at her sides in clenched fists as she keeps shouting.

You drop your hands, shoulders sagging as you feel your heart swell. It seems to start beating a mile a minute and your face softens.“ You’re falling in love with me?”

“Yes. No! I don’t know.” Her voice strains as if she’s choking up.“ I don’t know if this is real or not. Just because Katya exists in some future doesn’t mean that she exists in ours. It doesn’t mean that we’re supposed to be together.”

Those words, that simple expression of her feelings makes you realize that she’s been thinking about the exact same things you had been. 

It’s not like what you’ve been feeling towards Natasha was forced. But you did worry if it was all just you subconsciously trying to make that future with Katya happen. Except you knew it wasn’t.

She: Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, ex-assassin/superhero, she’d had your heart long before Katya ever arrived. You fought it tooth and nail because the two of you weren’t on good terms but truth is, you’ve loved her since your first undercover mission almost 15 years ago. 

The first time your best friend had pressed her lips against yours in a sweet kiss meant to distract and deter your targets, you knew you loved her. Maybe she didn’t feel what you did then but she’s feeling it now.

“I love you.” You tell her, watching as she stops ranting and looks at you with scared eyes. Giving her a soft smile, you take a cautious step closer, reaching forward to take her hand. You squeeze it, as if to let her know that this is real, that what you’re about to say is real. 

“I’ve loved you for a long time now Natasha,” you take her other hand,“ Katya being here, the realization of who her parents are, that hasn’t forced my feelings for you. If anything it made me realize that I didn’t fight hard enough. I just let you go and I was so stupid for that. I should’ve tried harder to keep what we had, I should’ve said something about how I felt before.”

Green eyes bore into yours as you speak, a flood of emotions in them.“ Why say something now then? Why wait until you meet the little girl who we apparently parent? Just because it’s supposed to happen doesn’t mean it has to.” Her tone goes from genuinely curious to irritated in a matter of seconds. 

But you don’t let that hinder you. Instead you smile softly at her, letting your honest feelings show in your eyes.“ Because I don’t think we’re supposed to be together. I think we’re meant to be together. Everything we’ve been through together, every laugh and argument, every insult and compliment, it’s all led us to this very moment.”

Fear overtakes her other emotions and it settles in her eyes. 

“And yes it’s scary, terrifying even, but that makes it all the more beautiful. We can run from this. We can act like we don’t love each other, act like this isn’t what we want. But we both know that we,” you pull her hands up to press against your chest, knowing she can feel your heart pounding,“ this is home. It’s everything we need and more than we ever could’ve asked for.”

You see the battle in her eyes, you get a little scared that she’ll choose to run from it, so in a last attempt to fight for this you ask,“ don’t you think we’ve been away from home long enough?”

Like the clouds parting when a storm ends, you see Natasha’s eyes light up. They get bright as she stares at you and you finally finally see that gorgeous smile. 

She pulls her hand from yours and before you can get dejected about it, she wraps it around the back of your neck and pulls you down.

When she speaks you feel the breath of her words against your lips,“ I’ve been looking for a true home for a long time.”

You understand exactly what she’s trying to convey, you hear the unspoken admission of feelings and you feel her opening the door for you to come in. So you do the same in return.

“I promise I’m not gonna hurt you Romanoff.”

In a split second her lips press against yours and it’s like you’re taken back in time. Those same feelings you’d had when she kissed you for the first time come back tenfold. Soft pink lips mold against yours as you place your free hand on her hip to pull her closer.

For a moment you wish you didn’t have to breathe as you wanted nothing more than to continue to kiss her. But your lungs start to protest at the lack of air so you both reluctantly pull away. 

Natasha rests her head on your chest and you wrap your arms around her.

With her in your arms you can’t help but to think: It feels good to be home.

* * * * * *

Taglist: @owloftheshadows @natasha-danvers

[nat-20s]

 Part 8 of the wonderful! Au: the boys answer some questions! Up to you to decide if they actually clarify anything!

(also on AO3)

~*~

Martin: Hey everyone! I know what some of you are thinking right now: it's not Tuesday, why is this episode in my feed? I know significantly more of you are thinking: I don't consistently keep up with podcast releases, how much free time do you think I have, buddy? To answer your queries: this is a bonus episode! We're answering listener questions to clear the air and/or have fun. Also, I don't know, around 20 to 40 minutes a week, as that is the average amount of time per episode? Maybe during your commute? My husband's omnipotence has been gone for five years, we just have to guess at that sort of thing now.

Jon: For legal reasons, that last statement was a joke. In fact, to cover all of our bases, we do not guarantee that any of our responses are genuine.

Martin: Just because we say we'll answer things doesn't mean we'll answer truthfully. Though, honestly, I think we might make it more enjoyable if we do tell the truth. Like, I don't necessarily have a fun lie prepared for our first question from konspiracyking97: "What's their fuckin deal anyway?"

Jon: Is this referring to the oblique references  we've made about being from a parallel reality and only ending up here as a consequence of ending one apocalypse and potentially starting another or the general premise of the show?

Martin: Oh, it's gotta be general premise, yeah?

Jon: In that case, I'm Jon, the other voice you're hearing is Martin, we're married, and we talk about things that are..nice? Good? Usually generally but occasionally rather specifically pleasant.

Martin: That pretty much covers it. It's not a complicated show. Uhh, next question comes from Shane: are either or both of you aliens? Nope!

Jon: Well..

Martin: No. We are 100% human people from Earth, we are under no definition extraterrestrial.

Jon: Eh..

Martin: Okay, first off, I know the tone of that 'eh' and "not fully human" is not synonymous with alien, so even if 100% is being a bit generous, we're still from the same planet as our listeners.

Jon:..

Jon: But. We sort of aren't though. Technically speaking.

Martin: No no no no no. I don't care if it's parallel, Earth is Earth is Earth, regardless of whatever nonsense metaphysics might be occurring.

Jon: So what you're saying is that if you got sucked through a portal and landed on an Earth where dinosaurs were still the predominant species, you wouldn't consider yourself to be an alien?

Martin: Nope!

Jon: I'm certain that they would consider you an alien. All of their mammals are probably shrew sized.

Martin: Sounds like a them problem.

Jon: Sounds like a-?! You know what, no, this will be an off the record debate, for now, I suppose I concede that the two Earths and our physiologies are similar enough that we might, maybe, not count as aliens.

Martin: Thank you. Anyway, our next question is from anonymous, and asks, "Is all of this an ARG?"

Jon: A whomst?

Martin: Alternate reality game. It's a method of storytelling that's interactive with audience, and usually has, I dunno, a certain suspension of disbelief to it where it pretends to be something actually happening in the real world until a dramatic reveal. A lot times it was used as a marketing gimmick, but others have done it just for fun. I can show you some examples after the show?

Jon: So it's in essence a more involved creepypasta?

Martin, delighted: Aw, babe, I'm never going to have a handle on what pop culture you are and aren't aware of, huh?

Jon: We were born within a year of each other, and I've told you that I was a deeply morbid teenager, you should probably be able to intuit some of things, love.

Martin: This coming from a man who has yet to see "It's a Wonderful Life", but has seen every film in the "Banjo Cannibals" franchise, including the Easter special. Jesus doesn't exist in the Banjo Cannibals universe, why does it have an Easter special?

Jon: The movies are rather shoddily translated from Russian, so I'm fairly certain the Easter component of that special was invented wholesale in the English version.

Martin: You say that like it answers more questions than it raises.

Jon: Yes, because it does. Oh, and to answer anonymous's question, no, this isn't an ARG. From my understanding of it, if it were, it'd be a poorly constructed one, as there's no real game element to any of this.

Martin: Hmm. Well, sometimes the game component is just trying to figure out what's going on with the story, or if there's any deeper content, and people are definitely doing that with this show.

Jon: That's not by design though. It's more a side effect of us having poor brain to mouth filters, I'd say.

Martin: Harsh, but fair. Oh, this next one is from Zac, no K, who asks, "Are you two actually even married?"

Jon, flat: We are, but it's under false names because this whole thing is an elaborate insurance scam.

Jon, incredulous: Yes, obviously, we're married. What did you hear in this podcast that would make you wonder otherwise, and how do we rectify it?

Martin: Clearly we need to up our quota for how "disgustingly in love" and "horrifically sappy" we are per episode. Which segues nicely into the next question from Gwen, "What's your favourite wonderful thing you've brought so far?" My answer: my husband. He's kind of my favourite in most things, you know?

Jon: Boooooo

Martin: Why, what's your favourite thing?

[Jon reluctantly sighs]

Jon, indulgent: being married.

Martin: A: serves you right for trying to pretend you're the less horrifically sappy and romantic one even though earlier today someone put a love note in the lunch they packed for me-

Jon:- Lies and slander! I have never, in my life, done that, even once.

Martin: Oh, sure, not even once. And you definitely don't reserve the lilac sticky notes specifically for my lunches because you know I like the colour. 

Jon: I..I don't.. you're rather ruining my image here.

[Martin snorts]

Martin: Can't have the audience think that you are, on occasion, an incredibly doting husband-

Jon: -A title I would argue we both share-

Martin: - which is obviously why, even with it being your favourite thing you've brought, being married to me is just a small wonder-

Jon, audibly rolling his eyes: As I already explained-

[A Pause}

Jon: Actually, you're right-

Martin: Wait-

Jon:- I really should have brought it as a larger wonder-

Martin: Wait-

Jon: though I should warn you, I think I'd have far too much material for just one little segment-

Martin: No no no no no-

Jon:- In fact, I think I might have too much material for just one little episode-

Martin: Joo-oon-

Jon: I might have to do a whole series! Where would I even start? I mean I could talk about how every day I get to watch the early morning sun highlight your curls when I get up first, or hear you quietly humming and shuffling around the kitchen when you do, or I could talk about how the lunch notes only started in the first place as retaliation to the notes you would leave on the mirror for me to find, or how every time I get to see you at ease in a way that you aren't with anyone else, it takes my breath away, or I could talk about how cute I find the lines between your eyebrows that you only get when you're thinking something petty, but you know it's petty so you don't want to say anything-

Martin: Okay, okay, Christ, I give !up I surrender, and will cease my teasing on this particular topic.

Jon, probably making the :3 face: You don't have to stop. I mean, I could also discuss how very, very attractive I find your voice when it takes on a teasi-mmph!

[There's a pleased hum, then a pause.]

[The audio quality is slightly changed, as if the recording has been stopped and then started later]

Martin, giddy: Uh, heh, anyway, Eric asked what the least favourite thing we've brought was, and because of Jon's attempt to embarrass me live-

Jon, overlapping: It's definitely not live-

Martin:- on air, I'm gonna say it's my husband.

[Jon scoffs]

Jon : If the past few minutes are any sort of indication, I'm going to go ahead and saying that you are lying.

Martin, sighing contentedly: Maybe a bit, but how was I supposed to resist when your indigance gives you that adorable little nose scrunch? In reality, my least favourite thing was probably, um, mini golf? Which, I still don't think is inherently bad, definitely superior to regular golf, but when it's the only thing a next door two year old wants to do with you, the charm begins to wear off a bit.

Jon: Wow. A rather scathing review of a toddler.

Martin: Not so much a scathing review of a toddler as it's a scathing review of minigolf's inability to keep its appeal after the third time in the same week.

Jon: Mmm, the sound effects rather quickly go from part of the atmosphere to part of the irritation, don't they?

Martin: So what's your least favorite thing we've covered here?

Jon: Oh, love, I'm not going to pretend to have nearly enough memory of what we've covered so far to have a least favorite.

Martin: Really? Nothing that you regret or rescind?

Jon: Well, regret, certainly. It was one of the weeks where you went first, and your second item was mutual aid funds, and what they can do for marginalized communities, and I had to follow it with fucking Slapchop.

Martin, poorly suppressing laughter: In your defence, Slapchop, or whatever offbrand we have, is pretty useful, especially when either your scar or my arthritis is acting up.

Jon: I'm still not convinced you didn't somehow see my notes for the recording and decided you get revenge for the first year that we knew each other.

Martin, no longer suppressing his laughter: Yep, you got me! This marriage wasn't an act of insurance fraud, but it was a near decade long con to humiliate you on a podcast that about twenty people listen to. I'll draft up the divorce papers immediately, and then we can finally go our separate ways. 

Jon: I'm glad you've at last admitted it. Such a weight off of my shoulders. Goodbye forever then.

Martin: Right.

Jon: Right.

[A beat.]

[There's a pfft from one of them, before both dissolve into giggles that lasts a good 30 seconds.]

Martin, slightly out of breath: I can't believe we're the kind of people that talk this much about speciality kitchen gadgets.

Jon: Sorry about that.

Martin: God, don't apologize. I'm, like, deliriously happy with our varying degrees of useful cooking ware filled life. If you had told 25 year old me that one day he'd be debating the merits of getting a tortilla press with his husband, he'd have wept, I tell you.

Jon: Funny, if you told 25 year old me the same thing, he would've said "You don't know the future,piss off" and then quietly have a bit of a panic at 3 am that night.

Martin: I bet you were insufferable in your mid-twenties.

Jon: First of all, who isn't, secondly, I was fresh out of Oxford, and third, I was insufferable in my late twenties, as you can attest to, and I'm insufferable now, as you can further attest to, so extrapolation would indicate that, yes, I was insufferable back then.

Martin: Probably a different kind of insufferable, though.

Jon: There are different kinds?

Martin: Of course! You used to be "prick boss" insufferable and now you're "smug in a way that I can't admit I find hot or it will go straight to your head" insufferable.

Jon, in the aforementioned smug tone: Oh, really?

Martin: See, see! Straight to your head.

Jon: Well straight is probably the wrong descriptor-

Martin: Oof, 4 out of 10 joke, babe.

Jon: That would be a far more convincing rating if you weren't grinning right now.

Martin: It's a genuine review, I'm just well known to be a sucker.

Jon: You and me both, darling.

Martin: Okay, if you're pulling out darling, you're clearly in too giddy of a mood to be focused on recording. Last question, from Jess, "You two mentioned meeting at work, but how did you actually end up together?" That's easy, Jon pulled me out of a hell dimension and then we went on the lam together to Scotland.

Jon: If that's not the way to tell a cute boy you like him, I don't know what is.

Martin: All right, that wraps up this bonus episode, and as the old saying goes, hiding from murderers in a cottage is more conducive to romance than suggesting you gouge out your eyes together.

Jon, cut off: Hey-!

[writeforfandoms]

Merry Go Round of Life

Find my masterlist

Okay. This is a Howl’s Moving Castle AU. It’s going to be a mix of both the book and the movie because I adore both of them equally and for different reasons. 

Also, no Din yet in this chapter. Sorry not sorry. 

This will end up as Din Djarin x f!reader. At some point down the line.

Warnings: Uh. None? Light swearing maybe?

Chapter one: In which a curse is laid

In the land of Concordia, things such as three-league boots existed. Witches and wizards wandered the land. And, if rumors are to be believed, the moving castle has once again started coming down the hills towards Kalevala. 

But you weren’t worried. Nobody had actually seen the wizard out and about. Nobody even knew his name, or spoke it. He was only ever the wizard of the moving castle. And nobody had a satisfying explanation for that, either. You’d stopped asking about him years ago. 

You didn’t have time to be gossiping about some wizard, anyhow. Your mother-in-law was retired, and both of your sisters had their own lives, leaving the shop to you. Not that you really minded - you’d been raised in this shop, knew it better than anywhere else. You were content with this. Your sisters visited (indeed, Omera still worked in town, having taken over the bakery when the previous owners retired), the shop was busy enough to keep you busy and fed, and things were… calm. Predictable. 

But really, you couldn’t complain. You were the youngest of three. You didn’t boast great beauty to match Omera, or great temper to match Cara. You were just… you. One of the best seamstresses in town, yes, but just you. And that was fine. That was… fine. 

On this particular morning, you were humming a little as you carefully measured fabric for a dress. This was about the time of year when you were flooded with custom requests for parties and celebrations, and you often ended up taking your work home with you. You had some help in the shop, a young lady to man the front desk and chat with customers, but she was still in training. And you didn’t mind taking work home. 

You tutted gently as you set two pieces of fabric together, checking the edges. “Very good,” you muttered to yourself. “You’ll be a handsome one indeed.” Chuckling at your own humor, you began to stitch the edges together. It wasn’t uncommon to find you chattering to yourself (and your sewing) as you worked. You got bored otherwise. The shop girl stayed out front, and you stayed in the back sewing unless you were needed to take measurements or consult. 

It didn’t take long for you to have the skirt portion of the dress done. At least, done enough for now. You gently set it aside and stretched, rolling your shoulders and cracking your neck before you pulled the fabric over again to make the next cuts. 

“At least the fabric is nice,” you murmured, gently running a hand along the rose-pink fabric to smooth it. “You’ll make a fine dress for the May Day dance.” You couldn’t help but smile at the thought. Your own dress (if you had time for it this year) was already squirreled away in your bedroom, and had been ready for a while. You’d made sure Omera was taken care of, too. Cara was on her own - you didn’t even know if she’d be home for the festival this year. 

You heard the bell over the door of the shop ring, but paid it no mind. Someone would yell if they needed you. Humming again, you picked up your sewing scissors, the nice heavy pair, and started cutting fabric. 

“Hey, Vee.” You could hear the customer from where you sat, but you still didn’t move. Did you sometimes listen to gossip while you worked? Sure. Not your fault they were gossiping in your hearing range. “Have you seen the castle?”

A gasp as your assistant, Vee, caught on to the subject. “No! I haven’t been out to the edge of town.”

“The castle is right out there!” the customer told her in an excited murmur. “You can see it clearly, just over the hill outside of town.”

“So close?” Vee asked in a hushed tone. “What’s he doing?”

“Don’t know,” the customer replied. “Mother thinks he’s looking for someone.”

You snorted very quietly to yourself. He was a wizard. You doubted anyone in Kalevala would hold any interest for someone like him. Not that you’d actually met many (or any) wizards but you’d read plenty about them. And this place? Probably didn’t have anybody of interest to an actual wizard.

“Maybe he’ll come to the festivities,” Vee said dreamily.

“Maybe,” the customer hummed, sounding unconvinced. On this, you sided with her - you doubted seriously the wizard would show up to May Day. Ha! That would be a sight. 

“Silly girls, the both of them,” you murmured to the dress. “But they’re young, I suppose they’re allowed to be silly.” 

It wasn’t long after that when the customer left, and Vee went back to her tasks. You shook your head and refocused on your sewing. If you weren’t interrupted, you could have this dress done in another day. 

Vee left at her normal time, and you closed up the shop. Nobody else had interrupted you, and you let out a sigh of relief once things were locked up tight. You worked for another hour or so by candlelight in the shop, and then carried a couple little things upstairs to work on in your apartment. Your apartment wasn’t much - a bedroom, kitchen/living area combo, and simple bathroom situated above the shop. But it was yours, and you didn’t have to share with anyone.

As much as you loved your sisters, you had been more than ready to strangle them by the time they moved out. 

A glance at the calendar on the wall showed that you had exactly one week left until May Day. Plenty of time to finish the last two dresses, and any last-minute adjustments that came in. You stretched briefly and ambled into the kitchen to make some dinner. 

The week passed as expected. You got your last two gowns done. You fixed and rehemmed and tweaked dresses for other customers. You even dealt with the one near-hysterical woman who came in the day before May Day a wreck because her toddler had ripped off some of the fabric roses on her dress. (That one was not an easy fix, and you gently scolded the dress for giving in to some toddler.) 

May Day was always one of the biggest celebrations of the year, full of flowers and bright colors. You donned your dress, the “closed” sign already hung up in the shop window, and ventured out into the streets. 

Things got more crowded the closer you got to the center of town, and soon you were dodging folks out making merry. You didn’t stop to join any of them, intent on your goal: your sister’s bakery. You’d been craving one of the cream cakes for weeks, and you were determined to get one. 

A group of well-dressed young men stumbled out of a tavern in front of you, and one of them made a teasing comment that you only half paid attention to. You simply looked at him and then away, dismissing him and striding on. Honestly. Boys. 

Finally, you made it to the bakery and (more or less) gently pushed your way inside. Omera was at the counter, handling payments and handing over cakes as fast as she could. She paused for a moment when she saw you before she smiled widely and called your name.

“Do you have a minute?” you shouted back at her over the dull roar inside the shop.

“I can spare one,” she replied, ushering you along the counter until she could lift up a flap for you. Grabbing your hand, she pulled you into the back of the bakery, nabbing a cream cake with her free hand. 

“How many proposals have you had today?” you asked, teasing her gently. She was beautiful, and widowed a few years ago. 

“I stopped counting after five,” she replied primly. “Sit and eat that.”

Grinning, you took the cake and sat down. “The dress looks good on you.”

“You knew it would.” She obligingly twirled for you though, showing off the whole thing. You nodded to yourself. Some of your finest work, probably. You’d be disappointed if the day ended without Omera receiving at least a dozen proposals. “Your dress is a little more plain this year, sister.”

“Hmm.” You stuffed a bite of cake in your mouth to buy yourself a little time. Which might have backfired on you, as Omera raised an eyebrow at you. You grimaced, just a little, and she huffed.

“Are you content to run the shop alone, then?”

“Maybe,” you muttered. “I don’t know. I haven’t--it hasn’t come up, recently.” You shuffled a little where you sat, uncomfortable now. 

Omera softened a little. “You could have just as many proposals, if you wanted,” she reminded you, reaching over to tweak your ear gently. “You needn’t stay at the shop by yourself.” Her smile turned teasing. “I’d even take you on as an apprentice.”

“Apprentice!” you shot back, mock-outraged. “I have spent more than enough time in your kitchen to do better than that!”

“I seem to recall someone eating all the cookie batter one day and getting sick,” she shot back. The two of you collapsed into giggles for a few moments, until someone shouted for Omera. Then she sighed. “That would be the end of my break. I’ll come see you at the shop, okay?”

“Sure,” you agreed, standing and pulling her into a hug.

“Just think about it,” she whispered in your ear. “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

You released her and made your way out of the bakery. More revellers filled the streets now, and your feet were trod on more than once as you made your way back home slowly. As night fell, bright blue and green fireworks shot into the air from outside of town, causing a great deal of commotion. Certainly they came from the wizard, but why nobody knew. You didn’t bother yourself overmuch with pondering, either. 

The week after May Day continued quietly. This was to be expected - hardly anyone would need anything except minor alterations and repairs so soon after a holiday. You’d given Vee two weeks off to spend with her family and her intended, and so you were stuck manning the store instead. 

The bell over the door tinkled and you looked up from a pair of socks you were repairing, and then paused. The woman who walked in was… odd. Very, very odd. For one thing, she was carrying a helmet propped against her hip, and she wore armor in blue and gray. Her hair was red and short, pulled back from her face. Her clothing under the armor was dark and nondescript - trousers and a long-sleeved shirt, essentially. 

You blinked at her, nonplussed for a moment, and then stood up straight behind the counter. “Can I help you?” 

“That remains to be seen.” She stepped closer to the counter, giving you a quick once-over. “You are the seamstress who made the dress for the baker? Omera, I believe her name is.”

You blinked again. “Yes.” It wasn’t unheard of for customers to refer to your other work, but it wasn’t exactly common, either.

She hummed acknowledgement of that and looked you over again. You had no idea what she was looking for, but she must not have found it, because she gave you a rather derisive look. “You’ll do.” She murmured something too low for you to hear, although it didn’t sound like Common to your ears, and flung one hand towards you, as if flinging water at you. Something cold dripped down your scalp, and you blinked rapidly at a feeling almost like vertigo. “There. That ought to do it.” She turned away sharply, and paused just before the door. “You won’t be able to tell anyone you’re under a curse, in case you were wondering.” And with that she was gone, out of the shop as quickly as she’d entered it.