#its the cord he has looped around his belt!

[triptychofvoids]

so... is the cord tail an organic thing oooor...

it is not made of organic matter, no

[tinycozycomfort]

where you sleep

pairing: jackson era!joel miller x f!reader

day three of @pascalisbaby and i's joeltober: hand kink -> read her day three here

summary: When you swing your neck to face him, he’s already cocked his chin over the hill of his left shoulder to await your gaze—beaming. He knew you’d been watching since you approached the room. Worse, he wanted you to see. 

warnings/tags: pwp!, hand kink, oral sex (m recieving), dom/sub dynamics, masturbation (m), exhibitionism, misuse of underwear/underwear play, pet names (honey, sweetheart, etc), creepy!joel (/dark!joel?)

word count: 1.7k

rating: explicit! 18+ only, mdni

a/n: gotta give an extra kiss to @pascalisbaby for not only saving this from the delete button more than once but for always being the best person alive!!!

main masterlist

You hear him, first—the end of a damp squelch, the sharp intake that breaks between coupling breaths, on a loop—from your place at the front door. It’s only clear enough to be interpreted as motion, disjointed pieces of noise that make you think he might be struggling, or hurt—so you follow. 

Padding lightly down the hallway in the dim afternoon, a twinge of anxiety leans lamely against your heart with all its dead weight; guilty already, even with no cause. Your chest thrums as it tries to hold up, picturing all of the ways he could have ended up wounded while trying to fix your shower, but when you reach the bathroom, it’s empty. No blood, no horrific scene, just a pile of loose tools and a smattering of fine plaster from where he’d dug around in the wall—yet the sounds persist somewhere further. 

You continue down, not quiet by any means, a little disturbed by his lack of interest in your arrival. He’s in your room, you deduce—the only occupiable space left in the home—coming into view now with the aid of long, heavy steps. Announcing yourself, just in case.  

The door is split open enough to see a long strip of empty space—the corner of your unmade bed, the swirling edge of your dresser, a sliver of mirror posed straighter than usual. 

As you sidle up to the frame, the sounds pitch up—strained hissing and sloppy glide of skin reaching a peak—and so you risk a deeper lean to see what it is he’s gotten himself into; what it is that isn’t worth hiding. 

A weak wash of daylight squeezes through the kinks in the blinds, allowing you only the fuzzy edges of what he’s doing. 

Joel sits on the far side of the bed, body angled so that you can see just a little more than profile, hunched roundly over his lap. He’s almost fully dressed—button-up intact right up to the neck, crinkled tops of his jeans still upright on his legs—everywhere except his center. 

He has one hand braced on his stomach, wide and solid and threaded with thick cords of vein, the fabric of his modesty folded up into his thumb. The waistline of his pants is zipped and peeled open at the thigh, the buckle of his belt jolting with faint clinks on every off-beat. A crude frame for the action resting within it.

His cock is slick in his right hand, a band of bright wet flashing between his fingers as he makes rough passes along it, stuttering minutely when he moves down to the base. He fucks the column fervently, the hard muscle of his clutched fist sending a push of arousal between the tops of your thighs. 

He touches himself as roughly as he seems able to tolerate—the sinew between his first set of knuckles dipped harshly, peaks white from strain, the tips of the hand on his stomach turning in against his own flesh enough to ripple.

Something pink, unnaturally so, peaks between his fingers every so often, calling you away from your observation of his abdomen. He’s particularly enamored with whatever it is—panting every time it swirls over the head, dulling the sheen of his pull. 

Fabric, you realize, absorbing the slip on his skin. You squint, assessing the texture of the material as it darkens with each stroke. Lace fabric; scallop-edged lace fabric that looks starkly familiar to what had been discarded in a shallow grave on top of your too-full hamper the night before. 

He shoves into the cloth, webbing it around the points of his fingers like a pocket, canting his hips off the bed to slot into it and he huffs in frustration when he manages to miss a few times, stunted. 

You glance up to see he’s maneuvering himself blindly; despite his intricate goal he looks straight ahead, eyes still open from what you can make out, concentration elsewhere as he fumbles against the make-shift cunt. 

You track his focus, only half-way across the room when you remember just how much the door had been left open, the crease of the frame very visible in the newly-positioned mirror at your bedside—the intention of it. 

The realization rushes between your ribs like ice-water, little knocks of frozen pellets as they swim between the bones on the way down. The force is so fast you feel like you’re going to keel over—not assisted by the way your knees already feel tight from the strain of keeping yourself motionless. 

You hit the end of the line, his expression wild where he meets you in the reflection, pleased.

“You just gonna watch, sweetheart? That’s all?” 

When you swing your neck to face him, he’s already cocked his chin over the hill of his left shoulder to await your gaze—beaming. He knew you’d been watching since you approached the room. Worse, he wanted you to see. 

“Joel—Fuck, I’m… I didn’t mean to-” 

He uses his unoccupied hand to help him rise to his feet, his right not ceasing to work himself as he rounds the edge of the mattress. You cower, still mostly inaccessible behind the wood, so he reacts accordingly—slows, tames his grin, knits the inner corners of his brow to look disarming. 

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. You caught me in a bit of a bind here, honey,” he pumps lazily, head bowing to direct your attention as if you would need the assistance, “No big deal. Wouldn’t hurt if you offered to help—might as well work for the show.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, afraid to pierce the illusion, the dream in front of you a few words from melting away, and he pouts something disappointed.

“Don’t need to invite you into your own room, do I?”

“Joel,” you try again, weak. 

“Heard you the first time—didn’t mean to. We’re past that. I forgive you. Now c’mon, come take a closer look—like I know you want to.”

Hesitantly, you hook an ankle around the edge of the door, willing yourself forward. Joel nods encouragingly before cutting the distance with his own wide steps. 

He uses his clean hand to cup the swell of your cheek, thumb twisting to dig into the fullest part, the pads against your neck pressing down like a suggestion, and you fold without question, tucking a knee beneath you to guide yourself to the floor. 

Joel releases you, draping the curve of his shirt up into his palm again to reveal what had been only momentarily concealed beneath it. Even so, your eyes stay fixed on the spread of his fingers against his belly, right past the place where his cock hangs between his legs. 

“Didn’t seem to have a problem looking when you thought I didn't know. Don't be shy.” His words are encouraging but his tone is laced with annoyance, frustrated maybe that you aren’t responding with the enthusiasm he wants.

He resumes playing with himself, the stretch of lace in his clutch not enough to claim your favor—the way his nails pierce his stomach far more intriguing. 

He seems to understand, trailing his palm up to his chest, still holding the hem, a smile curling on his lips when you follow the movement. 

“Oh, that’s what you like?” 

He releases his length, letting the lace slot between the crease of his thumb like a bracelet. “You want me to touch you with these, sweetheart?” He waves the wet hand lewdly before offering it to you, “Want me to put them in your mouth?” 

You nod, and he lets the rough tips of his pointer and middle tap on the center of your bottom lip, watching shamelessly as you open up for him on instinct. 

“Look at that. I think we can figure out something here that works out for both of us, hm?” 

He doesn’t bother letting you answer, lining the row of his longer fingers outward against your lower lip, his thumb braced against the upper. You stick your tongue out, curling it around his first finger to try and coax him inside but he has another idea. He spreads his legs, settling his weight before leaning to feed the tip of his cock through the channel he’s created with his hand, breaching the open space of your mouth. 

You take him enthusiastically and he makes a choked sound, the plane of his chest pushing out hard between firm breaths, a stripe of pink crawling up his neck and across his face. He’s ruffled, composure broken, his own mouth agape in veiled mockery.

“There you go. So pretty. You wouldn’t say no if I asked you to come down your throat, would you?” 

You do your best to shake your head, working him deeper, the row of your bottom teeth secure under the line of his pointer.

He shudders, the nail of his thumb pushing you open wider as he slides in as far as he can manage at this angle, with so much already occupying the inside of your face. 

“That’s right, honey. Good girl for me, aren’t you? Walked right into my little gift, eager. Let’s reward you, hm?” 

You hum in response, lost to anything other than the brush of his hand against your chin when he thrusts too quickly, the drag of the inside of his knuckles against your tongue. 

“Fuck. You like it, too. Should’ve come by sooner.” 

Pressure builds in the pit of your stomach, hot and rolling as where it falls over into the cradle of your core. You rub your legs together in an attempt to relieve it and he whines, bucking up quicker into the hollow of your cheeks, the fabric of your forgotten underwear slipping in with the rest of his mess on a jostled punch. 

Joel starts to unwind, heaving in hard gulps and elbow craning out in a jagged, rhythmic sway. He unhinges his jaw like he wants to say more but you bend, taking more of him than you should be able to, the soft wedge of his head prodding your throat and he grunts, rounding out his spine as he comes as far down as he promised to. 

You puff up your cheeks around him, an almost-smile, swallowing as much as you can before pulling off of him with a gentle pop, your own palm sliding up to take hold of his forearm. He lets you, deflated from his orgasm, and you run your tongue over what you couldn’t catch on his skin. 

“Should’ve known,” he chuckles, peering down at you between soaked lashes before assisting, sliding two fingers into your parted lips, “Let’s find out what else you like.”

[paganimagevault]

Scythian gold belt buckle of figures resting under a tree 4th-3rd C. BCE. H. 12.3, L. 16.1 cm, Wt. 465.04g. Southern Siberia. & Wooden headdress with pigtail. Pazyryk barrow no. 5. 252-238 BCE. Wood, leather, hair, wool, felt, silk. H. c. 40, diam. 17.8 cm. See 'Scythian mummy tomb (fifth Pazyryk kurgan), Pazyryk culture 4th-3rd C. BCE' post on my blog for more info on this burial.

On the Scythian gold belt buckle: "This outstanding and very famous object has been published many many times, as its imagery contains much that is synonymous with what we know about the Scythians. This scene is often referred to in literature as 'resting under the tree', and parallels may be drawn to surviving costume, hairstyles and weaponry of the Scythians. However, it should also be examined within a mythological context, as the presence of anthropomorphic characters in the art of the ancient nomads had a high degree of semantic significance, as did the special status of their owners. This is why the female deity, associated with the earth and flora - the tree in this scene is an allusion to the 'Tree of Life' - may represent the 'Great Mother', who was a giver of life but was also associated with underworld powers. Wedding rituals went hand in hand with ideas of death and funerary rites in archaic communities. The central quiver hanging from the branches of the tree recalls Herodotus' account of the important role the quiver played in the wedding symbolism of the nomads: 'There, when a man desires a woman, he hangs his quiver before her wagon, and has intercourse with her. none hindering' []. It appears that this entire scene may refer to a mythical story where the death of the protagonist parallels his marriage to the 'Great Mother'. This sacred union was seen as a requisite for the renewal of life and the completion of the full cycle of birth, death, and rebirth of all living creatures."

...

On the Scythian wooden headdress: "The base of this female headdress is a flat-topped wooden cap. Rectangular grooves on either side originally held thin ear-like plates with a smooth edge along the bottom, of which only the right one survives. The flat top of the cap was covered with leather. Two circular holes measuring 1.5-2cm across were made in the nape and four more in the crown (one in the centre and three around the edges). On either side of these are two short hollow cylinders covered in silk and attached to the wooden base by sinew passed through small holes. A row of small holes was drilled through the back, and three of these still contain scraps of sinew. It appears that the headdress originally had a nape cover made of soft material, either cloth, felt or leather, and the entire headdress may have been covered in cloth. This headdress was attached directly to the dark blonde hair of the woman who wore it. Her hair was largely shaved off but left intact on the crown. This portion was then divided into two braids looped through circular holes in the centre of the wooden cap, and wrapped around a black horsehair cord. Wool thread with thick, light-colored felt strips secured the entire headdress to the top of her head. Another braid, about 37cm long and made from the hair of the same woman with two woolen cords, was tied to the top of the headdress with twine and knotted at the top and the bottom.

Despite some similar features, the wooden base of this mid-third-century BCE headdress-wig from burial mound 5 at Pazyryk is different from earlier wigs. It most closely resembles the female headdress depicted on the belt plaques with the 'under the tree scene' from the Siberian Collection of Peter the Great. It is possible that the woman who wore this was a foreign consort of the chieftain buried in the fifth burial mound at Pazyryk, and this is supported by the fact that her tattoos include designs which are uncommon in Pazyryk imagery, but instead resemble those found to the west."

-Scythians, warriors of ancient Siberia. Edited by St. John Simpson and Svetlana Pankova. The British Museum.

[fernshroudedcreek]

Fracturedtale (Written)

This is the first chapter of the written version of a comic I am making for my own original AU. Thank you so much for reading this.  I mean it! For I am going to be pouring my heart and soul into this project.  Hopefully I can be of some entertainment. Story Blurb:  A lone skeleton stalks the multiverse, intent on collecting the fractured code of his world. No one said this task would be easily. The Anti-Void is full of hungry eyes, all drawn to this unexpected presence. Thankfully, the danger can be opposed by a simple set of rules left in his father's wake. Sheriff's past needs to be unveiled, and outside forces are eager to drag his world's darkness into the spotlight. There's only so much he can do to justify the truth.

Chapter One, The Anti-Void:

The Anti-Void. A place just outside the reaches of reality, right where its occupants cannot see it. Most aren't even aware of its existence, but if by some miracle or curse they do find themselves aware; They learn that this place was not one that even the gods who toil within could ever hope to fully comprehend. 

It's the endless page on which every script for every world has been written. The Anti-Void is the multiverse, and it would be so simple if it were just that. Yet such a pitiful description was only the very tip of the iceberg. It took a lot more knowledge than that to successfully traverse the Anti-Void. Despite the challenge, certain mortals managed to prevail. 

A white haze overtook the horizon, tainting the golden hue. Within the borderless sky hovered islands of earth, either broken apart from one another or tied through great vines which latched onto the islands' underbellies. Upon their surface scattered patches of field bristled, tussled by winds with no origins. 

A sudden sheen cut through the grass, severing a handful of strands. A hooked blade buried itself into the dirt, dragging a line throughout the soil until the hinges finally snapped around a stray stone. It did so with enough force to chip the rock. On a separate island, a bare tree received the same treatment. A hook plunged deep into its pristine bark where it latched on tight. The hooks did not budge as their makeshift chains rattled. 

A lone skeleton held tight near the opposite end of those cords consisting of '0's and '1's. He used them to gracefully propel himself through the air, the chains safely fastened to a pair of silver loops upon his belt. He skillfully avoided the islands and the other pointless debris which surrounded them, his diamond pinpricks scanning the area. One of his main concerns was to avoid disturbing any of the blue string which strung itself randomly amongst the islands, but that wasn't what he was currently searching for. 

I've been here so long- Sheriff narrowed his sockets, aiming to drop down upon a floating pillar. -Chasing the fractured code of my world. The pillar held his weight when his heeled boots thumped down upon it. He balanced just fine, using his vantage point to better pick apart his surroundings. Something seemed off. An instinct he knew not to take lightly. Movement flashed in the peripherals of his vision. It was a not so pleasant reminder that he wasn't the only one out here eager to stumble upon the remains of his homeworld. 

His sockets shot wide as he reared back to avoid a cluster of blue string which whipped towards his waist. He narrowly escaped their grasp, his movement so abrupt it just about knocked the cowboy hat right off his skull. He repositioned it to make sure it wouldn't slip again, turning towards his attacker with a slight scowl. He already knew who it was from the weapon choice alone. Anyone who knew a lick about the Anti-Void would have known who it was. 

This prick can just never leave well enough alone, can he?

A figure with a body teeming with flickering flaws towered over him, suspended by an array of string which his colored talon-like fingertips had stretched out from his glitched sockets. The cords then sprawled out to cling to the islands around him, casting an intricate web throughout the field. Against the beige of the Anti-Void, the black skeleton resembled a lone silhouette. He buzzed like a persistent cicada as he glared daggers at Sheriff, the dancing ends of his blue scarf disrupting their stare down for just a moment. Long enough for Sheriff to gather his thoughts. 

"Error, the one and only god of destruction," He greeted the furious skeleton. "Are we really still doing this?" He asked, opening his arms to gesture at their surroundings. His words only made Error scoff, his question ultimately going ignored. 

"Your world is gone," The god before him growled out, his voice laced with little imperfections. "Get over it, anomaly."

While Error hovered there, the subtle movements of his hands shifted all that his strings held to. A spire of vined rock teetered behind the god's back, just enough for a faint green glow to peer around the edge of its dark reflective stone. Sheriff tilted his skull, attempting to peer past Error. His narrowed sockets softened when his pinpricks beheld the source of the gentle light. Ah. 

"The name's Sheriff," He reminded Error, though he already knew the god had no intention of remembering his name. He hardly maintained eye contact, his gaze wanting so desperately to flicker back towards the prize he had seen. He refused to do anything that might let Error guess his next move. "And I wouldn't say my world's gone. Just fractured," He argued primarily to keep Error's interest. With the destroyer's gaze locked on him, he could slowly coil his hands around his chains in order to slyly reel in his hooks. Error had proven before that he had poor eyesight. Sheriff knew the movements would go unnoticed. 

Error seemed to find amusement in his claim. He grinned mischievously at Sheriff, his brows lifted. "It's impossible to find all of the pieces, idiot," Error sneered. He looked even more thrilled to add on: "your dearest father made sure of that."

His taunt meant nothing to Sheriff. In fact he smiled in turn. The handles of his hooks were almost within reach. He made a sound reminiscent of one clicking their tongue. "Yeah, I was never one for logistics," He told Error, sparing him a wink before his fingers grasped the hilts of his twin tools. That small gesture apparently managed to tick the god off further.

In one swift swish he tossed one of his hooks, the blade snapping past Error who pivoted just a hint in order to avoid his coat getting nicked by the very tip. The hook dragged through the dirt of an island a small ways behind Error, the hinges locking around a thick root submerged in the soil. Error went to yowl a complaint, but Sheriff leapt from the pillar before a single word left his mouth. Yanking the chain, he threw himself right on by the god. "We'll catch up later, alright?" He suggested as he swung over Error's shoulder. 

The destroyer looked furious, his eyelights flickering out so tiny 'error's could plague his sockets instead. "HEY!" Error snapped, balling up his fists. "You can't just swing away from me! " He complained, sounding straight up scorned. 

Sheriff ignored his obnoxious call, completely honed in on his new target. There was a hollowed island before him. A spider's web stretched between the open cavern's pointed stones. The white webbing wavered as it endured the misty spray of a waterfall which poured down from the opposite end of the island. The centerpiece of the web, coiled up like a cellar spider's fly, was a singular gemstone. A sharp green diamond capable of fitting in the palm of his hand. Hovering around its smooth surface were numbers. A simple chain of code that Sheriff couldn't actually read. 

Another DataCrystal, containing a fragment of my universe's code. Perfect. My intel was correct. The sight brought him a rush of relief, but he didn't care to cling to the feeling. He wasn't one to celebrate prior to victory. Especially not while danger still loomed behind him like his shadow. I just need to grab this then get out of dodge before Error dusts me. 

Swiftly he arched downward, stretching his arm forward as he neared the crystal. He had only been a breath away from snatching it free from the web when a familiar sound began to charge up nearby. A gathering light bathed the side of his face, causing him to squint that socket. Damn it. He knew a readying Gaster blaster when he heard one.  

He was forced to change course on the dime, grunting from the whiplash of the backwards movement. A soulbeat later, heat and light blazed before his pinpricks. The blaster beam struck the island, immediately cracking the stone apart and sizzling the downpour of water. The shockwave roughly shoved him backwards along with everything else. Shards of rock pelted his leather coat while the blaze singed the fluffy tips of his hood. He curled his body to shield himself the best he could. His crystal had unfortunately gone in the opposite direction. He glanced towards Error, finding him alongside his gaping blaster. It would take him a moment to charge another attack. Either way, he's blocking me from the crystal. He needs to be dealt with.

Sheriff rolled through the air, landing upon a different sheet of rock while his hooks dislodged from the ruined debris of the island. He looked to Error who dropped to hover at an equal height a few meters before him. Error was a god; Sheriff was a mortal. He stood no chance against him, but he had other tricks up his sleeve. He gave Error a confident smile, standing tall upon his perch. "I'd get out of my way, if I were you…" Sheriff warned. 

Error initially stilled and blinked at his comment. He then pointed at him with a loud "HAH!", clearly not feeling the least bit threatened. "Stand down? Against you , anomaly two-two-seven?" He questioned. "Wow! You really are stupid if you think you're winning this fight!"

Sheriff let out a low chuckle. "Oh, I'm well aware you've got nothin' to fear in a fight against me. I don't stand a chance," Sheriff admitted. He then reached his hand into the pocket of the half-apron below his belt. "-But I know someone who does," He said, two fingers pulling a diamond-capped vial into view. 

Error's sockets widened, clearly familiar with the black substance that resided within the orange-tinted vial. "No…" He murmured as Sheriff held up his secret weapon. Error's expression then twisted into one of anger. The white speckles upon his body multiplied, turning into a snowstorm of frustration. "Not him! " He protested. 

His complaints were too little too late. Sheriff held the paint vial between his hands, the icy glow of his pinpricks reflecting off the glass. "Let's finish this quickly, shall we?" He mused, starting to crack the vial by spiking his thumbs upwards. As the glass started to crack, Error gave him an appalled look and drew himself back another few feet. With that, Sheriff swiftly snapped the glass, letting the black paint pour out into the air before him. 

He inhaled a deep breath. Then he barked out a single name, that of a man who had promised to aid him the next time a situation grew desperate. That time was now. 

"Ink!!!"

Credits: (Will be updated with new chapters) Sheriff Sans: Created by Applebloomer1 Error Sans: Created by Crayon Queen Ink Sans: Created by Comyet

[mihotose]

ok ive spent several days reading kenran zuroku heres my favourite facts/details i didnt notice bc i dont pay close attention

imanotsurugi’s hair touches the floor when its loose

maeda has leaf patterns on the lining of his cape that change between white and purple depending on the angle

all the awataguchi tantou besides yagen have ribbons around their uchiban shirt collars and most of them have dark grey ribbons but maeda’s is yellow, houchou’s is light grey, and mouri’s is a green darker than his hair

midare’s sentou shorts have a gold flower on his hip (hidden by his dress)

gokotai’s tigers all have unique designs and have either sky blue or gold eyes hence why his kiwame tiger has one gold one sky blue eye

gokotai’s eyes seem to shine in the dark

aizen uses a red cord as a belt but he struggles to untie it every time lmao

sayo isnt good at tying bows so theyre all wonky..........

i already knew this but nikkari doesnt wear Anything under his uchiban jersey

izuminokami and horikawa’s eyes are shinsengumi haori blue (straight up didnt make the connection)

urashima and nagasone’s wear their kotetsu straps the same way but hachisuka has an extra strap on his left upper arm and around each ankle

the white kotetsu shirt is like a blacksmith’s outfit. urashima and hachisuka have the same but urashima’s wears his like nagasone

URASHIMA HAS THE SAME HAIR TEXTURE AS HACHISUKA HE JUST STYLES IT LIKE NAGASONE

urashima has fishscale patterns on his uchiban jinbei

nakigitsune wears a tie during uchiban he just has his jersey zipped up over it

the samonji have a decorative knot hanging from their chest. sayo’s has one loop souza’s two kousetsu’s three

hachisuka is the only kotetsu to wear that long sleeved black top under his kotetsu shirt

hachisuka has a high centre of gravity with a feeling of floating and weightlessness compared to nagasone’s low centre of gravity and groundedness

his waist armour was designed to be like a tennyo’s hagoromo and his hair is like a halo

nagasone’s uchiban vest is soft after many washes

his hair ties are cheap (vs hachisuka’s. golden flower hairpin.) and his hair is “animal-like” (despite not being a ‘real’ kotetsu etc)

nagasone’s waist armour was designed to be like blackbird feathers and i literally couldnt read it properly but urashima’s may be a grass skirt? if i read it right.

akashi has a habit of fiddling with his hair

he rolls his left sleeve up so he can swap to his left hand in emergencies

all the osafune have an emblem on their uchiban jersey’s right sleeve

shokudaikiri has a sliced moon/fire in gold

kenshin and azuki have a sparrow feather/bamboo in blue and pink respectively. i think the small feather filament may represent kenshin and the bigger one azuki?

daihannya has coins in gold

koryuu has a dragon claw in purple

chougi has a flame(?) in grey

shinano’s hair is just long enough to put in a tiny ponytail

he has a kaishi ire (tissue/notepaper case) in his inside jacket pocket

things he keeps in his garter pouches: portable sewing kit, ointment, umeboshi, bandage, candy, nail clippers, etc

hakata is very lucky cat themed

he carries a pen (with a lucky cat logo) and notepad on him into battle

he puts little clips on his trousers in uchiban to keep them rolled up

houchou’s bag has both japanese and western sweets

his armguard has a vague rabbit design

he has a little bird netsuke on his belt behind his back!!!

taikogane’s hair looks like a bird’s nest in the mornings

his uchiban tshirt has date masamune’s maedate moon on it

fudou’s hair goes down to his calves

mouri has to wrap his belt around him twice

kenshin and azuki both have dango hanging from their belts

they have the same handkerchief in their back pockets in uchiban: white with pink azuki beans along the edge

kenshin has azuki beans on the soles of his uchiban wellies

kenshin’s uchiban socks have two azuki beans on the side while azuki’s have three

hyuuga’s two black hair strands comes from the two gomabashi engravings in the blade

the blade was often used as a gift which is why he has so many ribbons and bows

when he puts his hood on he takes his hat off and puts it in his belt

his hair accessories are omodaka shaped (ishida-ke mon)

his uchiban water bottle has an umeboshi onigiri keychain hanging from it

kotegiri has five moles in a circle on the back of his right hand and two under his right eye

several of muramasa’s layers have gaps cut out so he can screw his tail in

kikkou’s uchiban scarf has embroidered chrysanthemums in gold thread

nansen wears toe socks

his kusege flutters in the wind but returns to its original position

his uchiban jersey has the same ring as his collar but in silver as his zip pull

juzumaru’s eyeshadow is made with lapis lazuli which purifies the soul and wards off evil

hes very heavily lotus themed with lotus pink and lapis lazuli blue coloured accessories

his beads change between black and white depending on the lighting except the three large ones which are ultramarine blue

his uchiban boots have a pink version of nikkari’s kyougoku-ke shiroshouzoku pin?

the two metal parts on ookanehira’s collar come together to form a butterfly except he always has his collar open so they dont join

daihannya has a LOUPE

koryuu’s studs are the same purple as his eyes

he has a satchel on the back of his belt with medicine, a compass, letter scroll, writing set, map, koban purse, etc inside

he has five hairpins on his right side and four on the left

higekiri and hizamaru get new white symbols on their jackets with each toku representing onikiri, shishinoko, and tomokiri, and kumokiri and hoemaru

kogarasumaru’s sentou is inspired by the battle of dan no ura, with the frills on his right shoulder representing the waves

the lining of his suihi has a pale cyan to vermilion gradient that changes in the light

he is barefoot and graceful as a ballerina, inspired by an anecdote of a tiptoeing crow

azuki’s uchiban tshirt is white with pink sparrow and bamboo designs

shizuka doesnt wear that black sleeveless turtleneck that tomoe does in uchiban

tomoe doesnt tie his sleeves up like shizuka does

hizen wears the same pants in sentou and uchiban

chougi wears both SHIRT GARTERS and SOCK GARTERS

buzen has tiny zipup pockets in his knees

chiyoganemaru plaits his hair in uchiban and ties it with a yellow scrunchie with an anemonefish charm

hakusan’s skin feels cold to the touch

his hat has a melon flower pin sewn to it and he has a melon flower keychain hanging from his uchiban belt

gokotai’s nails are tiger fur orange after kiwame

on his shoulders, knee pads, socks, and boots he has four orange spots that are like tiger toe beans

gokotai’s crest is on his tiger’s forehead and it disappears temporarily when he gets damaged

the blue/purple fireballs around nikkari are hitodama

souza’s beads become a greenish blue but can look purple sometimes depending on the lights

the pattern on hachisuka’s breastplate is like maki-e flowers

his kiwame coat has tiger stripes in the lining and is just like urashima’s but his flutters more

his hagoromo (he has his own now!) is iridescent and the section behind his head floats slightly

he has the image of flowing water and petals and the light and open feeling is like he is sitting in a lotus which reflects his extreme internal change (he has reached enlightenment!!!!!!)

[idreamofplaid]

Privacy

Summary: Cordell is a passionate man, but he’s a dad too. It doesn’t mean he has to choose between the two.

Rating: Explicit

Characters: Cordell x Reader; Stella and August mentioned

Word Count: 2417

Tags: oral (male and female receiving; squirting; dirty talk)

@walker-bingo Square Filled: Swallowing 

A/N: This works as a stand alone fic or can be read after Putting the Past to Rest and Quieting the Demons Inside as a third part. I see Cordell with the same reader in all three. 

Cordell kicked the door closed behind him while his hands pulled up your skirt so he could hold your ass and squeeze it while his tongue twisted around yours, hot and clearly seeking more. You lifted one of your legs,wrapped it around his waist, and he held it there. You could feel the bulge in his jeans growing as he hardened against you.

“Damn, baby. I didn’t know you could dance like that.” The memory of your moves on the dance floor at the Tumbleweed earlier that night served to stoke the flames of the fire already burning inside him, and his kiss got even deeper.

You reached for his hand, making sure yours dragged across his growing cock as you did. Your fingers twined through his, and you pulled your lips from his. “C’mon, cowboy. I’ve got something for you.”

You led him over to the couch, and he followed you like a cross between a puppy and a bloodhound that’d caught the scent of something he needed to find. You gave him a tiny push, and Cordell sat down on the sofa just where you wanted him.

His legs were spread wide, giving you plenty of room to lower yourself between them. The denim covering his crotch was stretched to its limits, but you’d help him out with that. You pulled his zipper down in a slow tease, then reached inside to pull out his cock. 

It was a thing of beauty. Cordell had a cock that men would sell their souls for. It was thick and long, standing proudly, and tempting you with the pre-come oozing from his slit. You dipped your head forward and licked his tip to get a taste.

Cordell closed his eyes and leaned back, stretching his arms across the back of the sofa. You closed your lips around him and let your mouth sink down over him. “Fuck, baby. That’s good. Your mouth is so hot and wet.”

You took him deeper in your mouth and circled your hand around the base of his cock to stroke the part that wouldn’t fit. Then he started to make those noises that drove you crazy. They were deep grunting moans that came from down in his chest. 

The pre-come was flowing into your mouth now. “Do you know how good you taste, Cord? I believe I could live off you alone.”

You felt his hand go into your hair, and you hummed with pleasure. You waited for his grip to tighten; it didn’t. Instead he said, “We can’t do this. Not here.”

You let go of him with a pop as your mouth left his gorgeous cock. “Cord, what are you talking about?”

He was already doing his best to tuck himself back into his jeans. “Kids. My kids could walk in any minute.”

The blissed out look he’d had from his approaching orgasm just seconds before had been replaced by a slightly panicked expression. You took off his cowboy hat and tossed it on the couch beside him, then you straddled his lap and started to run your fingers through his hair. 

“Calm down, baby. Didn’t you say Stella’s at soccer camp, and August finally got the nerve to ask out that girl he has a crush on?” You dragged your fingertip down the side of his face. “We’re alone.”

Cordell put his hands on your waist. His eyes still had that spooked look in them. “But what if the date goes bad and he comes home early? I don’t want him to find me doing...this.”

He looked up at you with those beautiful “I’ll be any damn color I want to be” eyes.

He was silently pleading with you to understand. “I want to finish this, Y/N. So bad, I do. I just can’t do it right here.”

You smiled at him. “All right then. Take me to bed, Cord, and bring the hat. I want that on you.”

He grinned back at you, grabbed his cowboy hat, and put it back on his head. “Yes, Ma’am.” Then he scooped you up and carried you to the bedroom.

When he put you down on the bed, you immediately went for the buttons on his shirt, opening them with an urgency born of being made to wait. “Now that we have all this privacy, I want to see all of you. Every muscle. Every inch of your skin.”

You stripped his shirt off him, flung it across the room, and ran your hands over the taut muscles in his shoulders. Cordell closed his eyes and sucked in his breath at the feel of your touch. “I believe we were in the middle of something, cowboy.”

You unbuckled his belt and snatched it from his belt loops with a flourish, dropping it on the floor. Your tongue made its way slowly across your top lip. “When I get a taste of you, I just want more. So. Much. More. Strip for me.”

This time when he said it, it was a whisper. “Yes, ma’am.”

Cordell started with his boots. Once his feet were bare, he slipped his jeans down over his narrow hips and down his long sculpted legs. It left him in only his boxer briefs, his hard cock straining against them.

You tilted your head and gave him a wink. “Those too.”

Cordell peeled off the last bit of clothing standing between you and what you wanted. You lightly scratched your nails over his chest. “Now lie down. I’m hungry for you, Cord. I want to taste you.”

He lay back on the bed. “Oh fuck, darlin. Please, do.” 

You hovered over him, blowing on his cock until you felt his body tense. “C’mon, baby. Please.”

“Well, when you ask so nicely.” You sucked him down into your mouth until his cock hit the back of your throat. “Mmmm.” You hummed around him. 

You ran your tongue up the underside of his cock, stopping when you got to that sensitive spot under the head and flicking your tongue over it. He’d grabbed a fistful of the bedcovers. “Fuck, Y/N.” 

“Does my cowboy like that?” You sank your mouth over the length of him again, moving your head up and down his shaft.

Cordell reached for your head. “Y/N, I’m gonna….” His fingers tightened in your hair. “Fuck, baby. I can’t hold it. If you don’t stop….”

You didn’t stop because that was exactly what you wanted him to do, shoot his load down your throat, and you were going to swallow every drop you could milk out of him. When he came it was with a deep moan and a shout.

Cordell made a beautiful picture, lying sprawled out on the bed, chest heaving, legs still spread, and his spent cock lying soft on his thigh. Miraculously, the cowboy hat had stayed on his head through it all.

You crawled up his body, took the hat from his head, and put it on your own. “How do you feel now, cowboy?”

Cordell sat up and turned toward you so he could run his hand down your side until it came to rest on your hip. The sheer size of his hands and feeling them on you could make every nerve in your body tingle and your core start to ache.

His eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide, filled with lust and satisfaction. He smiled at you, making those sey dimples pop out on each side of his mouth, and in his honeyed Texas drawl said, “I don’t think we’re done here yet, little lady. I believe it’s your turn.”

He took his hat from your head and flung it away, flipped you over on your back, and eased his hands up your thighs, pushing your skirt up as he did. “You have the softest skin, baby. You’re gonna get me hard again just touching you.”

“I have no objections to that. Your cock is beautiful.” You ran your hands over your breasts and down your stomach, then back up. Adding your own touch to his was heightening your arousal. You knew he was watching you. Cordell liked to watch.

You had to look at him, needed to see that intensity in his eyes that he got when he was watching you. He watched your hands move over your body, then his eyes fixed on yours, and he said, “Well, how about this?”

Cordell lay down over you, pinning you to the bed with the weight of his body. His mouth claimed yours in a searing kiss that left you breathless. While he continued to kiss you, his hand made its way between your legs. “Any objections?” he asked. You shook your head.

He ripped your panties from you, and the sound of the fabric tearing sent a shiver up your spine. Cordell moved down your body, opened your legs wider, and positioned himself between them. “I’m needin’ to taste your sweetness, baby. Need it bad.”

You put your hand on the back of his head. “Take it, Cord. Take anything you want.”

He went down on you like it was his personal mission and delight to make you come until you were weak. Cordell was a gifted man with his tongue, and he was using those gifts. He lapped at you, flicked your clit, and fucked you with it until you squirted all over his face.

You floated for a few seconds in the blissful feeling of being well fucked, and he hadn’t even put his cock in you yet. When you felt him hovering over you, you opened your eyes. “Cord,you’re going to kill me one of these days, but I’ll die happy. Death by orgasm isn’t a bad way to go.”

He was sliding his tongue around his lips, drinking in your juices that were still visible on his face. “Just the opposite, sweetheart. I’m gonna make you feel alive.”

Cordell was just as good with his fingers as he was with his tongue. You squirted again with two of his fingers buried inside you and the base of his hand rubbing your clit. Your arms loosened your hold around him, but you didn’t let him go. “Oh, God. Cord, I...I’m so….”

He licked the shell of your ear. “C’mon, baby. You’ve got one more for me, don’t you?” He leaned in close to your ear. “I want to feel you come around my cock.” You moaned in response to his words and the feel of his tongue on your ear. “I’ve got one more for you.”

You put your arms back around him. “Yes. Yes. Oh my Holy God yes.”

You could feel his cock sliding against your entrance, and you could feel his smile against that tender place just beneath your ear. “You like that? You want it?” His voice had gotten so deep you thought you might come from the sound of it alone.

“Cordell Walker, you know I want it.” You rubbed your core against him to prove it. 

His smile got bigger. “I know you do. I just want to hear you say it.”

Lifting your hips wasn’t working either, so you gave in. “Alright. You win. I want your big thick cock inside me. I want you to split me open with it.”

Cordell kissed you with his own perfect blend of passion and tenderness. “We’re both about to win, sweetheart.” He slowly took off your clothes, relishing seeing your body revealed before him. Then he proceeded to fulfill his promise.

The fucking that followed was legendary. If a porn movie married a romance novel, that union would have produced the kind of sex you had with Cordell. He knew your body so well, knew where to kiss you and when, knew how to angle his thrusts and adjust his rhythm to draw out your orgasm and make you scream.

The only thing better than feeling like your body was flying apart because you were coming so hard was seeing the look on Cordell’s face when he came. The feeling it gave you when you saw his eyes squeeze shut and his mouth fall open, knowing you could do that to him, was like nothing you’d ever known. And when it was over, he always held you a little closer.

It was like that now. You were lying in his arms, your head on his chest, tracing tiny little swirls and circles over his heart and his pecs with your fingertip while Cordell was combing his fingers slowly through your hair. You lay there in comfortable silence for a few minutes before you kissed his shoulder and moved to get out of bed.

As much as you wanted to stay there in that bed with him all night, you knew you couldn’t, not yet. Cordell reached for your hand and grabbed it, stopping you for the time being. “I’m sorry, babe. About before. Stopping you, I mean.”

You kissed his cheek. “I understand, Cord. You’re a good dad. I admire that about you.” You looked down at his hand holding yours and rubbed your thumb over his fingers. “You don’t want your kid to catch you doing that - ever, but especially not now. The idea of you being with any woman other than his mom is going to take some time.”

You kissed his cheek again and let go of his hand. “That’s why I have to leave. His curfew’s at midnight, isn’t it? That gives me fifteen minutes to get out of here before August finds me in bed with his oh, so handsome father.

Cordell watched you getting dressed for a few seconds before he got out of bed and started putting his own clothes back on. When you were both dressed, he put his arm around your waist and pulled you to him. “Y/N, I promise you’ll be able to stay the whole night soon.”

You kissed him long and lingering on his mouth; it was goodnight. “Don’t rush it, Cord. Your kids come first. When the time’s right, we’ll take the next step,”

You picked up your tattered panties from the bed, put them in his hand, and closed his fingers around them. “Why don’t you keep these?”

He grinned a little sheepishly and bit his bottom lip. “I promise I’ll buy you some more.”

You lay your hand on his cheek. “Oh, I’m counting on it. I’ll wear them for you the next time we’re...alone together.”

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @jules-1999 @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @dawnie1988 @volleyballer519 @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @daisymoder72 @sorenmarie87 @lovealways-j @mrswhozeewhatsis @spnbaby-67 @wayward-and-worn @asthesunwentdown @thinkinghardhardlythinking @petitgateau911​

Walker: @lovealways-j​ @sams-sass​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @girl-next-door-writes​ @awesomesusiebstuff

[rp-repliforce]

I just realized I forgot to post this!

So... I’m going to explain each sketch I made from left to right:

First we have a concept of some articulation for Colonel’s pelvic armor. The problem was that I wanted his tassets to be solid plates, but the design of his pelvic armor would stop the front two from being able to swing out, which would make running impossible. In order to fix that, I separated the armor from the ‘belt,‘ and put it on a hinge so that it wouldn’t restrict his movement. To be honest I still don’t know how his tassets should connect, but maybe they’d hang from a small (but sturdy) ‘loop‘ so that they could swing in 4 different directions and maybe make sitting easier? idk. Those things are IMPOSSIBLE sometimes. 😅

Next, we have another drawing of how his jaw and hat work. I guess it’s a bit redundant since this sketch exists, but I’ll explain it anyways. So... I imagined that red ‘chinguard’ is actually part of his jaw, and is connected to his jawbone with these little tabs. *But* it’s also attached to his ear structures with a hinge. I also illustrated how the white ‘ribbon‘ on Colonel’s hat is actually a solid piece, and has tabs that click into his ear structures so that his hat won’t go flying off while running and fighting. It also won’t fit any other reploid because of this.

The next one is a bit harder to understand, but it’s basically the flexible armor plating on his biceps and thighs. Here’s an example of what it looks like on his body:

It’s basically a series of rings that sit on top of a tight protective mesh. When he flexes his artificial muscles, it pushes the rings open a bit so that they don’t restrict his movement, and the mesh is supposed to stop him from ‘flexing‘ into the open gap and getting pinched. It’s kinda hard to see in my sketch, but there’s also a little plate that sits over the gap so that his body is still protected from whatever’s outside This is some of the weakest armor on his body since the metal has to be soft and thin enough to be flexible, but its still tough enough to protect him from things like cuts, shrapnel, burns, and corrosive chemicals. It can still be easily pierced by sabers, but that’s what those big tassets around his belt are supposed to compensate for. As for his arms, he just has to be careful.

The last sketch is actually supposed to be for how that yellow tube around his waist connects to his chestplate. it’s held in place with a tough elastic cord, which gets pulled out sightly as the tube gets pushed out by his pelvic armor whenever he bends forward. When he stands straight again, the cord pulls the tube back to its original position. It’s... kinda hard to explain since there’s two things happening at once, but hopefully this makes sense. 😅

But... yeah! That’s all I have to say.

[domkota]

— take a hi(n)t

— warnings: female reader, drug use, fwb, fingering, oral receiving (m ⇠ f), creampie, cockwarming

The smoke inside your car engulfs you and Izuku as you take another draw of your blunt, the sensation of the weed burning down your throat and throughout your lungs, only to finally be released. The greenette taps your knee and you pass him the blunt.

“This is some good shit. Where did you get it?” The tip glows orange as he takes a hit, blowing the smoke in your face. You cough at the hazy breeze.

“That’s a loaded question, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.” Izuku shrugs, taking another draw and handing it back to you, proceeded by a light cough. His lip wobbles, the snake bites fastened to his skin rising higher and higher with each cough progressively getting louder and louder. Shaking your head, you hit the blunt once more before putting it out for the night.

He was right, it was some good weed.

You stay silent, just reveling in the feeling of your head being in the clouds while Sleeping with Sirens plays in the background. The ambiance of the hot boxed car and Izuku’s playlist made you so relaxed and loose, but you needed more. What else could you possibly have?

Through the smoke screen, your eyes eat away at Izuku. The way that jungle of hair was disheveled, his wide emerald eyes, and those toned tattooed arms? Just the sight alone tied knots in your abdomen. He was your friend, your smoke buddy, but did you feel enough for him to steal him away with the power of lust?

Maybe if you gave him a helping hand to make him understand…

“All this smoking is making me hot,” you whine, shrugging off your top to reveal your cupped breasts enamored in the prettiest bra Izuku had ever laid eyes on. You spot him ogling your chest in your peripheral vision as you try your best to bite down a smirk. You drop the fabric somewhere in the back seat, out of sight and out of mind.

“(Y/N),” your friend sucks in a quick breath, his hand slithering towards your leg, desperate for just one touch. Izuku wasn’t as naive as you had originally took him as, with your hand guiding his own, his fingers dipping between your thighs. The weed finally starts to settle in as your head grows heavy and your feet tingle, the sensations of Izuku’s pads on your clothed cunt sending a cascade of chills throughout your body.

Guess he took the hint.

Izuku’s fingers slip past your shorts and panties, the tips of skin already doused in a thin layer of your slick. You scoot closer, causing his fingers to dive into your soaking wet sex. You hum in delight as he scissors you, slipping in a third finger while pushing in and pulling out of you.

“This what you wanted (Y/N)? Wanted to get me all riled up huh?” His chin rests on your shoulder, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. You can only nod in response, rolling your hips against his rough knuckles.

“Need more, need you,” you grunt, tilting your head back as a hand runs through Izuku’s hair, tugging at the various knots.

“Gonna have to work for it kitten..”

He removes his hand from between your thighs, a cold breeze shooting through your cunt as you shudder at the sudden emptiness. Letting go of his head of hair, your eyes bore into Izuku’s sage ones, heavily laced with lust and weed, both causing you to spread his knees apart as you undo his belt buckle, the cool metal against your scorching fingertips bringing you closer to complete pleasure. He leans back and sinks further into the leather seat, helping you out by undoing his zipper, slowly no less, watching as you squirm in your seat impatiently. You hook an index finger into the belt loop of his pants and yank them down, your hand gently brushing against his hard on.

“F~uck, that’s a good girl,” Izuku squirms out of his boxer briefs, his cock springing free from its fabric confines.

Through the hazy smoke you could tell from how close you were that his tip was red and hot, his shaft just pulsing at the idea of getting attention. Sticking out your tongue, you lick a long stripe on the underside all the way up to the head, which was already leaking with precum. You hear a gargled moan from your friend, as he grabs a fistful of your hair and bottoms out in your mouth, making you writhe for a moment as your nose is pressed to his stomach. Tears dot the corners of your eyes and fall down your cheeks; you try to concentrate on your breathing while also trying to navigate your tongue around his entire length, which was way larger in perspective.

“Dammit, I’m sorry (Y/N), I just couldn’t help it…” Izuku loosens his grip on your head, allowing you to come up for air. Jaw slacked, you rub your throat for a moment before dipping back down to his aching dick and taking him in all over again. You bob your head up and down, all while trying to look up at him with those big old puppy dog eyes. This kills him, has him moving his hips in syncopation with the pace you’ve set. Your wet muscle covers every inch of his member with saliva, dipping into the pubes on his balls. You have him crossed eyed, melting in the heightened pleasure (thanks to the drugs). “Wait, hold on, gonna cum soon~!” He pleads, your lips popping off of him.

“Now that you’ve had your fun…” you kick off your shorts and underwear, leaving you only in a bra. You go to unclip it, only for Izuku to hold your hands in his.

“Keep it on, I just wanna motorboat the fuck outta you.”

With a soft snort of laughter, and your green haired friend’s blushing face, you comply with his request as you straddle his lap. His tip presses against your clit in the loveliest of ways, twitching ever so slightly and giving you the smallest bit of friction that you crave. This has been a long time coming, and damn was it worth the wait.

You wedge his cock between your folds as you slide down, pulling him in further and further. You both let out a breath neither of you knew you were holding, your bodies melding together. Looking down at your connected bodies, you realize he’s only halfway in, which makes you shiver with nerves. You hear Izuku let out a low groan.

“God don’t tighten around me like that, otherwise you’ll just milk me dry.” He rests his forehead against your collarbone, his nose snug between your breasts. His fingers palm the curve of your ass, as he starts to lower you down further on his dick. “Just let me fuckin’ impale you (Y/N),” he whispers, planting a few sloppy kisses across your skin.

As he eases into you, you feel a surge of energy course through you as you start to set a pace, slow at first but faster the more used you get to Izuku’s length. Your ass bounces in his lap, earning a few hardening slaps here and there. You moan with each smack of skin, his member growing harder and harder inside of you. You can feel this, and it makes you closer to cutting the cord that’s keeping your orgasm tied up in a knot, weighing heavy in your lower abdomen.

“F-Faster Izu, please go faster..!” You gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck for a better hold to have him pound into you. He slides his hands over the curve of your tailbone, tugging you down with ferocity, ripping a scream from your lips. This new pace being set sends lightning through you, his tip kissing your cervix in just the right way.

The car is filled with the scent of weed, sex, and sweat, but all is ignored with a sensation such as this. The both of you huff in rhythm, any glass areas now completely fogged up, the condensation already running down the slick surfaces.

“S’close, I’m so close,” Izuku whimpers, nuzzling his face between your boobs with a ferocious passion.

“Me too baby, me too,” you slam your ass down on his thighs, your head pounding with ecstasy.

Your fingers rake through Izuku’s curls, pulling and tugging at the strands. The action sends him over the edge, as he warns you that he’s about to come, shooting you up with white ropes of sweet savory cum. It drips and glops down his dick and pools at the base, but he keeps moving despite the overstimulation, keeping it inside of you.

“Take it, take it!” Izuku moans loudly, stuffing you full. You squirm and squeal as you start to unravel, your juices mixing with his own. You collapse against his clothed chest, tracing the tattoos on his biceps as you try to recollect yourself. You can feel his chest heaving, rising and falling in turn with your own. “We…have to do that again sometime.”

“No kidding, best sex I’ve ever had,” you breathe, looking up at him. “…can I get off now?”

“Not yet.” Izuku keeps his arms tucked around you, holding you firm against his body, cock tucked neatly inside of you. “I’m not done with you yet…”

[babbushka]

Something Incredible, Something Unstoppable

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren x Reader 

3.7k ; explicitly NSFW, warnings for mentions of murder & blood 

Also on AO3! 

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

You step out of the shadows, when he’s done.

When his lightsaber has pierced the heart of an Emperor long thought gone, when he’s breathing hard at the implications of this news, at the implications of this man and how it hits him, how it changes everything he’s ever known, everything he’s ever believed.

The room crashes and crackles around you, some deep dark chasm, some ancient cave, where statues of Sith legends peer down at you with their stony eyes. They judge you, but that’s okay, because as you shoot a glare back at them, at the ancient beings who have witnessed the murder of your husband’s tormenter, you judge them right back.

The crippled old man slumps in his throne, body sizzling, not having expected Kylo to turn on him, not expecting Kylo to be so quick to kill him. The old man has lived a thousand lives it seems, but now his last has finally come to an end.

“Kylo.” You say, voice soft. You do not need to shout, do not need to scream out his name, for he hears you, always hears you. You could be a thousand lightyears away and he would hear you, there inside his head.

You saw the whole thing, the entire thing, from your spot at the entrance of the cave, the room where Kylo dared not let you step into fully. Surrounded by the Knights of Ren, by your sworn loyal hounds, by your guards, you watched as your husband struck Palpatine down.

He’s shaking, trembling, his jaw clenched tight as he powers off the saber and turns towards you, desperate for you. If he doesn’t get near you soon, he’ll scream, his entire mind in shambles from the revelation that everything, everything, has been by Palpatine’s design. He wonders just how far the plan would have gone, if he had simply walked away, if he had taken up Palpatine’s offer and ran with it.

He wonders how that plan would have ended, a vision of the future that could have been; a twinge in his spine of phantom bones cracking in another universe where he did not just slice the man in half, sliced him into two in the same manner as he had done to his master not so long ago.

His master who, like everything else, was nothing but a puppet with invisible strings.

He does scream then, but it is not of fear, or of pain. He screams because there is too much energy and nowhere to put it, nowhere for it to go, as the power of the Force shudders through him. With Palpatine gone, there is only him, only his body for the dark side to call home. It is a harsh sound, his scream. Deep and primal, one that rips through the vocal cords in his throat, one that shocks through the walls of the cave.

His chest heaves as he storms across the chasm to you, to the squadron of protection he has wrapped you in. The danger is gone now, smote by his own hand, but still, still he demands your protection.

“Time to go.” You say gently, firmly, holding a hand out for him.

You want him out of here, want him away from this place. There’s too much to process, too much to sort through, you don’t want him here.

You don’t want to be here.

Kylo takes your hand, and you don’t even so much as bat an eye when your glove stains red from the blood on his gloves, you only let it drip between your fingers as you turn and lead him out of the cave, back to the ship where he has docked it, where he can shred your clothes and dig his fingers into your flesh and cling to you in the way he’s desperate for.

He follows, and as he does, so do the Knights.

As he does, so does the Force.

It’s like the Force knows, it’s like it agrees -- it’s like it adores you, adores Kylo. Adores the love and the bond you have built together. It creates an umbrella above you as you clear the short distance to the ship, keeps you dry. The rain is not worthy to fall on your skin, to dampen your hair, to darken your clothing. You are contained inside a bubble, one that no one in the universe could ever burst.

 Inside the ship, he barks an order, sets the coordinates for home, for the star destroyer that stalks the galaxy, the monument to the Order’s power. He will no doubt take control of the fleet which Palpatine has been so kind to amass, so kind to build. You are filled with the thrill of power when you think about how it will be under your command, under Kylo’s.

You are also filled with the heady anticipation of his adoration for you, his desperation for your body. You can feel it pulsing off of him, it’s oozing in waves so thick you’re sure everyone around you can feel it. You can’t help but let a small smile through, at the thought of everyone going to fuck the stars out of each other just from the few intoxicating moments of being near Kylo’s lust.

And oh, how that lust is intoxicating.

By the time you arrive to the quarters which have been lavishly furnished just for you, quarters with the lights turned down nearly all the way, the glow of the distant stars illuminating the space, it is as though every fiber of your robes are permeated with the smell of it. It’s nearly painful, the way which he craves you so feverishly. You had never had the misfortune of being struck by the lightning which he can summon from his palms, but you think if you were to, it would feel like this.

Electrifying, blistering, blinding heat – a tremor runs through your spine as the static charge of his love radiates in red crackling currents through your very soul.

He loves you, and that is a dangerous thing.

You love him back, love him with every cell in your body, love him unapologetically and openly, love him completely. And that is what will bring the remaining corners of the galaxy to its knees.

There is a ritual you share, no matter where you are, no matter when he wants it. A ritual you take great stock in, a ritual which you uphold with utmost respect. You begin by stripping him down to his bare skin, removing layer upon layer of his clothing slowly, folding each piece with care.

You begin at the top, with the cape which clips to his tunic. He is so broad, so incredibly broad, you think as your hands smooth down his chest to the buckle of his wide belt. You smile at the little tracker placed inside it, grateful for the technology as you rest it over the back of a plush armchair in the corner of the room.

Underneath his outer tunic of black ribbed weatherproofing fabric, lay a pair of high waisted leather pants and a protective layer of armored padding. He had learned, since being shot in the stomach by the bowcaster of an old friend, to not be so neglectful. You unclasp the padding, undo the buttons on his trousers, sinking to your knees along the way.

You kneel before him, before your Emperor, your Supreme Leader, as you remove his boots one by one. You bend down to kiss his ankles, open mouthed kisses that have his hands balling into fists, and now it is his turn to tremble. The boots come up halfway to his calf, and you suck and breathe kisses onto the leather as you move up them, unbuckling the straps and letting him step out.

All that remains of his stately attire, are his gloves and those trousers unbuttoned and slung on his hips. Trousers which you peel slowly slowly slowly down, down his thick muscular thighs, down his newly freed calves.

His cock is so hard that it curves up slightly, seeking friction, seeking heat.

You smile at Kylo’s restraint – though it is barely there – he knows he’ll have you soon. This slow sweet torture is not something to be skipped, anticipation of fucking making the fucking itself that much sweeter.

You nuzzle your cheek into the hardened muscle of his lower stomach, so close to his cock that occasionally your other cheek grazes the head of it, and he bucks his hips involuntarily from the sudden jolt of pleasure.

“Share with me a secret.” You whisper, when you have decided that he’s had enough torment.

He offers you a strong and steady hand which you take, and he hauls you up carefully to your feet.

“I’ve never felt stronger than when you’re with me.” He licks his lips, lips which are perfectly bitten from how his teeth had worried them while you made out with his boots. He licks his lips and swallows, cups your cheek with a calloused palm and tilts your face so he can better enter your space, so he can better kiss you. He doesn’t kiss you yet, instead he asks, “When I close my eyes, do you know what I see?”

“Tell me.” You breathe, as you feel the invisible hands of the Force slither around your body, an agreement with the universe that you need to be naked too.

“Paradise.” Kylo’s eyes flicker redorangeyellowgold, just for a moment, just for an instant.

“Show me.” You say, not quite a demand, not quite a beg, but somewhere in between.

And just as slowly and sensually as you had removed every stitch of clothing on your husband, he removes yours. The Force aides his hands as he carefully undoes the intricacies of your dress.

Your cape is not a separate piece of clothing like Kylo’s, instead it is made of yards of fabric which actually hang from your belt. The fabric folds behind you and drapes up over your throat beautifully in a criss-crossing manner, protecting the fragile anatomy there and providing a sense of elegance you were known across the galaxy for.

He unclips the big sleek metal belt-buckle, and lifts the looped fabric from your neck to allow the cape to flutter gently to the polished marble floor. The neckline of the dress plunges, held together by a single button at your navel which is normally hidden by the belt. When undone, the sleeveless bodice slips down your shoulders, and under the weight of its own it too slips down your hips.

You wear no undergarments, and when the dress is nothing more than a puddle of black satin on the floor, you stand in nothing more than your gloves and your boots. Unlike Kylo’s, your gloves extend pass your elbow, leather and shiny and black. Your boots rise all the way to your inner thigh.

But like you, Kylo falls to his knees.

His hands shake, when they ghost the flesh of your thighs. He begins as you did, at the bottom, kissing and licking the black leather boots. But he has a much longer way to go than you did, and as he kisses up up up your leg, he begins to shake more and more strongly.

You know his patience is being tested, but his patience will soon be rewarded, you both know this.

So he kisses up your leg, and finally, finally, when he reaches the top of your boot, he is mere inches away from the one thing he craved possibly more than anything in the entire galaxy.

More than the murder of his inexorable sister, more than the death of his traitorous uncle, more than the collapse of the rebellious organization that insists on terrorizing his precious reign – your beautiful, hot, glistening pussy.

“Take me.” You tell him.

And just like that, the patience breaks.

The Force rips the gloves away from both of your hands, peels them off and throws them into the corner so that when you and Kylo embrace in a meeting of fire and brimstone, it is with the electrifying spark of bare skin on bare skin.

The bed is large and soft, but he lays you down upon it with an urgency that has the whole mattress shaking, rippling under his power as he props your hips up with a silk pillow. He does not waste time burying his face in your pussy, his tongue insistent, impatient, demanding entry between your folds.

“Kylo!” You say, you say because you cannot say anything else, cannot express anything other than the love you have for this man.

Your hand grabs a fistful of his hair and grips him tight, holds him in place as he licks hot broad stripes with the flat of his tongue through all your slick, drinking it down with a fervor that would have you chuckling if you weren’t moaning instead.

His arms hook underneath your thighs and his grip on you is bruising, absolutely bruising with the way his blunt nails carve crescent moons into your skin. He is breathing hard, so hard, as he moans into your cunt with the way he tries to shove his mouth harder against your pussy, kissing and drooling and massaging your thighs with restless hands all the while. He bites the soft skin of your inner thigh, bites down hard enough for you to tighten the grip in his hair and yank slightly. Kylo only laves his tongue over the harsh indents he causes in apology, one that you’re happy to accept.

���Stars, fuck (Y/N),” Kylo pulls back for a moment, because he too is overwhelmed by his own acts of worship. He wants nothing more than to worship you.

He sucks on your clit then, out of nowhere. The pleasure is immense, nearly blinding, because as he latches his mouth around it, something cups and kneads your tits, pinches and tweaks at your nipples. The stimulation has your knees clamping down around his head, and your eyes shut closed so tightly that you can see stars forming behind your eyelids.  

“Oh, yesyesyes,” You arch your back off the sheets, pushing your hips up against his mouth further, “Kylo, yes please – oh fuck, fuck honey -- ”

He eats your cunt and toys with your nipples until your toes curl in the sheets and you’re gasping, coming coming coming on his tongue. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t stop, only continues to lick and suck suck suck on your clit, the force finding its way around your throat, into your mouth. Phantom fingers stroke your tongue, and you cry out Kylo’s name as you shudder so hard from your orgasm that your teeth clack.

He pulls away only once he can sense you’re overstimulated, but he’s not anywhere near done with you yet. His cock weeps for you, you can feel it dripping pre-come across your thighs as he positions himself on top of you fully. The wetness smears between your bodies as he drinks the nectar of your love from your lips, kisses you while the last legs of bliss from your orgasm ripples and shakes through you.

“Good, you’re so good,” Kylo pets the side of your face with one of his large mitts for hands, strokes your cheek. “So fucking good for me, you precious thing.”

Unlike his words, he is not gentle, when he fucks you. It is like much else about him – harsh, severe, explosive. He doesn’t even wait to bottom out before he begins to thrust into your sweet pussy, the blood pounding in his head too loud for him to even appreciate the sick squelch of your come as he grinds his hips against yours. He is fast, he is hard, he is angry.

All the anger that he felt, all that passion that was imbibed in his veins when he slaughtered the man who had ruined his life by his design, all that rage comes flowing out now, now that he has the sweet surrender, the infinite release of your body to take him.

And take him you do, happily you take what he gives, and you give everything you can in return. His cock is so fucking big, so skilled, so adept at maneuvering inside your body from the years of sex you have engaged in together. He fucks you skillfully, even if a little sloppy in the wake of all that rage.

He is some feral thing, unhinged.

Years ago, a crippled puppet had once described Kylo as having raw, untamed power.

Now there were no more strings, no more shadows behind closed doors a thousand lightyears away pushing the pieces – and Kylo felt free.

He grits his teeth and pinches his face up in anger as he rails you hard, fucks you up up up the mattress until your head nearly hits the ornate headboard, and you bring Kylo out of it for just a moment so he can see that soon there will be no more room for him to pound you. He nods – but instead of pulling out of you so you can shuffle back down the bed, he uses the force to drag your joined bodies to the center of the mattress once more, and he resumes his frantic pace.

“I want – I need – ” You pant, body jolting under him as he lifts one of your legs for a better angle that has tears spilling into your hair, chin trembling from how fucking good this new position feels. It all feels good with Kylo, but this, this is magic.

Once it has its hands on you, the Force doesn’t seem to want to let you go. You think it’s sweet sometimes, how it vies with Kylo to cover your body in its presence. Kylo is a large man, large in every sense of the word as he has to pin your hips down against the pillow, skin smacking harshly against yours. Kylo is large, but the Force is a greater power, and the Force wants you almost as badly as Kylo does.

Not more, because nothing could want you more than Kylo, but almost.

It anchors itself around you, opens you up further for Kylo to take and give more pleasure, more more more of his power seeping into you. Your flesh breaks into goosebumps, limbs shuttering as you feel the tendrils of the Force wind around your neck, plunge down your throat, wisp around your wrists and tug at your ankles.

It is an unbreakable rope that slithers and snares its way into every possible crevice and orifice that your body possesses, thick cord that binds you, binds you to him, to Kylo.

“Holy shit – ” You gasp, sharp and high and loud.

Kylo has found the spot inside your cunt that makes you go blind with pleasure, and he milks it both with his cock, which throbs at the realization that you’ll come around him soon, and the Force, which somehow has the power to intensify the feeling, getting in and stimulating the very nerve ending in your pussy.

“Please Kylo, your cock is so big I can feel it up in my throat, please, please, fuck, I’m coming, yesyesyes– ” You sob for him, beg beg beg for him, and he is drenched in sweat at the praise, teeth gnashing and hair tossed wild as he brings you to orgasm once again.

You’re almost worried for a moment, that you’ve blacked out. It’s happened before, the sheer overwhelming power of your orgasm simply too much for you to handle sometimes, too overwhelming that your brain doesn’t know how to respond to all the pleasure. Your entire body is convulsing, and suddenly, it’s as if a switch as been flipped.

Kylo’s hips drop to a slow grind, a screeching halt of the bruising smacking rough rhythm he had immediately set out with. You’re not sure which drives you over the edge further, the brutal fucking or this, this measured, restrained, even flow. It is almost methodical, almost too perfectly even, and it makes you sob.

You are wordless, fucked dumb by your Supreme Leader’s cock.

You don’t know how long this lasts, how long your orgasm rips through you. The Force keeps it strong, keeps it bright white hot behind your eyelids. Hands are all over you, and you’re not sure which are your husbands and which belong to the universe. Every part of your body is massaged, squeezed, groped, claimed.

Your voice is so high as you shout it out, you have to let it out somehow, or you’re sure you’ll die. Kylo milks it for all it’s worth, forces himself to maintain this slow and steady pace, to both of you practically snarling into each other’s mouths simply because you’re both so far gone.

When he finally comes, the alarms blare.

His release is so strong that it shatters the shields of his ship as it hurtles through time and space, hurtles toward a future of grand opulence and power – a future you will build together. The shields shatter, and the alarm blares, and Kylo looks down at you with a strange mix of fear and bewilderment and pure awe. He’s coming, still coming inside you, his eyes wide open from the shock of just how good it feels.

He gives you this look every time, and every time it fills your entire being with pride, fills you with a warm satisfaction that you can give him this, that you can allow him to feel this way.

He gives you this look every time, as if it’s the first time, as if it’s the only time he’ll ever have; but with this – the power the fleet the force – you know it won’t be, it’s just the beginning.

The beginning of something incredible, something unstoppable. You know this.

You know because unlike the feeling of your hips settling under his as he grinds his pulsing cock into you deeper deeper deeper, something in him is new. Something in him is fresh, is so shocking that the realization hits you both at the same time and has you both splitting into grins so wide it stretches the pearly white skin of his scar.

You know because when he presses his forehead against yours and lets the Force bond open up, lets his mind flow into yours, for the very first time inside his head, the only voice he hears, the only whispers which curl around his skull,

Are yours.  

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

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[walkerwords]

“The Bowman’s Sister” Part 1 of 4 - Daryl & Sister!Reader

GIF CREDIT: http://gph.is/20IqJ25

PART II PART III PART IV

Word Count: 5231

Daryl Dixon & Sister! Reader (possible rick x reader in future)

Summary: You are Daryl and Merle’s sister. You had been with your fiance and daughter when the turn happened. After losing them, you made your way through the world trying to survive. When you come upon a prison and man in cowboy boots, your brother may be closer than you think.

Warning: swearing, mention of death, mention of past rape and abuse

Song I Wrote To: “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron

Note: this could potentially move into more parts, but for now here we go!

(Y/N): your name

(Y/E/C): your eye color

(Y/N/N): your nickname

------

The dark forest was quiet as you moved through the thick brush.

Blood stained your hands and was soaked into your hair, but you were still alive and the new cruel world hadn’t won yet. You didn’t know where you were, but as long as the bastards who had gone for you while you slept were long gone, then all was good.

At least for now.

The cold air was not friendly as it seeped into your bones and surrounded you. You had lost your warm jacket to a pack of Dead when they had grabbed at you, tearing through the warm material. You had managed to stick an arrow in two of them before taking off in a sprint, leaving your only source of warmth behind.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had more than a few hours of sleep at a time. When you were able to, you found a sturdy tree and strapped yourself down high up in the branches with a bungee cord, but even that had its faults. The Dead could still smell you and would circle the tree, causing more and more to converge on your hiding place. It wasn’t the most ideal situation, but it was all that you had and it was better than being beaten and raped by passing groups or having to relive the nightmares that lived in your head.

As long as you focused on surviving and kept distracted, your emotions wouldn’t overwhelm you and you may just survive the new world.

The sound of running water reached your ears and you nearly wept at the sound. You had run out of water yesterday and even if everything else was going to shit, the world let you have this. It was something. 

You picked your way through the woods, keeping an arrow notched on your bow just in case. You found the stream not much further down the path and wasted no time in kneeling down by the bank and gulping down a handful of cool running water. Boiling it be damned, you thought.

After you had drunk your fill, you pulled your bottle from your pack and filled it to the brim. You then dunked your head into the water, trying to scrub the blood that stuck to your hair. You weren’t even sure if it was your own, your assailants, or the Dead’s blood. You decided that you really didn’t care.

You were so wrapped up in trying to feel human again that you didn’t hear the person sneaking up on you until the hammer of the revolver was pulled back. Your hands went to your bow, but their voice made you pause. 

“Don’t even think about it,” a gruff voice said and the deepness of it made you shiver. It was never good when a man snuck up on you. “Hands where I can see them.” Slowly, not seeing another option, you raised your hands and turned to him, keeping your eyes lowered. His worn leather cowboy boots came into your view and as you lifted your (Y/E/C) eyes, he lifted the barrel of his revolver. 

The man before you was tall, his hair was curled around the nape of his neck, and a brush of stubble was across his cheeks. The look in his eyes was deadly and it made you swallow thickly. You had managed to evade strangers for a while now, the ones you had been running from had been a fluke. A couple of men traveling that had come across you. You figured they had given up on you and continued on their way hoping for a new victim.

However, this man could be worse and that was offering no comfort to you. Your eyes flicked between the gun and the boots, trying to gauge your chances of escaping without a hole in your head.

“Please,” you said quietly, “take whatever you want.” You then steeled yourself and pushed to standing slowly and faced down the man with the gun. “But if you try to lay a hand on me, I will kill you. Even if I have to come back and tear you apart with my teeth.” You let your threat settle between them and the man lowered his gun slightly, but didn’t drop it.

“Was that a threat?” He asked. 

“More like a promise,” you answered. You moved to grab your bow, but the revolver moved back into place instantly. “Asshole,” you bit out. He narrowed his eyes at you and took a step forward, but then a voice called out. 

“Rick, stop!” You started at the voice and hole opened up in your chest. It sounded like… No, you wouldn’t let yourself think about him again. Not after the many times you had thought you heard the voice of your brother.

A figure came through the trees, still cloaked in darkness and you took a step back, tripping on a root, sending you down to the forest floor. 

“Rick!” The voice said again and your heart thudded in your chest. It nearly stopped as the figure stepped into the light of the moon. “Oh my god.” You didn’t say anything as you beheld the man that stared down at you, his eyes wide. 

Tears immediately started falling and you didn’t care if the man with the gun was there. “Daryl…?” You choked out and then he fell to his knees next to you. “Daryl!” You cried as you looped your arms around your younger brother.

You had finally found him.

----

Daryl clutched his sister to him, nearly crushing you into his chest. He smoothed his calloused hands over your hair, breathing in the smell of you and feeling the vibrations that went through you as you cried. “(Y/N),” he sighed, holding you tighter.

----

You pulled back, your hands going to his face, brushing the hair from his cheeks. “I thought you were dead,” you said, looking into his eyes, the eyes of your mother. 

“Ya know it takes a lot more than an apocalypse to kill me,” he said in his low accent and hearing that deep Georgian accent was like coming home.

“Daryl,” the man, Rick, said. “Who is this?” Daryl looked back over his shoulder and his form went rigid. 

“Put the damn gun down, Rick. Point that thing someplace else, will ya?” Rick looked at Daryl for a moment before holstering his weapon. Daryl then gripped your arms and helped you up. “It’s okay, yer okay now,” he said in your ear. Keeping an arm around you, Daryl turned to Rick. 

“Rick, this (Y/N), my sister,” Daryl said and Rick’s face turned from concerned to surprised. 

Rick didn’t say anything as Daryl shouldered your pack and handed you back your weapon, smiling slightly at the sight of your mother’s old bow. 

“It was in the garage,” you told him, “figured nobody was comin’ for it.” 

“Glad you took it,” Daryl said, adjusting his crossbow on his arm. “You were always better with it than Merle.” That made you stop. 

“Is he…?” You trailed off, not willing to ask the question. 

“Merle’s dead,” Daryl said and something about his face told you not to push the issue, at least not yet. You could tell that he wanted to ask questions of his own, but he also wanted to get out of the woods. 

“Where are we goin’?” You asked, trying to keep up with the men who had much longer legs than you.

“We have a place,” Daryl said, “you’ll be safe there.”

“Daryl…” Rick said, his voice full of warning. 

“Just...wait, Rick. Alright? Let me get her some place warm and then we’ll start askin’ the questions.” 

“What questions?” You asked, through shivering teeth. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Daryl said, tugging you along further. A few more moments and a large chain link fence came into view. 

Along with a large group of the Dead.

Your footsteps faltered as you beheld the sight, reaching for your weapon. 

“S’alright,” Daryl said to you and then he took a flashlight from his belt and flashed it twice. A second later, a light from what looked like a tower, mimicked the movement. Suddenly, there were shouts.

“Hey! Over here!”

“Come on and get us!” 

“Hey!”

The shouts just kept coming and more voices joined in. Just how many people were here, you wondered. Daryl and Rick lead you towards a large metal gate. The Dead were too preoccupied by the new waves of noise that they managed to get onto the gravel road without incident. Still, Daryl kept his crossbow in front of him and Rick kept his hand on his gun.

You were between both men as they approached the gate. Then the large gate rattled open and a young boy in a sheriff’s hat ushered you inside, slamming the gate behind the three of you. As soon as the latch was secured, Daryl relaxed and then finally looked you over, taking in your face. The look in your eyes and the way you carried yourself was a lot like your older brother, but so much was strictly you and it nearly brought tears to his eyes. 

“Who’s this?” The kid in the hat asked. 

“Daryl’s sister, apparently,” Rick said as he stared between you and Daryl. 

“I’m Carl,” the kid said, waving awkwardly. You nodded to the kid, noticing the gun on his belt. 

“Let’s get inside before we freeze to death,” Daryl grumbled as he led you through the yard and toward a large building. As you looked around, it finally clicked as to what this place was. 

“You live in a prison?” You gasped. 

“It has fences and beds,” Rick said as he strode next to you . “We’ve made it home.” You nodded, taking in the sights around you, but you couldn’t shake the sounds of the Dead just down the small hill. You kept your eyes forward, tightening your grip on your brother.

The four of you stepped through another gate and headed for a large cell block. As soon as the metal door closed behind you, the sounds of the Dead were drowned out and you let out a breath. “Come on,” Daryl said, pulling you further into the building.

He took you into an area with a few tables and beyond that you saw a few people looking at you through a gate that you were sure was locked.

Carl went over and stood by the door, his hand on his gun. Daryl took your bow from you and set it gently on the table and then helped you with the quiver on your back, careful not to brush up against any of the fresh scrapes and bruises he could see on your bare shoulders. 

“Beth,” Daryl said to a young blonde girl, “can ya grab me a blanket?” She nodded without having to be asked twice and quickly returned with a wool blanket that you figured was from the prison inventory. Daryl quickly pulled it around your shoulders, rubbing your arms with his large hands. “Yer gonna be okay,” he whispered, taking a seat next to you and looping an arm around your shoulders.

“This is Daryl’s sister,” Rick announced to the others and you got a look at the others in their group. There was Beth and a woman next to her that was keeping a protective watch over the blonde. You figured that was Beth’s sister and an asian man who was holding hands with the woman. Then there was an older woman with short gray hair who stood next to a tall dark skinned woman who had a sword along her back. An older man with one leg sat at the table next to yours and then of course there was Rick and Carl. Judging by the way Rick was standing in front of the kid, you figured Carl was his son.

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” the woman with the short hair said, breaking the silence. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Daryl grumbled as he took a piece of your hair and moved it from your face, trying to keep you warm. “She’s my older sister,” Daryl continued, “but younger than Merle.” 

“How’d you find us?” Rick asked, clearly not fully comfortable with your sudden appearance. You felt Daryl tighten his grip on you. You reached over and held onto his hand. 

“I wasn’t lookin’ for people,” you explained. “In fact, I wasn’t even headin’ this way. I was tryin’ to get more North, but I got turned around when I started running from them.” 

“The Walkers?” Rick asked and you looked at him in confusion. 

“The Dead,” Daryl clarified. 

“Oh, no,” you shook your head, “Yeah, I mean they’ve been around. Pretty big group of them not too far away a couple weeks ago, but no, I was runnin’ from people not...Walkers,” you said, trying out the word.

“People?” The woman next to Beth asked. 

“Couple of men who tried…” you trailed off and then shook away the fear that crept up your spine, “A couple of men tried to take me, they had rope and knives, but I managed to cause a distraction. Let out a couple of the Dead from a nearby van and they went for them so I could get away.” 

“I would have killed them,” Daryl growled from next to you. You looked at him and nodded slightly. 

“I know.” You then looked back to Rick, “I wasn’t planning to stay after I found the stream. If you hadn’t of found me and pointed a gun at me, I would have never known my little brother was here.” Daryl rested his head on your shoulder and you leaned into him. 

“(Y/N),” Rick began, “I need to ask you some questions.” 

“Rick,” Daryl warned. 

“Daryl, I know she’s family, but—”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, “ask your questions.” Rick looked at you for a moment before nodding. 

“How many Walkers you killed?” He asked.

“I don’t know, I don’t keep count. More than two dozen at least?” You offered.

“How many people you kill?” Rick asked next and you felt your heart stutter. 

“Three,” you said. 

“Why?”

“Two because they tried to kill me and,” you paused, trying to find the courage to finish. You leaned away from your brother and leaned your elbows on your knees. “The third was because he asked me to.” 

“Who?” Carl asked, interjecting. Tears pooled in your eyes, but you wouldn’t hide them anymore. It was Daryl that spoke next. 

“Carter?” He asked quietly. You looked at him and nodded. “Her fiance,” he clarified for the others. You felt your hands shaking and you knew what his next question would be. “(Y/N), if Carter...if he’s dead,” he paused and the tears began dripping off your chin. “If he’s dead, where’s Hannah?”

Something broke inside you at her name. It wasn’t sadness anymore, it was just hollow. You looked at your brother with a frown, your face wet with tears of guilt. “No,” he whispered as his arm fell away from you, to cradle his own head. “No, no, no,” he said, the anger growing. 

“Daryl, I’m sorry,” you said, nearly pleading as you gripped his shoulders. “I took my eyes off of her for thirty seconds. Then the camp was overrun and neither of us could get to her in time. Carter...he saw it happen.” Daryl shook as he listened. He could barely speak so you looked to the confused faces of the prison group. “Hannah was my daughter,” you told them, “she died at the start of all this.” Daryl fell to the floor, leaning back on his hands as he took in the news. His niece, only six years old, was dead, taken by this new world.

“Maggie,” Rick said quietly as he watched his friend slowly fall apart, “can you get (Y/N) some dry clothes and help get her situated?” Maggie, the woman you thought to be Beth’s sister nodded and disappeared through the gate as Carl held it open. “Let’s just give them a moment, everyone,” Rick said and ushered everyone out as you held onto your heartbroken brother and let the grief wash over you both. 

Once Daryl had calmed down, you helped him up and he wrapped his arm around your waist and then pulled you in for a hug. 

Neither of you said anything as you held each other. You just breathed him in and relished in the feel of family once again.

“Come on,” he said, his voice low, “let’s get some sleep, we can talk more in the morning’.” He took you into the cell block and up the metal staircase and into a cell. Maggie had brought fresh clothes and an extra blanket for you. Daryl pulled the mattress off the top bunk and lay it down on the floor. He then pulled back the blankets of the bottom bunk and gestured for you to lay down. As soon as you settled onto the cot, he lay down on the mattress next to you on the floor, staring up at you. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. He shook his head, reaching for your hand. You let your hand fall over the edge of the bed and grab onto his. 

“Wasn’t yer fault,” he promised, “don’t you ever think it was, (Y/N). Never.” You nodded at his words. “Get some sleep.” You wanted to stay up, talk to him, but the overwhelming fatigue took you and soon, you fell into the darkness as you held onto Daryl’s hand. 

The only family you had left. 

----

When you woke up the next morning, you were alone in the cell. 

It took you a couple of minutes to wrap your head around everything that had happened. You had found Daryl, you were safe behind fences, you were alive. Those three things were all that mattered as you sat up in the bunk and rubbed the sleep from your tired eyes.

The clothes you were wearing were the ones you had been wearing as you ran through the woods the night before. Peeling off your stiff boots, you changed into the clothes Maggie had gotten for you. You and Maggie were roughly the same size so luckily everything fit well enough. Stuffing your feet back into your boots, you grabbed one of Daryl’s button ups and pulled it on, noticing the prison walls didn’t do much for warmth, but it was better than being in the woods or up in a tree. 

The sun was filtering in through the windows near the ceiling and you could hear the other prison residents starting their day.

“Good morning.” You jumped slightly at the sound and turned to see Maggie coming out of a cell at the end of the walkway. “We didn’t officially get to meet last night, I’m Maggie.” She offered you her hand and you took it, pushing up Daryl’s long sleeves.

“(Y/N),” you said, “thanks for clothes,” you said, gesturing to the jeans and tank top. 

“Not a problem at all,” she said with a grin and then gestured for you to follow her down stairs. “If you’re looking for Daryl, he’ll be back soon. Michonne found some Walkers down by E Block so she, Rick, Daryl, and my husband, Glenn, went to take care of them. Shouldn’t be long. My sister, Beth, said she saw them take a walkie so if they’re in trouble, we’ll know.”

“Michonne is the woman with the sword?” You asked, already feeling the anxiety rise as you thought about Daryl going after the Dead. 

“That’s right,” Maggie said, still cheerful. “She’s a hell of a fighter and from the way your brother fights, I’m assuming so are you.”

“I can shoot,” you said.

“Then it's a good thing we have you now, (Y/N),” Maggie said with a grin. You and her made it down to the lower level. Carl was sitting with Beth as he cleaned his gun. Beth watched on in curiosity. You didn’t know how old Carl was, but it made you feel a bit sad to see the kid with a gun, but this was the way the world was and it was better than becoming a victim. 

Maggie sat across from her sister and patted the seat on her other side. You sat down, slowly, fiddling with your sleeves. Beth slid over a container of peaches. “I can never finish a whole can by myself,” she said, “too sweet.”

You looked down at the fruit in the syrup and your mouth watered. It had been weeks since you had anything besides squirrel and canned tomato soup. “Thank you,” you said with a small smile as you dug into the canned fruit. 

“So,” Beth continued, causing you to look up, “what was Daryl like as a kid?” 

“Beth,” Maggie warned.

“You can’t tell me you’re not curious,” Beth said and then looked back at you with patience. You swallowed another peach.

“Uh, he was like most kids, I guess. Looked out for me, even though I was older, played in the woods, was always runnin’ around being...Daryl,” you said with a light laugh that took you by surprise. It had been so long since you laughed. “He was a good kid and an even better man. I can tell he still is.” Beth smiled and Maggie mirrored her sister, Carl was listening, but not offering any of his own commentary. 

“You look like him,” Beth noticed. You laughed again. Maggie then reached out and touched your arm. You looked at her and saw the sorrow in her face. 

“I’m very sorry about what happened to your family, (Y/N),” Maggie said sincerely. “We’ve lost people, but I could never imagine what it would be like to lose a child. I’m so sorry.” A wave of...something washed through you and you lay your hand over hers.

“You’re actually the first person to say that to me,” you said after you realized it was the truth. “Thank you.” 

“We look out for family here,” Beth said, “and you’re Daryl’s family which means you’re ours now.” Your throat was too thick to speak so you just nodded.

Before anyone else could say something, commotion sparked behind you as two people walked in with grins on their faces. “Victory is mine!” The woman said, her grin lit up her face.

“You found some?” Beth asked, suddenly very excited. 

“Hell yeah,” the woman said as she dumped a duffel bag on the table and Maggie looked like she wanted to say something but before she could, the unknown woman unzipped the bag and showed the table what she had found. 

Cases of baby formula.

Your blood ran cold. 

“Sasha fought off four Walkers for that stash,” the man said, clapping Sasha on the shoulder. 

“Shut up, Tyreese, you helped,” Sasha said, shrugging off his hand. He smiled at her and then Tyreese noticed you. 

“Who’s this?” Sasha turned to look at you and then looked at Maggie. .

“This is (Y/N), Daryl’s sister, we found her last night,” Maggie explained, but you couldn’t focus on Sasha and Tyreese. All you could do was stare at the formula. 

They had a baby here.

“(Y/N),” Beth said, lightly touching your wrist. You looked at her finally. “This is Sasha and her brother, Tyreese.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Tyreese said kindly while Sasha just looked at you, much like how Rick had looked at you the night before. 

You tried to speak, but again the words were locked in your throat. Maggie noticed. “Sasha could you go put this with the others,” Maggie asked and then gave Sasha a look that had the other woman hauling the bag off the table and disappearing around the corner. 

“Who’s the formula for?” You asked, finding your words.

“My sister,” Carl said, “she’s still working her way up to solid food.” It was then that it clicked. Rick had a daughter. That was why he dispersed everyone so quickly when you and Daryl had your moment.

“Yeah, it can, uh, take some time,” you said roughly, trying to keep a pleasant look on your face. The only thing going through your mind was Hannah’s little hands wrapping around your fingers and the smell of her head after her baths or even the little noises she made when she slept on your chest. It was all coming back to you at once when you had worked hard not to think about your baby. 

“Are you okay, (Y/N)?” Maggie asked and you turned to her, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you said, getting to your feet. “I’m just gonna go get some air. That okay?” You asked, still not sure if there were rules here.

“Yeah, the yard is safe, just don't go into any of the far cell blocks,” Maggie said and you nodded. You left the cell block behind as you quickly made your way out into the open air. There were more people here than you expected and then you realized there must have been more people in Cell Block D. You avoided their gazes as you walked through the courtyard, shaking off all the memories that threatened to overtake you. Finding a picnic table, you sat on the top, resting your elbows on your knees as you looked out over the yard. 

You could see the Dead as they tried to break through the fences, but a group of four were walking along the chain link and stabbing the Dead through their decaying skulls. The sounds of their groans were nearly deafening even at a distance. It was a sound that would never leave you, even if it all stopped one day, that noise would follow you forever. 

You stayed there as the sun rose in the sky, leaving the morning behind as noon approached. You didn’t know how long you were out there until a hand came down on your shoulder. Daryl looked down at you with concern. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey.”

“Maggie said I’d find ya out here,” he said, taking a seat next to you, “she said ya left after Sasha brought home the formula.” You just nodded, keeping your eyes on the yard. “Probably should have warned you about the little one.” 

“It’s fine,” you told him. “You didn't know about Hannah.”

“I’m sorry, (Y/N),” he whispered, “M’sorry we weren’t there to protect ya’ll. I figured because of Carter’s service record that he’d get ya out and then when we tried to get back into the city…”

“There was nothing left,” you finished, remembering the napalm that rained down from the sky. 

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“We got out, but it was so chaotic and when we got back to the house, the Dead were everywhere. I managed to get the bow and some clothes and food for Hannah, but then we had to run and we couldn’t get back.” You turned your eyes to him. “I didn’t know if you would make it or if you had Merle with ya. I tried looking for both of you when it happened, but I had Hannah and I…”

“Ya had to keep her safe,” Daryl said. 

“And I couldn’t even do that,” you said, wringing your hands. 

“You can’t blame yourself for what happened, (Y/N/N),” he said.

“Since when do you call me (Y/N/N)?” You asked. 

“Haven’t gotten the chance to in a bit,” he said and you nodded, understanding. 

“I’ll work on not feelin’ guilty for Hannah and Carter, if you stop feelin’ guilty too. Deal?” You offered your fist just as you had when you were kids. He nodded and then tapped your fist with his. Then, he reached over and tugged you closer to him, planting a kiss to the side of your head. 

“It’s really good to see ya, girl,” he whispered. You leaned into him before pulling back.

“You smell like rotting corpses,” you told him and he grimaced. 

“Had to take care of a few Walkers down in E,” Daryl said, “Imma go get a new shirt, you just try and relax for a bit. Yer safe here, (Y/N), don’t forget that.” You nodded and he squeezed your shoulder once before heading off to go get a clean shirt.

After Daryl left, you decided to walk the yard. Slipping through the gate, you meandered through the field, keeping a wide distance between you and the far fences. They had a well groomed garden going as well as some pigs. It seemed that even amongst all the death and chaos, they were doing well. It was enough to lift a bit of the weight off your shoulders.

As you walked through the tall grass, you let your fingers brush against them and felt the warm sun on your neck. You sighed at the feeling, letting the peace swirl around you. 

“You know, Beth did the same thing when we first got this place under control.” You turned to see Rick approaching you and in his arms was a beautiful blonde little girl. You stayed where you were as he approached, your eyes on his daughter. 

“I can understand the draw,” you said.

“Not everyday you feel some sense of security,” Rick said as he stopped in front of you. “I figured you should meet the remaining member of our little family,” he said. “This is Judith.” Your heart swelled at her name. 

“Hello, Judith,” you said with a grin. “Aren’t you just the prettiest rose in the garden?” Judith looked over at you, her hands holding onto her daddy’s shirt. You looked up at Rick. “She’s beautiful.” 

“You wanna hold her?” He asked and you went to argue, but he was already moving her from his arms and holding her out to you. 

“Oh, okay,” you said as you took the baby and held her against you, feeling the familiar weight of a child in your arms. She reached up and took hold of your nose, her curious eyes roaming your face. “Hi, sweetheart,” you cooed. 

“She likes you,” Rick said and you smiled at him. “Look, I just wanted to apologize for last night.”

“For what?” You asked, your brows pulled together. 

“I shouldn’t have pointed the gun at you or pressed you with questions, especially after Daryl told us you were his sister.” You bounced Judith slightly as she played with a lock of your hair and turned to Rick again. 

“Don’t ever apologize for protecting your family, Rick,” you said sternly. “I would have come in handcuffs if it meant that you felt that your children and your people were safe. You can’t be too careful in this new world, so no apologies necessary. Isn’t that right, Judith?” you said, scrunching your nose at the baby. Rick looked at you and nodded his head.

“I see it now,” he said. 

“See what?”

“The Dixon in you,” he explained, “but it’s all Daryl, not Merle.” You snorted and looked up at him, your eyes shining in the sunlight. 

“You just haven’t seen the Merle side yet.”

Note: I could definitely add more to this. Requests are open!

[scribeofmorpheus]

Himmeløyne [18/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: Angst???

A/N: Nothin’ to report Cap’n

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Heimdall

Heimdall looked over at the corner where Y/N had nestled into. She looked smaller, so much smaller than he’d ever seen her. A part of him was angry, though, to his detriment, he didn’t know what he was mad at the most. There were too many options: Odin, the carnage in the throne room, the leeching, Dagma’s prophecy that lingered on his mind day in and day out. He wished Sigrid were there with him, at least he’d be able to ask her for help. He was only just getting used to the idea of fatherhood. On any occasion, that would be a mountainous task to undertake, but this last month, it felt like a planet was crushing his shoulders. That’s why he rarely wore his armour, and why he rarely stood at his post by the bi-frost.

Sif walked over from Hogun’s side, a look of concern pulling her eyebrows knit. She followed Heimdall’s gaze to Y/N. She too held a look of anger.

“Do you think she’s up to this?” Sif whispered. “We only have one shot at this. If we fail…”

“We won’t,” Heimdall took a moment to steel his voice. “We can’t fail. I won’t lose my daughter to this madness.”

“I hope you’re right,” Sif pressed the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Because if we do, that’s the dungeon for us.”

“Focus on your end, the portal will stay open,” he said with feigned assurance.

Sif tilted her head in disbelief and Heimdall placed a hand on her shoulder.

“The portal will stay open,” he said again with more control over his voice.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said before re-joining Hogun to discuss their end of the plan.

Cautiously, Heimdall approached Y/N. He held out his hand that had a loop of red thread twisted around his palm. He pulled one end of the thread and handed it to her. She held onto the thread for a moment, focusing on its ridges and texture, then she looked up at him in confusion.

“It’s ordinary thread.”

He held back a laugh, “Yes.”

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“It’ll act as our anchor through the portal,” he began wrapping one end of the thread around her palm, he noticed how cold to the touch she was, it made him feel uncomfortable, like he was touching a block of ice. “If you feel overwhelmed, tug on your end, I’ll do the heavy lifting in sustaining the portal.”

She looked him over with knowing eyes, “You don’t think I’m ready.” It wasn’t a question.

“Do you?” he challenged.

She smirked, showing some of that wily nature Sigrid had in youth. “I’ll do my part.”

 Heimdall drew an old sigil on his forehead to focus the energies, blood dripping from the slash on his thumb. The room permeated with a ghastly wind. Smell of sea salt and copper and the distinct ashen taste of volatile magic made his nose itch. Sif tugged at her collar as though it were hard to breathe. Hogun’s nose went red at the bridge. Y/N’s eyes turned glassy, water collecting near the ducts.

“Visualise opening a portal here,” he offered Y/N his hand, their thumbs leaving bloody prints on each other’s wrists. “I’ll show you where it leads.”

He searched his memories for the rare occasions he’d visited the vault, of how the walls towered strong and bright. Of the Destroyer standing dormant, held in the centre of two columns. Next to come were the stands and all the artefacts he remembered. Through their pulse connection, he transferred his vision into Y/N’s mind, letting her see what he saw.

There was a wave of energy, for the briefest moment, Heimdall thought of that soulless look she had in the throne room, and he felt afraid. Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, he knew she’d felt his fear. The candlestick on the table fell over, flames dying out as wax dripped over a carved rune on the stone table. Rime formed over the window overlooking the sea, creeping like a thief until the glass coated in a net of snowflakes.

Between Heimdall and Y/N, a portal, first black and then purple like the nebula’s he watched over, opened. Heimdall stepped through, and in a shaky instant, he was in the vault.

Send them through, he sent his message through the thread. In response, Hogun and Sif jumped into view.

Sustaining the portal proved more difficult than Heimdall anticipated. The thread grew colder in his hand, Y/N’s powers were unstable, unpredictable. He felt a tug at his organs, a driving force of a thousand horses pushing him towards the portal’s opening. A taste of blood filled his mouth, but he breathed through the pain.

“Got it!” Sif whisper-shouted as she and Hogun retrieved something that bore a resemblance to Vanir craftsmanship.

“Hurry,” Heimdall said through gritted teeth, feeling the icy sting of the thread cut into his hand. Ripples of magic passed out of the portal, shaking the room slightly. With that delicate change in atmosphere, the Destroyer awoke, peeled face honing in on their location. “Jump through, quickly!”

Heat from the Destroyer’s blast melded at odds with the portal’s waning magic. Sif and Hogun went in together, then Heimdall. Back in the archive room above the library, Heimdall smelt the smoke before seeing the singed bits of his cloak.

Before anyone could react, a blinding sun-golden light erupted from the closing portal, clashing with the magic that slithered like an angry ribbon around Y/N’s frame. In dangerous volatility, both lights collapsed a section of the wall. Y/N screamed, panting for more air as she kept one hand over her face. A delayed shockwave knocked all four off their feet, flinging them out of the room, and into the sea below.  

 ~Odin

Odin felt like a piece of parchment held under a paperweight. Ever since he came to, his world had been one unending panorama of bad news and the poor taste of regret.

Loki slept, his mind too broken to wake up. Frigga was missing, and with her was his anchor and conscience. Heimdall refused to see him, even under orders, and the bi-frost had remained unguarded since Y/N began her leeching treatment. Thor would only visit when he smelled sourly of mead and anguish. On those nights, Odin pretended to be asleep.

“My liege,” Fandral walked into Odin’s chambers, his face looking pale.

“I told the guards I didn’t want to be disturbed,” he said harshly, looking away from Fandral.

“I beg your pardon, but, it would seem, sometime during the night, the Destroyer awoke,” Fandral cleared his voice. “And, it would also seem, there has been a theft.”

Odin sat up, feeling a nick of pain where Loki’s dagger had made its home a month ago, “Do we know who was behind it?”

“No, but…” Fandral blinked several times.

“Spit it out,” Odin demanded.

“We haven’t been able to locate Sif, Hogun, and Heimdall or… Y/N for that matter.”

"Do we know what was taken?"

"Your father's belt, My Liege." 

 ~Y/N

You woke up to the sensation of drowning as you coughed up saltwater. The ground was hard, like rock.

“Wha—” you rasped, vocal cords hoarse.

“Relax, you’re safe,” Sif’s voice was light, careful. Warmth spread to your forehead when she brushed your damp hair from your face. “We got what we needed. Just rest now. We’ll be in Knowhere soon enough.”

“I can’t see,” you panicked as you blinked.

“A side-effect,” Heimdall answered. “The Destroyer’s beam passed through the portal, the light damaged your corneas. They’ll heal quicker if you rest.”

You felt a warm cloth cover your eyes, and Sif’s hair wafted the scent of fire as she tied a knot behind your head.

You felt someone try to lift you up, but then they abruptly set you down with a painful wince.

“I’ll carry her,” Hogun offered.

Hogun reached down and successfully carried you off the ground. Your neck was stiff as it dangled from his arm.

“Here, drink this,” Sif placed something small by your lips.

You opened and drank the foul liquid, choking as your stomach tried to regurgitate the potion back up. Soon, a swirl in the fog of your mind dragged you back under.

 There was a meadow blooming from your balcony window—wintersweet and a bright pink flower you’d never seen before painted the landscape in lively colours. There was an odd contrast covering the land, glowing and too clear, it looked imagined.

A pair of arms ensnared you in a close back hug. You didn’t need to turn around to see who it was, you felt his magic pool in your stomach the instant your skins touched.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Loki whispered into your ear.

“I’m right where you left me,” you said.

“Evidently not since you made me scour the palace halls for what felt like ages,” he sighed with a dramatic flair, placing a kiss on your pulse-line beneath your jaw.

“Where did you go?”

Loki spun you around, cupping your face with a curious smirk adorned on his, “What do you mean, pet?” 

You shuddered. His smirk grew deeper. 

He kissed all the way from your cheekbone to the softness of your ear, whispering in an even deeper voice: “I’ve right here, dreaming of you.”

With your front facing the mirror above your dresser, you noticed your reflection was different, older, healthier. You were in a dream. But Loki’s presence, and the scent of his hair, and the touch of his magic, it all felt real. Like the dreams of the cave.

Slowly, the world began to dissipate, and you pulled Loki’s face flush to yours. “I’ll get you back. I promise to get you back because you have to know. You have to know that I love with you.”

In a frenzy of desire, and afraid this may be the last time you’d ever feel the softness of his lips again, you pulled him into a hungry kiss that was both impatient and desperate. When you broke away, you awoke in the real world, cloth still tied over your eyes.

 You hadn’t noticed that it never rained on Asgard until you stood under the cascade pouring out of the celestial eye cavity of Knowhere port. Even though it wasn’t raining on Knowhere either, the tricklings from what Hogun called a ‘recycling plant’ were as close to rain as you’d seen since leaving Midgard.

The rain held no petrichor, no smell of wetness like you were used to. This one had a faint chemical burn that clung at the back of your throat. The coolness of the water was also different, more lukewarm.

Knowhere was vibrant and distinct, even experienced solely through sound. Where Asgard was ethereal in its timeless beauty, Knowhere was a hard wrench in the belly of a metal beast. If Sif’s descriptions were to be believed, you were now walking inside a god’s head made of artifice. Sounds of metalwork and conversation held the eerie touch of normalcy, of universality, but the dialect and the refined metalworking sounds that filled the port were anything but ordinary.

The ground pulled at your muscles much weaker than Asgard did, making you think you were a mere gust away from floating into the blackness, where, you imagined, the stars burned brighter.

Maybe you wanted to burn with the stars. Be at peace in that blanketed darkness, like nights when you’d sleep soundly, ignorant to gods and magic. Maybe the only things keeping you rooted were your bones, in the same way your mother’s crone bones rooted her visions in the future. You shuddered when a droplet of water fell near the edge of your eye, surprised that your skin was colder than the water.

“Keep your head down,” Heimdall lifted your hood to keep the poor-mans rain off you. “Try not to look—” he swallowed loudly, “to seem as lost as you do now.”

“This morning, I thought Asgard and the nine realms were all there was to the universe,” you intoned. “Now I know there are more veils to be pulled back, so if I seem lost, it’s with good reason.”

“She has a point,” Hogun said.

Heimdall lingered close by and then sighed, he sounded a little further than before. “The person we’re going to see, he’s… odd. But most dangerous of all, he is enamoured by other oddities. Try to act like you belong, and…whatever you hear or feel in there, don’t react to anything. Magic or otherwise.”

“She’ll be fine. That’s why I’m here, remember, to keep an eye out.” Hogun said.

Sif let out a groan and Heimdall let out a strong exhale. You found it in you to smirk at Hogun’s poor phrasing.

Heimdall walked away, and from the clanking of light boots, Sif followed.

“You seem different,” Hogun said to fill the void.

You pulled your cloak tighter around you, feeling even smaller than before.

“You seem older, is what I mean,” he clarified.

You didn’t know how to answer him, so you simply nodded.

“I had a wife, once,” he said out of the blue.

You were astonished by his sudden chatty disposition, “I didn’t know that.”

He chuckled, a delicate tone of joy and sadness worked in tandem. “No, I don’t imagine you would. Few know about her. Fandral, and his big mouth, I’ve known the longest, he’s the only one that met her. Maybe Heimdall with his all-seeing powers.”

“But not the others?”

“No.”

“Why are you telling me then?”

“Because I know what it’s like to lose someone you care for. It’s an irreplaceable void you can never fill. And when Lindel’s health failed her, I had to choose between moving mountains to save her, or accepting fate and staying by her side.” Hogun paused, a shuffling sound of his feet gave away his discomfort.

“I see the way the prince looks at you,” he said after a crowd’s rumble died down. “And you and I, and even he, I suspect, know you can’t be together. Pragmatically, I mean. Your lifespans are... at odds.”

“Because I’m mortal and he isn’t?” you bit back, your temper rising. “You aren’t the first to tell me that.”

“I’m not saying you must put your feelings aside. On the contrary. All I’m saying is, there will come a time when you, or he, will be forced to choose between moving mountains, or accepting that some things eventually run their course.”

“Which did you choose?”

“The wrong one.” Hogun went eerily quiet, his feet stopped shuffling too. Then, suddenly, with a more transparent tone, he said: “Let’s go, Heimdall’s waving us down.”

Another droplet fell onto your face, and you shivered, again.

[bm-asian-art]

Hanging, 1 of 7 Pieces, ca. 1610-1620, Brooklyn Museum: Asian Art

One of seven panels in natural color background with drawn, painted, and dyed decoration (kalamkari). Plain cloth weave textile similar in general design to others in the series, having main figural divided into four horizontal bands within the mihrab. General color scheme same as preceding panel. Band I- (from left to right) Two standing male figures dressed in generalized European costume with full looped up pants, short coats, and ruffs around the neck. The sleeves of the coat are short and have second inner sleeves, which cover the forearm. The hats resemble those worn by the Dutch or Portuguese of the period, but are not accurate versions. On their feet they wear tied on sandals and tasseled garters at their knees. Both figures carry krises suspended from a looped cord. A figure seated in royal ease on a bed similar to those in the other panels is dressed in the same fashion as those about him, but wears a more elaborate coat and looks toward the first two standing figures. To the right, in the back of the bed, stands a female figure wearing a long skirt patterned in tie dye design over which is worn a short peplum coat with a narrow ruff around her neck. Her head is unornamented. To the right leaning on a second bed and dressed like the other, stands a male figure. On this second bed sits a mustached figure in tailor fashion, dressed as the others with the addition of a scarf about his neck and a cane on which he leans with hands crossed. To the extreme right are three standing male figures the first of which is wearing a short sleeved coat, the other wearing costumes similar to those worn by the other male figures. The features of most of the figures are Eastern with an attempt to depict European faces in the seated figures. All pattern is tie-dyed on the clothes. Band II At the extreme left are two standing figures wearing elaborate coats with striped epaulettes and shoes tied about the ankle similar to those worn in the above band by the three standing figures. He wears a hat, but the figure next to him is bareheaded and holds a small ball as he leans against a bed on which is seated a figure with distinctly European features and a blonde moustache and goatee. In the center stands two figures, one looking to the left, the other to the right at the second seated figure who is bearded, has side burns and heavier features than those in the rest of the panel, and wears an elaborate coat with large striped shoulder pads. He rests one hand on along stick. To the extreme right stand two male figures, the one on the inside is bareheaded. Band III At the left stands a female figure dressed as the female figure in Band I, but wears a jeweled circlet fastened to a topknot with little jeweled drops suspended from it that completely cover the head. She looks to standing male figure in quasi-European dress, who carries an elaborate dagger in his belt and wears a kris suspended in the front as he leans on a long cane with his hands crossed on its head. In the center stand two female figures dressed as is the first and one male figure bareheaded, with European features. Seated on the bed, in an elaborately patterned costume of the same quasi-European style, is a figure holding a small ball, and to his right stand two similarly costumed male figures with krises suspended in front. Band IV Three full size female figures stand behind two smaller ones wearing identical costumes with different patterns. In the center holding a suckling child is seated a female figure with a red sari swathing the child, coming around her head and down the side (this is not unlike many of the European Madonna pictures). Opposite her also seated, is a richly attired male figure holding a fan. There is jeweled embroidery on his sleeves and a small dancing figure (a child or dwarf), dressed in the same European style with a kris suspended from his side. A the extreme right, all wearing European costumes, stand two tall figures behind a smaller figure. Size: 108 1/4 x 37 3/4 in. (275 x 95.9 cm) Frame: 116 1/16 x 46 1/8 in. (294.8 x 117.2 cm) Medium: Painted resist and mordants, dyed cotton

https://www.brooklynmuseum.org/opencollection/objects/4271

[chatonne-rousse]

The Pole Kit and Kaboodle

Written for @smutember, Day 3: Striptease

@tsuki-chibi, I owe you one for all your encouragement and the great ideas you provided.  You’re the best!  ♥

This can also be read on Ao3.

They break apart for air, heaving breaths amplified in the silence of Adrien’s cavernous bedroom. Marinette’s hands still clutch at his back beneath his t-shirt; he lowers his head to her bare shoulder and sucks a possessive mark into her skin.

Her sundress is long gone, unbuttoned an hour ago by eager yet careful hands and parted reverently to reveal the lacy bra that now hangs from one shoulder.

Lips and tongue and teeth explore that same shoulder now, claiming every inch of skin up, up the curve of her neck and oh! The jolt of arousal that zings down her spine has her hips pressed to his of their own accord, while he soothes the spot his teeth have just nipped.

“You like that, Mari?” He purrs, huffing a pleased laugh against her skin before dipping back down to do it all over again just behind her ear.

She can practically hear the smug grin in his voice, but imagining it on Adrien’s sweet face seems wrong somehow. It’s a look more suited to a certain black cat, whom Marinette has no intention of thinking about while her boyfriend tugs her bra strap further down her arm and follows its path with kisses.

This is wonderful, of course, and her senses sing with delight at the smell of his shampoo, the taste of his minty lip balm still on her tongue, the delicious weight of his body between her legs and his soft skin beneath her fingertips. But when her bare thighs rub against his jeans as her hips search for more friction, it’s not difficult to notice the disparity in their states of undress.

He’s just freed her breast from its confines when she decides they need to even the score a bit.

Her hands glide whisper-soft down the plane of his back, and she’s gratified by the surprised gasp she hears (and feels) at her chest. She takes a quick detour just below the waistband of his jeans to feel the warm skin and tight muscles there before grabbing his t-shirt hem and starting to pull it up so it can join her dress on the coffee table.

It’s a shame he has to pause the magic his tongue is working right now, but the sacrifice will be worth it when she can feel their bodies pressed skin to skin, a pleasure she’d imagined in fantasy but still hasn’t gotten used to the wonder of in real life.

When he realizes what she’s trying to do, he makes a noise of disapproval against her skin before quickly sitting up and tugging his t-shirt back down.

It happens so fast that Marinette is left wide-eyed in surprise, the cool of the room making her still-wet nipple harden further.

This does not go unnoticed.

“I’ll be back for you,” Adrien reassures her bare breast, pointing a finger at it, “And I haven’t forgotten you,” he reminds the other, still tucked behind lace.

It’s one of the most ridiculous things she’s ever witnessed in her life, and she can’t stop the bark of laughter that bubbles up in her chest, cutting through the sting of his sudden retreat.

She quirks an eyebrow and gestures between them. “I'm feeling underdressed. Care to even things out?”

“Uh uh uh,” he sings, wagging his index finger dramatically like a ticking metronome. At the confused furrow in her brow, he deflates a little, his hand moving instead to the back of his neck.

“I, um, had an idea,” he says sheepishly.

“O…kay?”

His answering grin is pure elation, his playful swagger returning as he leaps from the sofa.

“I think you’ll love it!” She hears him call from the vicinity of his desk.

Her heart swells, her smile returns.

Oh, this boy.

She pulls her wayward bra strap back up onto her shoulder and resituates everything comfortably. Whatever he has planned will probably lead them back to the sofa - or the bed, or his desk, or the skate ramp - and her underwear will be added to the clothing pile in a few minutes anyway. At least, she hopes so.

Intimacy isn’t brand-new for them, but it’s still as thrilling as it was those first few times they’d explored each other’s bodies and discovered just how euphoric it could be to fall apart against the fingers and tongue of another, turning love into something tangible by way of racing hearts and trembling hands. Alone time in the quiet of her loft was eclipsed forever the first time she saw his climax cross his face at the same moment she felt it inside.

They’re still clumsy sometimes, still learning about sex and each other, but the shine hasn’t worn off yet, and she hopes it never does.

Peeking over the sofa, she finds him holding his desk lamp in one hand and scrolling frantically through his phone with the other. She smiles to herself when his face lights up upon finding what he was looking for. He lifts his head and finds her watching him, his eyes going soft with adoration at the same time his lips quirk in a sly grin.

Seriously. This boy.

He pushes the foosball table toward the corner with his hip before tucking the base of the lamp between the rows of players and setting his phone on the turf beneath their feet.

Looking around for a nearby plug, he has to push the table back in the other direction until he can find a spot the cord will reach. He finally switches on the lamp and maneuvers the adjustable neck to create his own spotlight as Marinette watches with amusement as the scene unfolds. That is, until he fumbles it and shines the bright light directly into her eyes.

She shrieks and hears him curse before running over to her.

“Shit!” he mutters again, placing a finger under her chin and tilting her face toward his. “I’m so sorry, Marinette.”

It takes a few blinks to clear the blinding spots from her eyes, but the relief in his gaze is a sweet consolation once her vision clears. She rises just enough from the sofa to press her lips to his and delights in his sigh against her cheek.

“I’m fine, Adrien,” she assures him as she settles into the sofa, tucking her legs beneath her and propping her elbow on the back cushion. She shoots him a cheeky wink. “You certainly have my attention.”

His lips quirk in a crooked smile and he rubs the back of his neck as he returns to the foosball table, reaching down and pressing play on the song he’d chosen earlier. A slow and sultry melody begins as he takes his place and strikes a pose that makes her giggle.

“Are you ready, Mari?” He asks with an eyebrow wiggle.

“You have the floor. Seduce me, beau gosse.”

His cheeks pinken but he catches the rhythm of the song’s intro and starts to sway his hips with the music. A moment later, he bends down to quickly untie his shoes, still punctuating each beat with a shake of his behind, even as he struggles with the laces.

Marinette bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, thankfully keeping the warm smile on her face when he pops back up to meet her gaze again.

He shucks one shoe, which she watches sail toward his desk before landing with a thunk. The other shoe is kicked off just as the words to the song begin, but neither of them pay attention to the English lyrics as they watch the orange plimsoll head straight for the television. It clips the top edge before tumbling to the floor behind, leaving the giant television rocking precariously for several long, long moments until it finally settles back in place, unharmed.

Crisis averted, Adrien continues unfazed.

His socks are quickly discarded, mercifully without incident.

Next comes his t-shirt, which Marinette doesn’t think will be any trouble since she’s watched him tug it over his head by the back of the collar numerous times in their haste to undress and come together again.

She is wrong.

In the momentary struggle to remove his shirt from where it’s somehow become stuck on his head, Marinette is treated to the sight of his very, very chiseled abs, muscles rippling as he flails his arms above his head. She’s always wondered how on earth he got so ripped - when does he have the time? - but she’s definitely not complaining.

Finally free, Adrien gleefully throws the shirt to his solo audience member, who catches it with a laugh and clutches it to her chest like the prize that it is.

This striptease is proving two facts she already knew: One, he is an absolute doofus, and two, she loves him beyond measure.

Refocusing on her beloved doofus while shamelessly inhaling the familiar scent of his t-shirt, she watches him begin to unbuckle his belt and feels a little fluttery all of a sudden.

When a few sweet kisses while watching an anime an hour ago had led to roaming hands and discarded clothing and his body pressing hers into the sofa, the destination was clear. However, the entertaining detour of the last few minutes got her sidetracked. Suddenly, the clink of his buckle has her very much looking forward to the removal of those last few articles of clothing.

Buckle undone, hips still swaying languidly with the beat, he takes a moment to unbutton and unzip his jeans before whipping his belt from its loops with a flourish.

Just as the singer croons, “Throw your clothes on the floor,” Adrien’s jeans fall to the hardwood.

Marinette’s jaw is clenched, lips pressed tightly together, practically vibrating with her attempt to keep from laughing.

Undeterred, he steps from his jeans to the tune of “I’m gonna take my clothes off, too” and promptly trips, falling toward the armrest of the sofa and just barely catching himself with one hand instead of his handsome face, though his knees hit the floor with a heavy thump.

Marinette jumps up, nerves alive with adrenaline and worry, and rushes around the sofa toward him.

“Oh my god, Adrien! Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

He’s clearly mortified, blushing from the tips of his ears to the top of his chest.

“No, no, I’m fine,” he hastily assures her as he gets to his feet again and kicks his traitorous jeans under the foosball table, sending a withering glare in their direction.

Marinette perches on the sofa again, but she’s still wound tightly after watching him fall.

The song nears its end, trailing off in a medley of warbling voices. After a pause, the slow and sexy intro builds again as the song repeats.

Adrien matches the rhythm with his hips once more, now clad in only black boxer briefs, and dance-walks to the fireman’s pole.

"No..." she whispers under her breath.

"Yes!" he sings, drawing out the vowel on a long, dramatic vibrato.

He grabs the pole with one hand and leans away, letting gravity take over as he spins once, then twice around it.

In the next moment, he's shimmying to the top, only his bare feet visible beneath the mezzanine floor. Suddenly, his upper body drops through upside-down, his head missing the metal by inches. Right knee wrapped around the pole, his right hand grips loosely as he slides slowly toward the floor.

The look of sheer joy on his face is contagious. Marinette squeals with laughter and applauds his showmanship when he unhooks his knee and flips to the floor, throwing his arms in the air like an Olympic gymnast who's just landed a perfect dismount.

Clearly soaking up her approval, Adrien spins lazily around the pole, this time locked around it by the crook of his elbow.

Soon he scrambles up the pole again, calling down to her, "Hey, Marinette! I'm Père Noël!"

When he pops up against the mezzanine railing, he finds her face looking up at him scrunched in confusion.

"I'm at the North Pole!"

"Boo!" she heckles, rolling her eyes. "Two out of ten. You can do better."

He's still laughing on his next descent, this time going for a "Look Mari, no hands!" approach. He leans his entire body away from the pole and slides down on one hooked knee, using the core strength that must be hidden in those sculpted abs she enjoys so much to keep his torso nearly perpendicular to the pole.

Now, that's at least relatively impressive.

Marinette whistles her appreciation, judiciously ignoring his crash landing.

"Bravo, bravo!" She blows him a flurry of kisses as he bows. "You make a great case for why every child should grow up with a stripper pole in their bedroom."

His face falls into an indignant pout. "It's a fireman's pole and you know it," he huffs.

She waves her hand. "Semantics."

This is quickly devolving into a nearly-nude comedy routine punctuated by feats of strength and agility, but the sultry music still plays in the background, the song now entering its third encore.

Adrien shakes his head at his girlfriend in mock solemnity.

"I should've known you weren't ready for the pole shebang."

She bites back the immediate and obvious retort that comes to mind on a wave of red and black and green déjà vu. There's no way she's heard that awful joke before...right?

Marinette shakes the thought of her superhero partner from her mind and focuses instead on watching - okay, appreciating - Adrien's delicious backside when he bends forward and grips the pole with both hands. Although this current view of a muscled back, strong thighs, and black-clad ass that could've been carved from marble by a Renaissance master is eerily reminiscent of her longtime partner, she is absolutely not thinking about Chat Noir right now.

No. Way.

Except she is. She can't help it.

Because when Adrien hops from the floor and uses the strength in his upper arms to hold himself upside down, knee hooking around the pole, she knows she's seen this before.

Long ago, on a dark rooftop in La Défense, high above the city, two teenage superheroes out way past their bedtime talked and laughed and ate day-old pastries, sharing a thermos of hot tea.

"Hey, Bugaboo! Watch this!"

Famous last words, she thinks, giving him an amused half-smile and shaking her head at the disaster that's certainly to come. He's such a try-hard. Such a dork. No one could be a better partner than he is.

Chat Noir walks to a spot beneath an air duct that crosses the roof about fifteen feet overhead. He presses the button on his baton, and it creates a vertical tension rod between the ground and the metal above. He tests its sturdiness before cracking his knuckles and grinning at his partner.

It's almost impressive, watching him climb upward using only his hands and his Miraculous-granted strength, back and legs perfectly parallel to the pole until he gets to the top and slides back down in a curving arc to the roof below.

Ladybug claps politely when he bows but can't hide her grin.

"Well, what else can you do, Acrochat?"

"Ha! Good one, My Lady! Prepare to be amazed." He claps once to psych himself up before taking to the pole again, this time holding on with only one hand as he kicks out from the ground in a spin, whirling around the pole like a superpowered human tetherball. He catches the pole with his other hand after a few rotations and uses the momentum to bring his legs up over his head to hook one knee around the pole. Dangling upside-down, he spreads his arms wide with exuberance.

She giggles at his antics and claps again, this time adding a little cheer for good measure. It was a pretty cool trick, after all.

"That, Bugaboo," he says cockily, shooting her upside-down finger guns, "is the pole kit and kaboodle."

Ladybug rolls her eyes and groans. "That was bad, even for you, Minou."

She wonders how he'll get down from that position, but isn't left wondering for long. He grips the pole with both hands close to the roof above his head. This looks...precarious. When he unhooks his knee, he tries to hold himself up with his arms, but gravity is too strong for even a superhero sometimes.

He flops to the ground, then konks his elbow on the baton when he tries to stand up. He shakes out the tingles and grabs his staff with his other hand, shrinking it to its stowable size.

Howling with laughter, Ladybug whips her yo-yo from her waist and opens the communicator, typing the number 10 in a large font on the screen. When he turns to face her, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, she holds it up high, hollering, "Woohoo!"

The true, celestial stars really aren't visible above major metropolitan cities like Paris. But tonight, Ladybug sees them in her partner's eyes as he laughs along with her. Moments like this with your very best friend don't come along every day, especially for two 16-year-old superheroes carrying the weight of the world.

"You might want to practice that dismount, Chaton," she wheezes.

"You know what, My Lady? I think I can do that."

It's a precious memory, and Marinette is reliving it right now.

Adrien's knee is hooked around the fireman's pole that's inexplicably part of the decor of his bedroom and not a superhero's baton wedged beneath a commercial air duct. But it doesn't matter. The sheer joy on his face, the way he spreads his arms wide and gazes at her upside-down - it's Chat Noir through and through. She didn’t know it two minutes ago, but she knows it now with an ironclad certainty.

And she knows exactly what he'll say next.

"That, my love," he declares, finger guns and all, "is the pole kit and kaboodle."

Marinette laughs because there's nothing else she can do.

When he grasps the pole above his head to prepare the dismount, Marinette reaches for her phone on the coffee table and opens the text app. This time, he lands on his feet, though he still konks his elbow on the pole as he stands up.

"Why does that always happen?" He mutters under his breath as he shakes the tingles out of his arm.

Adrien turns toward the sofa but stops in his tracks when she holds up her phone, a large-font perfect 10 lighting up the screen.

"You might want to practice that dismount, Chaton," she says softly, voice trembling with both nerves and the hysterical laughter she can barely suppress. "You did better than last time, though."

She watches the emotions cross his face one at a time - surprise, confusion, shock, and a dawning incredulity - before he looks from her eyes to her phone and back again.

"My...Lady?"

She nods, wide-eyed, blushing, her pulse roaring in her ears. There's no way this is happening. There's no way she's sitting on Chat Noir's sofa in her bra and panties.

Adrien stares at the floor and rubs the back of his neck. (Of course he does. In all these years, how did she not see it? How did she not see it in every little thing he did?)

"I..." he trails off, taking a deep breath. "I forced myself to get over you...because I'd fallen in love with you."

Marinette nods again.

"And I turned you down over and over because I was in love with you."

Forget him talking to her chest. This exchange is the most ridiculous thing she's ever witnessed in her life. Wild laughter bursts from her again unbidden, and this time she can't stop.

Hundreds of moments and memories of the past five years crash over her, friendship and love and heroic duty, anguish and joy and everything in between. Four separate lives become two before blending into one incredible relationship.

Holy shit.

She’s been dating Chat Noir for more than a year. She’s been sleeping with Chat Noir for six months! She is, in fact, intending to have sex with Chat Noir in approximately the next ten minutes.

She’s...truly, wildly, deeply in love with Chat Noir.

Of course she is. Of course.

Tears spring to her eyes even as she laughs herself toward hyperventilation.

Adrien - Chat Noir! - kneels on the floor in front of the sofa, his beautiful features painted with worry, and takes her shaking hands in his.

“My Lady? Marinette? Talk to me, please. Are you--?”

“I’m fine,” she manages to croak. “I promise.”

Several deep breaths later, she’s almost gotten herself under control. Her pulse is racing, but that’s probably not going to settle for quite a while, especially if he’s still amenable to what she’s now nearly-desperate to do in the next few minutes.

The relief in his eyes when she smiles and reaches out to caress his cheek makes her heart ache.

“I love you so much,” she whispers. The words are spoken without thought, as though they’ve come straight from her heart and bypassed her brain entirely, but the statement shines with the same truth it held the first time she said it to him and every time since.

“Still?” He asks quietly.

Oh, Minou.

“More,” she answers. “Always.”

He surges up on his knees, wrapping her in his arms and pressing his lips to hers in a kiss so full of passion it sends a shiver down her spine.

Marinette responds in kind, willing him to feel every bit of love she has for him, no matter what name he goes by.

This is beyond her imagination, and she'll undoubtedly freak out about it later, but right now, in Adrien's arms, it's shockingly easy to slot the two together, her partner and the love of her life. Of course they'd been in love with each other all this time. They're meant to be partners in every facet of life, it seems.

There is a very important discussion in their future, but it's already waited five years, and it can wait until they show each other exactly how much they love one another. Moments like these don't come along every day, especially for two young adults in love, who also happen to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders.

The blissful, lovestruck look on his face as he enters her is stamped on her memory anew each time they find themselves entwined like this. It’s so beautiful, and only, ever, always for her. Tonight when he fills her and she gasps, “Yes, Chaton!” against his lips - oh, his expression is priceless.

From the other side of the room, Boys II Men quietly sing “I’ll Make Love to You” on an endless loop. And Marinette delights in letting Adrien do just that.

[ranger-jedi-knight]

A New Hero Chap 25

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20887313/chapters/66536767 Taglist: @bluesimani​

Ok, so here’s the next chap!! Just a reminder, next Wed, I have job training so after that, IDK how much time I’ll actually have to write. So ya, updates will be slower n randomer. Ok, enjoy!!

“These look great, thank you, Mari,” Lana said smiling as she looked at the suits Mari helped them make. Mari beamed at the two with a nod. “Well, I can’t let you two go out in something atrocious like the bat family's choices if I can help it. Tikki also blessed it so that it’s not easy to get throu,” Mari added with a giggle. “Go, try them on!'' The two left the living room of Lana’s apartment and changed into the gear they would be wearing as Gotham’s newest vigilantes. Lana exited her bedroom quickly and moved to stand in front of Mari to let her see how it fit. “Perfect fit,” she hummed out with a smile, glad she got the measurements right.

Lana smiled as she looked down at her suit. It consisted of a dark gray, near close to black, under armour that was sleeveless. It went up her neck mandarin style with a gold lining making a couple of ‘openings’ to show her neck. Over it was a purple, sleeveless kimono/robe-esque covering that slowly transitioned to darker and transparent purple at the end at past mid-calf. It had a hood attached and had a gold lining around the front of it that ended mid chest. On her shoulders and down was black that ended, split up in points at the end of the gold. Her shoulders were bare with the gold lining making half-circles starting at mid-upper arm and ended above her elbows. Under the gold was purple sleeves that went to her hands, held in place by a loop around her middle fingers.

Around her waist was a magenta-y colored sash that was knotted with gold wings on either side keeping it in place. On the sash were two purple and red metal fans along with a pouch in the same color. On her back were two silver escrima sticks. On both thighs, were red straps holding two deep red pouches that contained zip-ties and other things that would help her in battle. Black, heeled boots covered her feet. The heels were purple that could be taken out to show a compartment to hold sds, flash drives, and the like. They were knee high with a similar pattern to her color with gold trim. To finish it off, a red domino mask covered her eyes and her hair was pulled into a bun with a ribbon that matched the sash.

“Excellently made, as always, Angel,” Damian said, causing Mari to blush. Lana chuckled softly as she shook her head at the two in front of her.

Xan came out next and Mari nodded once more with a smile. His suit consisted of a deep gray, loose shirt that was styled like a karate gi. It’s lapel was deep blue with the collar mandarin style. The sleeves were short and big letting him move his arms more. Over it was a black cloak that stopped at his hips with a pin that had a stylized M, and a hood. Under the cloak but over the shirt was a red belt/strap that went from his shoulder to side holding pellets of knockout gas and smoke. Around his waist was a pale gold/yellow sash that held a couple of pouches holding zipties and throwing star-like items.

His shirt continued down on one side to mid-thigh, laying on top of another wrap-like item that was a deeper blue than the lining with gold lines running in arcs all over. On his right thigh was a blue pouch holding tools. Knee high combat boots covered his feet and tucked in the deep gray pants. Black gloves covered his hands, held in place by pale gold/yellow strings. Resting on his back was a red handled katana that was blunted and acted more like a staff. Covering his eyes was a red domino mask.

“Lookin good, Xan,” Lana said and Xan nodded back to her with a smile.

“That looks similar to-” Damian started but then cut off, but everyone knew what he was talking about. It was similar to the training outfits worn at the League of Shadows.

“They were a….big part of why I’m ready to fight crime. While I don’t like it, I’m more suited to fighting in this style of clothing,” he said and Damian nodded to that.

“Then make it your own.”

Xan smiled at those words and nodded. Mari beamed at the two of them and glanced outside. “Well, the sun is setting so you should be able to run around the rooftops and get used to them,” Mari suggested and the two nodded.

“What are you going to call yourselves?” Damian asked and the two shared a look.

“I’ll go by Huntress,” Lana said after a moment and the two nodded.

“Fitting.”

“I’m not sure,” Xan replied with a hum, thinking about what would fit. Lana had a smile as a gleam entered her eye.

“We’ll call you Kit until you figure out a name,” she said with a cackle, easily dodging Xan as the two started laughing as well.

“It’s something for the time being,” Mari replied between laughs and Xan looked at her betrayed.

“Come on, Kit! We’ve got to patrol!” she called out running to the balcony and jumping off it. He scowled but followed after her with a shake of his head.

“I’m not being called that!”

“Then pick a name before someone talks to us!”

Mari giggled as she transformed and followed after them herself. “You coming?” she asked and Damian soon nodded after a bit. After Mari left, he quickly changed into his Robin gear and ran after the three.

“There are some places you’ll want to avoid as they are frequented by Rogues. Not all Rogues need to be avoided, but, well,” Robin trailed off and the two nodded.

“It would be good to know anyways. Wouldn’t want to accidentally run into Two-Face or something,” Huntress said and Ladybug nodded.

“I can agree. It was not fun running into a Rogue when first starting out,” Ladybug said with a grimace.

“At least we don’t have to worry about Joker,” Kit muttered and the three nodded agreement. Screaming sounded out causing the four to stop running before turning to the sound. Hiding behind a ledge, they watched as a man entered the bank. The man was wearing a sleeveless black under armour, with a multi-colored knitted scarf, fingerless gloves, and sash. The sash had a few balls of yarn along with a couple knitting needles sticking out. On his back stuck out quite a few more knitting needles. On his feet were purple, knee-high combat boots and covering his face was a black domino mask. Strings went from his gloves to two monsters in front of him, they were knitted too. They had eerie white yarn over their mouths as if in a vain attempt to close it, but that didn’t stop the two from either smiling or frowning. Along their ‘hands’ and ‘feet’ three knitting needles stuck out along with some sticking out of their backs.

“Who is that?” Huntress muttered.

“I’m not sure. Do you want us to take care of it?” Robin asked and Huntress shook her head.

“No, we got this,” she replied standing up with Kit right behind her. “See you in a few,” giving a salute, she pulled out a grappling gun and pushed off the ledge. She shot the grapple back and swung down to the street and landed with a roll. Her right arm behind her, slipping the grappling gun back into place before grabbing an escrima from her back. Her left arm pulled a fan from her sash and flicked it open. Kit landed soon after she did and flicked his blunted katana out of its holder on his back. “New to town? Stealing from a bank isn’t the best way to make friends,” Huntress called out and the man turned startled.

“Who are you?” the man asked as his knitted creations turned to them.

“We’re the newest vigilantes to Gotham. Figured the big Bat could use some help so that he could focus on the big bads. Call me Huntress. But the better question is, who are you? And why did you think you’d succeed in Gotham of all places?” Huntress asked with a shake of her head as Kit snorted next to her.

“And him?” the man asked. Kit grumbled next to her, causing Huntress to cover her snort with a cough.

“Haven’t thought of a proper name….” he started.

“Call him Kit for the time being,” Huntress finished and the man stuck his chin up with a smirk.

“Well, you may have heard of me, they call me The Knitter!” he shouted and the two shared a look before shaking their heads.

“Never heard of ya before,” Huntress said while Kit tilted his head.

“Is ‘the’ part of your name? Or…?”

“I-” the man stopped with a confused look. “You haven’t heard of me? And yes it is!”

“Well, The Knitter, we have not heard of ya before. I doubt any Gothamite has,” Huntress said, twirling her escrima in hand.

“Prepare to be taken down,” Kit continued and The Knitter growled before throwing a hand out at them.

“Then prepare for your doom! My darling creations will knit you into an early grave!” the man shouted as the creatures then ran forward, with a swipe, knitting needles flew at them. Huntress ran forward and knocked aside the needles with her fan and gave a soft grunt as she then hit one of the creatures with her escima. Kit ran after the other one and slashed at it. The creature hit each stroke with a paw, the needles clanging against his sword each time. He jumped back with narrowed eyes before pulling out a small, black throwing knife. The handle was wrapped with a deep blue cord until the end were a hoop was, big enough for his finger to slip throu and twirl.

He threw the knife at the strings as The Knitter yelled out. As soon as the strings were cut, the creature fell to the ground lifelessly. Huntress smirked as she rushed forward and swung her fan, cutting throu the strings as well.

The Knitter yelled out when he saw his creatures fall lifelessly to the ground. He then pulled out a couple of knitting needles and ran at the two. Huntress ran forward and knocked aside the needles easily with her fans. She swung her leg in a sweeping motion, knocking him onto his back. Kit ran over pulling out zip ties and held them ready as Huntress pushed the man onto his stomach and let Kit zip tie him. “The GPD will be here soon and you will be booked,” Huntress said as she pulled The Knitter into a sitting position as the two stood to either side of the man.

The Knitter grumbled angrily next to them as they waited for the GPD. People all around them looked at them shocked, taking photos of them.

Alya soon arrived at the scene with Dick and some other officers. They paused shocked while Alya just moved forward and nodded, sending them a smile. “Thank you…?” she asked, since while she knew who they were UNDER the mask, she didn’t know the names they chose.

“Huntress,” she said and Alya nodded, looking over at Kit.

“For the time being, I’m going by Kit,” he said and Alya stifled a snort at seeing his face.

“Thank you, Huntress and Kit,” she managed with a straight face. She then took the man from them and marched him over to the cruiser.

“Come on, Kit!” Huntress called jumping up and off buildings back to the rooftops.

“You guys did well,” Robin admitted and the two shared a smile as Ladybug held a fist out for them to hit.

“Thanks. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of The Knitter,” Huntress said as they ran across the roofs.

“That may be true. But I have no doubt that you two will have it handled easily,” Ladybug replied with Robin nodding agreement.

“Now, let’s go see what places we should avoid!” Kit replied and the two nodded, continuing to lead them off.

Owl Blocked Again @owlforlife

LOOK AT THIS!!! NEW VIGILANTES!! And a new Rogue???? #weird #butawesome #newvigilantes #newbatfam??? *Huntress and Kit fighting the knitted creatures then another picture of them holding the man down waiting for police*

Ok, so here’s the new chap! I hope you guys enjoyed it!! If the link to their outfit doesn’t work plz tell me. But also, here’s this chaps link to Tumblr that has the outfits already: . Again, I hope you enjoy it, new chaps will be randomly updated due to many things. Until Next time!! -Love Willa<3<3<3

[dariadraws]

and my final piece so far for @geekinthecorner‘s @batfam-big-bang fic Bats Of The West, it’s Jason Todd! ngl i think this is one of the ones i had the most fun with, and also the one i crammed the most details into that no one but me will ever know exist, but i’ll share a few of them under the cut, along with the image description. plus, a list of all of Jason’s scars in this au, and how he got them.

also, like i said, this is my final piece so far but i fully intend to come back and round out the batfam, draw all the other characters i havent had a chance to get to yet, so keep an eye out for that, and in the meantime here’s some fun facts!

alright so. first off, just some general overall thoughts on Jason and some of the details i added here.

 his gun in the first pic is super expensive and pretty, but i imagine he doesnt use is as often as some of his other ones, simply because when he’s out in The Wilderness tracking down criminals for weeks on end, it’s not really the kind of place you want to bring your prettiest, most expensive gun. when he’s on the ranch or in town tho, or really just anywhere where he doesnt anticipate needing to rough it for more than a couple days (which isnt the same as not expecting the need to get rough), he’s probably got this gun.

his gun belt and holster are a whole other story tho. he spent exactly zero dollars and zero cents on them, just assembled them from some spare leather they had lying around, which is why theyre in such Not Great condition, and also why the belt itself ended up so long. he could cut it down to a more reasonable size, but it’s not like there’s anything else he could make from those scraps anyways, so why bother.

that big gun in the second image isn’t technically his tho, it’s the Communal Ranch Rifle. mainly it’s just used to scare away coyotes (or, yknow, actually hit coyotes) but it does occasionally see real action as well, tho not often.

also. does it even need to be said? his hat.. holder... bead... thing. with the turquoise inlay. is a gift from Dick

alright and now the fun part! i go through all of jason’s scars, and how he got them. there are quite a few and a lot of them are. Sad. so be warned, and take care of yourselves! (also just for the record, i promise the fic itself isnt actually as dark as this will make it sound. basically none of this shows up in the story, i was just given free reign to design whatever i wanted, and poor jason ended up paying the price)

ok so. scars. 

first off, the claw and bit marks on his arms and shoulders are from getting attacked by some coyotes back when he was still just a kid. to quote my explanation back when i pitched this to Em, “bc as a Young Human with minimal supervision and not necessarily having someone to call him inside once it gets dark, he was unfortunately Very Delicious, if somewhat scrawny, by coyote standards”

next up: a bullet scar on his abdomen, on his lower left side (our right), from some kind of shootout with a criminal. this one is middling-recent; after bruce adopted him, but before the joker thing. i dont really have anything concrete for that one but it was a through and through, and somehow, miraculously, missed hitting any bones, and any organs. just missed his lower rib by like. an inch. that one messed bruce up more than jason, honestly. if anything, he was just surprised it took him that long to get shot, with the life he's had

the ones on his cheek and on his chin were just Regular Childhood Shenanigans scars, no real story.

the one through his mouth is from his time with the joker though. there's also the J brand on his right bicep, also from the joker.

also joker related, hes got a lot of scars on his hands, especially his knuckles and fingertips, from trying to fight his way out of his captivity, and scratching his fingers raw trying to pry open the door to his cell/untie the rough rope he way tied with/whatever the specific situation was. also some minor rope burn scars on his wrists from the same deal.

also some blade scars across his palms from trying to stop/block knives. definitely with the joker, but probably at some point in his youth as well

a few faint lines across his neck from being a temporary hostage a few time while helping Bruce on cases when he was younger, but none of them ever went deep or caused any serious damage

oh and also, whip scars on his back from his time with the joker, which arent too prominent, and mostly cant be seen from the front, except for a couple of spots where they crest over his shoulders and the very tail ends of them can be seen, but they’re there 

and also some kind of straight scar on his left forearm, which was a carry-over from my usual Jason design, that i like but dont really have a story for, so that one’s purely aesthetic, lol

and that’s it! i think? that’s all my notes on that? either way this post is getting Way Too Long, and i still gotta do the image descriptions, so i’m calling it there. 

[IMAGE ID: two images of Jason Todd in old-fashioned cowboy clothing. He has red, curly hair with a streak of white running through it at the front. his skin is pale but sunburnt, has deep-blue eyes, many freckles both on his face and on the rest of his exposed skin, and his body is broad and muscular, and he has many scars. he has small round metal piercings in the lobes of both ears, as well as an additional two in the top cartilege of his right ear.

in the first image, he is facing directly at the viewer with his arms crossed, and a challenging look on his face. he is wearing a maroon cowboy shirt with checkered red accent at the chest and the sleeves rolled up to his upper arms. he has a dark blue polka-dot bandana tied around his neck, and over that pass two strands of red braided cord holding his tan cowboy hat, which is visible hanging off his neck behind him. the cords are tipped with small metal beads, and pass through a large, dark brown wooden bead inset with turquoise, which regulates their length. he is wearing dark-wash blue jeans with prominent yellow stitching, pulled over his cowboy boots up to the ankle until only the foot of each boot is visible. the boots are dark brown with pale seams and red stitching, and light brown heels and soles. fastened around each boot are embossed red spur-straps, with metal spurs extending from them behind the boots. at his waist are two cracked leather belts. one is dark brown, with a pale silver buckle stamped with vine designs, and it is threaded through his belt loops. the second belt is hanging diagonally over his hips and holds his gun and holster. this belt is a reddish tan with a pattern of darker brown, overlapping rings down its length, and has a darker silver buckle. it is long enough that the loose end of it wraps back around itself several times before hanging down. the holster is simple brown leather folded over the gun, with two straps to tighten it. the gun itself is an ornate and expensive-looking revolver, black metal with intricate gold detailing and a mother-of-pearl grip.

in the second image, he is facing slightly to the side, with a long shotgun propped over his shoulder with one hand and an unimpressed expression on his face as he looks somewhere to the right of the viewer. he is shirtless, and his torso is muscled, stocky, and as sunburned and freckled as the rest of him. his cowboy hat is hanging off his neck again behind him, once more held in place by the braided red cord and round wood-and-turquoise bead. he is wearing tan, high-waisted pants tucked into his cowboy boots, which are the same as in the first image but now fully visible, with red pulls at the top. the pants are attached to red suspenders, though they are not on his shoulders and hang down around him instead. his gunbelt is once more around his hips, but the holster is obscured behind him, and isn't visible. the hand not holding the shotgun is down loosely at his side, and has a red and white bandana wrapped around the wrist. END ID]

[bombshellbois]

Killer Summer

@harringroveweekoflove

Harringrove Week of Love Day 5: Summer Camp AU

Rating: T

Warnings/Triggers: Dark humor, brief description of a corpse

Words: 2122

Summary: Billy’s big summer plans for him and Steve get derailed by the common annoyances of summer camps, such as children and serial killers.

The rain hits the cabin windows in heavy splatters, smacking into the glass in a way that makes Steve vaguely wonder how old the window are. And if heavy enough rain might break them. It certainly doesn’t feel like that’s impossible when those windows are the only thing between him and a downpour that’s quite literally tearing the forest apart. He sighs and decides not to think about that. Instead, he picks up the handheld mic for the ham radio and pushes the button on the side.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Steve Harrington, radioing in from Camp Know Where. The storm has knocked out our power and there is debris blocking the road out. Two of our counselors are unaccounted for. We have children out here. I repeat, we have no power and no way out of the woods.” 

He releases the button and watches the mic like it might do something. Then the radio. Silence. He throws the mic on the desk, scrubbing a hand over his face as it clatters into the body of the radio and falls off the desk.

The cabin door swings open and the wind carries it right into the wall. The rain outside is just a wall of noise, making Steve cover his ears. Billy scrambles into the cabin, the rain splattering in more than halfway across the room when the wind picks up, until he slams the door behind him. 

“—Mother Nature, fucking PMS bitch!” Billy is saying, which Steve can only hear once he’s safely shut the door. Billy’s camp shirt is saturated, the green fabric dark with water and looking almost black in the dim light from the oil lamp. He slams a thermos down on the desk and shakes his head rapidly, sending a spray of water everywhere. 

“Dude!” Steve raises his arms to try and shield himself from it. “Come on, I just barely got dry!” 

“Hey, I risked life and limb to bring you coffee. Deal with it.” Billy grabs a handful of Steve’s collar, the water on his hand immediately soaking into Steve’s shirt. Steve groans in irritation, but turns his head up and gives Billy the kiss he’s waiting for. Water drips from Billy’s curls onto his face and and neck. 

“That’s more like it,” Billy sighs, releasing his shirt. He jerks his chin at the mic from the ham radio, swinging gently from its cord where it’s fallen off the desk. “Don’t suppose you were roughing that thing up because you were so happy to get an answer.”

“I don’t even know if this thing is working,” Steve sighs. “Nothing on it does anything. For all I know, I could be talking to a dead battery.”

“Don’t your nerd children know how to use it?” Billy asks, stripping off his sopping shirt. 

“Yeah, but I’m not dragging them out of the storm shelter to come work the radio.” Steve picks up the mic so he can pretend he wasn’t staring at Billy’s chest, setting it on top of the radio. “I mean, honestly? What are we even calling for?”

“You know what.” Billy wrings his shirt out by the door, since the floor is hopelessly soaked there already. The water dribbles into a puddle on the floor, and when he snaps the shirt back open, it still drips from the corners. “Hopper said you had to keep him in the loop.”

“Yeah, I know. I know he’s freaked out by the weird shit that’s been going on, especially with El’s battery still being dead.” Honestly, if the storm hadn’t come on so suddenly and buried them under sheets of water, Hopper probably would have come and picked El up as soon as he heard about the very lived-in tent they found in the woods while hiking. The one with a compost pile suggesting someone has been living there at least the whole summer. “But a fucking Demogorgon could come and knock on the window right now and what is the forest service gonna do about it?” Steve gestures wildly at the radio that might not even fucking work for all he knows. “Fire up a helicopter in the middle of a deluge?”

“I mean, knowing Hopper he’d probably pull on a raincoat and come shoot it. It’d take him hours to get here and we’d all be dead by then, of course,” Billy says sensibly, leaning his hip on the desk. 

Steve snorts out a laugh. It’s morbid but the image of Hopper in a yellow rain slicker, slogging his way through a mudslide and holding his gun over his head like some kind of small-town Rambo... it’s a pretty fucking funny image. Especially when combined with the severe stress they’ve been under, with finding the tent and then the broken locks in the boat house and now the storm that basically just fell on top of them.

“Not to mention that Demogorgons are pretty bullet-proof,” he adds.

“Ah. Can’t forget that part,” Billy agrees, leaning down and kissing Steve again. “So, y’know... once he ran out of bullets, he’d have to pistol-whip it into submission.”

Steve snickers and wraps a hand around the back of Billy’s neck. “You made me laugh. I’m gonna share my coffee with you for that.” He reaches for the thermos, but Billy nudges it just out of reach. 

“I can think of way better ways for you to thank me, pretty boy,” he says, lowering his voice to a husky whisper. 

“I know you can. You’ve been hinting at that all summer.” Not terribly subtly either, because when was Billy ever subtle? More like leaving condoms hidden everywhere in Steve’s bed like some fucked-up cousin of the tooth fairy.

“And this might be our only chance to not have anyone else around.”

Steve rolls his eyes and leans further over the desk, snatching the thermos. “The kids aren’t around because we’re in an emergency weather situation. And Tommy and Carol aren’t around because they’re off fucking. Again.”

“Sounds like they’re the only ones having fun this summer.” Billy picks up the radio mic and pushes the button. “Mayday, mayday, mayday... this is Billy Hargrove, calling from Camp Know Where. We’ve lost power and the road is blocked and there’s about to be twenty minutes of unmanned radio waves while I take my boyfriend into the back room and bend him over a kayak.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Twenty whole minutes? How romantic.”

“Ooh. Boyfriend is displeased.” Billy clicks his tongue. “Make that forty unmanned minutes. Forty-five if we cuddle.”

“Oh I expect cuddling.” Steve pries the mic out of Billy’s hand and drops it aside. Standing from the desk, he hooks a finger under Billy’s belt and pulls.

In the time it takes to cross the tiny cabin space, it’s impossible to tell who’s pulling and who’s being pulled. They practically fall into the back room where the lake equipment is stored. There are hard shadows cast by the kayaks leaning on the wall, but the faint light from the oil lamp on the desk in the main cabin doesn’t offer much more detail. Not that that matters. 

When Billy trips over a pile of oars he can’t see on the floor, he just hauls Steve down on top of him, grabbing his hair and pulling him in for a kiss. Steve’s hands grope at him, fingers passing over flesh and scars until they find the metal buckle of his belt. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Steve’s method of yanking blindly isn’t doing much on Billy’s belt. Billy laughs breathlessly and reaches down to help him. When the leather tongue finally slips free, Steve makes a triumphant noise into their mouths and throws the belt aside. The metal skitters lightly on the wood and taps gently against a wall somewhere. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Billy pushes Steve onto his back on something that feels soft. Steve shifts and tries to get comfortable, but something is jabbing into his back, It feels like he’s laying on the life preservers, but they’re folded in all the wrong ways. “To lumpy,” he complains. Trying to move away doesn’t work either, because something hard and wooden just knocks into his knee, making him hiss. 

“Okay, get the light.” Steve rubs at his knee, trying to ease the throbbing sting of it. Billy makes a frustrated noise but gets off him and goes back into the main cabin. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Steve looks around in the dark. What the hell is that sound anyway? The shadows cast by the kayaks swing wildly as Billy picks up the light source and carries it inside. 

“Here. Hurry up and get comfy,” he says, handing Steve the lamp. “With our luck, the rain’ll clear up and all the kids’ll come charging in when I’m still balls deep in you.”

“You’re so charming.” Steve stands up, side-stepping the oars that he can see now. He holds the light aloft, letting it fall on the window. It swings in the gusty wind outside, rapping against its own frame. The wood under it is dark and glistening from the rain. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

“...Why is the window open?” 

Billy groans like the wait might kill him. “It’s open because it blew open,” he says, stepping around the oars and over to the window. 

“Can it even do that?” Steve asks, looking around the room.

“It just did.” Billy yanks the window closed. “There. All fixed. Back to undressing.”

“You’re impossible.” Steve kicks at the pile of life vests, trying to form a more pleasant-looking pile. 

“Impossibly horny because you don’t put out,” Billy huffs, unbuttoning his own pants. 

“We’ve been at a summer camp surrounded by kids!” Steve sets the lamp on the ground and flops down on his pile, unfastening his belt. 

“And now we’re not, for a very limited time. So quit wasting it.” Billy pulls a condom from his back pocket and drops it on Steve’s stomach before shucking his pants off. 

“Asshole.” Steve tips his head up and kisses Billy as he kneels between his legs and then settles his weight on top of him. Something is still jamming into his back once he’s got Billy on top of him. 

“Dammit.” Steve pushes Billy off and twists around to grab the lamp. “What the hell is wrong with these things?” He yanks on one of the vests free from the pile.

The problem is not the vests. The problem is the arm. The pale, naked arm laying limp on the ground under the pile. 

Oh god.

Steve grips the lantern harder to make sure his hand doesn’t shake and slowly lowers the light to follow the arm back, back, back into the dark space under one of the shelving units. 

Tommy’s dead eyes stare back at him. His face is white and his mouth is hanging open, the lamp casting hard shadows in his mouth, turning it into a black maw. His green Camp Know Where t-shirt is matted in something dark, but the body is crammed into a space too small to see it clearly. 

Steve stares at the body. Billy, crouched beside him, stares at the body. He turns to look at Steve, reaching over to take the lamp before Steve drops it.

“Okay. Steve?”

“..Yeah?” 

“I think we should still do it.”

Steve pauses for a long minute, having to run that through his head a few times. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” 

“Fucking hell, Hargrove!” Steve shoves him aside and scrambles up off the floor. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”

“He’d want us to!” Billy calls after him. “Come on, Steve, honor his memory!”

In the main cabin, he can hear Steve picking up the mic for the radio. “Mayday, mayday, mayday, we have an emergency situation at Camp Know Where...”

Billy groans in frustration and kicks the limp arm hanging out into the room. “Way to fucking cockblock, Hagan,” he sneers, pulling his pants back on. “I hope they let me write your eulogy so I can tell everyone what a sycophantic suck-up you were. And then I’m gonna piss in your open grave.”

“Billy!” Steve yells. “Stop yelling at Tommy’s corpse and come help me figure out what the fuck to do!”

Billy throws his hands up and points at the arm. “Great. Now you got me in trouble,” he hisses. “This is why you got picked off first, because you’re a shitty friend.”  He snatches up his belt and stalks out of the storeroom to go help Steve deal with the stupid serial killer bullshit. 

***

Epilogue: Tommy’s funeral is lovely. Billy is not asked to write the eulogy, and Steve does not allow him to piss into the open grave, despite Billy’s best efforts.