#learning glorious things today

[quaranmine]

if you order iced tea in a restaurant/cafe in the Netherlands, it's almost guaranteed to be sparkling

as someone who loves iced tea and hates sparkling drinks, this is very disappointing

Whoa, interesting! I've never been to the Netherlands. I know iced tea in general is not at all common in Europe (even though it's a Staple beverage of my upbrining) but I would never have assumed that it would be sparkling on average. I do know that in Europe you have to specify "still water" when ordering since sparkling is so common, so maybe that's just. part of it lol

[ardent-ace]

Honestly a genuine shout-out to the little dickheads today who, upon receiving no response for several "Miss?"s, switched to "Sir?"!!!! Like genuinely so fucking happy! Yes they proceeded to make fun of me (not about the trans thing, mind you) but the switch made me feel so fuzzy. Like yes kids are still dickheads but they're more inclusive dickheads and honestly that's all I'm asking for 🥹

[cevansbrat0007]

Indecent Exposure Pt. III: Poolside Promises

Summary: You convince Ari to finally let you have a little fun this summer. But at what cost? Check out Part One!

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Dad's Best Friend Themes, Older Men/Younger Women Themes, Brief Allusion to Oral Sex, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Please heed all warnings. Part of my Indecent Exposure Series. If you'd like to be added to the tag list, please let me know.

Almost Two Weeks After Your Father's Departure...

You glide through the water effortlessly, seeking a brief relief from the summer heat. While the news had promised you and everyone else that today’s weather would be one for the books, the warnings still hadn’t been enough to prepare you for the heat that assailed you the moment you’d stepped out the back door. 

However, it’s not until you allow your head to break through the surface that you realize you were no longer alone. You had company. And he was also staring at you.

Again. It was something he had a habit of doing.

“Can I help you?” It’s a flatly delivered question. 

The man only shrugs, dragging a hand through his shaggy, chestnut brown locks. Frankly, he looked so much like his brother you were almost surprised that you’d never really noticed just how many similarities they actually shared.

Same striking blue eyes. Same massive build. Same chiseled jaw that looked great with or without a beard. But where Steve always possessed an aura or control, Ari emanated something a little more raw and untamed. 

You found found that it sometimes did funny things to those annoying butterflies that had seemingly taken up residence in your belly these days.

“Did you need something?” You try as you continue to tread water in the middle of the pool.

“Nothing you're quite prepared to give, sweet Clover.” Ari responds cryptically, his head cocking to the side as he continues to survey you. 

“Then why the hell do you keep staring at me?”

That was another thing you’d recently come to learn about Ari over the last couple of days. He didn’t seem to care whenever you decided to take a spicy tone with him – a fact you’d discovered when you’d found him sitting in your father’s study just the other morning.

You’d been so happy until that moment, especially since you’d previously been granted three days free of Bucky, Steve, and Andy. Your time alone had been glorious, even if it had proved to be short lived. 

You watch the older man closely, fascinated by the increasingly pronounced tick in his jaw. Hell, if he was allowed to stare then so would you. However, the question was, who would blink first?

Turns out, that award belonged to Ari. 

Humming a tune under his breath, he proceeds to grab a lawn chair before pulling it closer to the edge of the pool. Neither one of you says a word as he takes a seat, his sinewy muscles bunching and flexing beneath the thin fabric of his light gray t-shirt. 

“Just came out here to check on you.” He reaches up to scratch at his beard. “See how you were managing in this heat.”

“I’m managing by planning to spend all afternoon in the pool, like any other sane person would.”

“Ya know, I’m pretty sure Bucky and the boys made it clear that they don’t appreciate your little penchant for snark.” He muses, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.  

Probably. You inwardly concede. It definitely hasn't been winning you any favors. Which is why you often preferred to play the part of a mute. Whenever they allowed you to, that is.

“Doesn’t seem to bother you.” You respond honestly before closing your eyes and flipping your body so that you can float on your back, giving Ari a glimpse of your peaches and cream-colored bikini.

“That’s cuz’ not too much bothers me. I don’t allow it.” 

“Hmm…” You spread your arms, silently wishing you could simply float away from this conversation entirely. “Maybe you should talk to the others about that. Seems like I find a new way to piss them off every time I open my mouth.” 

“Nah.” Ari shrugs away your words as he continues to appear unbothered by the heat. “Something tells me they don’t quite know just what to do with a pretty little thing like you.” 

“Oh. And you do?” Well, you could safely say that you hadn’t been expecting that answer. 

“I’d certainly like to think so.” 

His statement hangs in the air as you both fall silent. While you weren’t quite sure what your would-be caretaker was talking about, it was definitely enough to make you think. And it’s at that moment that you decide to change tactics. Instead of floating here annoyed, perhaps it was time to use Ari’s seemingly indulgent personality to your benefit. 

A friend of yours was throwing a party tonight. And you wanted to go. 

When you’d previously brought it up to Bucky and Steve, they’d both hemmed and hawed over the subject – asking you all kinds of questions and refusing to give you anything more than a non-committal “we’ll have to see” or "we'll have to sit down and talk about it". And when you’d tried to play the ultimate trump card by calling your father, he’d sided with them. 

“I’m not there, pumpkin.” Your Dad had said while you’d been holed-up pouting in your room. “I asked your Uncles to watch over you, which means I’m gonna have to defer to them in situations like this one."

And, as luck would have it, you hadn’t been able to get your answer before they’d just up and disappeared on you like the overbearing assholes they were proving themselves to be.

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure I trust the judgment of anyone who’s crazy enough to sit out here in this heat and roast – not when there’s a perfectly good pool, like, right in front of them.”

“Not sure that pool of yours is big enough for the both of us.” Ari mutters, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. Although you get the feeling he’s talking more to himself than you. 

“It’s plenty big.” You eagerly reassure him, adjusting your position so that you can float closer to where your pseudo-guardian is sitting. “See? There’s aaall this space.”

For a second Ari appears unsure. And the closer you get, there’s no denying the fact that he was finally showing signs of feeling the heat. It’s hard to miss the thin line of sweat dotting along his brow.

“C’mon…” You urge, playfully splashing him. “Don’t be such a hard ass, Uncle Ari.” You decide to tack on the last bit for his benefit, all the while trying hard to keep the edge out of your tone. But if he notices, he thankfully doesn’t comment.

“Fine. Melt.” You heave an exasperated sigh when he still doesn’t move. Climbing onto a nearby pool raft, you turn your attention back to your companion. “Jesus, you guys are always so serious, like all of the time. I mean, what’s wrong with having a little fun?”

“Alright.” That’s all you get before he reaches to pull his shirt over his head, revealing the sculpted body hiding beneath.

You scarcely have the chance to appreciate the sight before you’re treated to the sound of a splash. You let out a squeal as water goes splashing everywhere, rewetting your already rapidly drying body. Seconds later, Ari’s head breaks through the water.

“Happy now, princess?” He disappears again, only to reappear closer to where you’re currently lounging. 

“Depends.” 

“On?” He asks, seemingly content to tread water alongside you. You’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t at least admit that the man was kind of attractive.

Or, as your friends had put it, sexy as hell. Yeah, you weren’t quite sure how you felt about that one.

“Well…” You hedge, giggling when he splashes you to encourage you to hurry up.

“Out with it, Clover. A closed mouth doesn’t get fed.” Or fucked. He silently adds.

“There’s this party I kinda wanted to go to tonight. All my friends will be there and I haven't really had the chance to celebrate my birthday with them yet.” You finish, your teeth going to worry your bottom lip. 

Ari studies you for a moment as he tries to figure out the best way to respond. “What did Uncle Steve and the others say?” He already knew that you'd asked them, and he wanted to make it clear that he’s not one to be so easily manipulated. “I’m assuming you asked them first.”

“They said “maybe”. Well, two of them did anyway. But then they left without ever giving me a real answer.” 

“I see.” He offers you a cheeky grin while pausing to swat at a wayward fly. “Maybe we should call them. See if they’ve finally made up their minds–.” 

“No!” You shoot straight up on your perch, accidently flipping the raft and sending you tumbling back into the icy cool water. You come up sputtering and coughing, and while you can’t quite tell, you’re also fairly certain that Ari is laughing at you.

“You all good?”

“Yeah.” You gag, hating the taste of chlorine. 

Ari nods before moving to retrieve your float. He’s even kind enough to hold it still long enough for you to climb back on it again. Only once he’s satisfied that you’re secure does he seem interested in continuing the conversation. 

“So…it sounds like you really wanna go to this party. Don’t you, Clover?” 

“Yes.” You breathe, refusing to say anything more than that just in case he was actually considering it. You’re so desperate that you don’t even balk when he begins swimming towards the edge of the pool, dragging you along with him. He doesn’t speak again until he’s reached his destination. 

“Tell me, will there be any drinking at this party?”

“Wha–no!”

“Now’s not the time to lie to me, princess. Will people be drinking at this party?” He reaches up to cup your chin, his brilliant blue eyes boring into yours as if he's attempting to unravel all of your secrets.

One by one.

“I swear! Grace’s parents would positively kill her if they found out she threw that kind of party.”

Ari quietly mulls over your answer before deeming it to be honest enough for his liking. “How about boys?”

Fuck. While you couldn’t be honest, you also didn’t want to lie. Not when you were this close to getting what you wanted. Which was freedom. 

“Her little brother will be there. He’s a couple grades below us. But it's not like she can kick him out or anything.”

“Just her little brother, huh?” You could tell he was feeling more than a little skeptical. However, you’re surprised when he seemingly lets it slide. Releasing his grip on your chin, he gives you a little push, content to let you float away. 

“I swear. We can’t do anything too crazy with him around – he’d rat us out sooo fast.”

Please believe me. Please believe me. Please believe me. 

Holding your breath, you watch as he climbs out of the water. He makes a beeline for your towel, patting himself dry to the best of his ability before draping it over his shoulder. 

“Okay, sweetheart. I might be willing to make an executive decision on this one, provided you’re willing to do something for me in return. Something that’ll keep at least some of the heat off of me when it comes to dealing with Steve and the boys.”

What you didn't know was that they had already discussed your desire to attend this party – him, Bucky, Andy, and Steve – and they'd decided that the answer was "no". But since you'd gone the last couple days without throwing a tantrum, Ari felt inclined to give you what you wanted. It also helped that he found your bratty ways to be rather endearing.

So long as you weren't outrightly disrespectful.

“Anything.” The word flies out of your mouth before you can catch it. And just like that, that damn tick in his jaw is back.

“The only way I feel comfortable enough letting you go is if you promise to text me every 30 minutes. Doesn’t have to be long. Just a message to let me and the other guys know you’re okay.”

What the hell?

You open your mouth to protest before deciding you’re better off not. Right now, you’d take the win and try to renegotiate the rest later. 

“Take it or leave it, princess.” 

“I’ll take it!” You reply, albeit probably a little too enthusiastically. “Thank you so much!”

Ari doesn’t even crack a smile. Instead that damned tick of his only seems to grow even more pronounced. “Alright.” With that, he turns and begins striding towards the door. “I’ll, uh…I’ll get you another towel.” He pauses once he reaches his destination, turning to face you once more. 

“And Clover?”

“Yeah?” You call back, feeling happier than you have in almost two whole weeks. 

“Don’t make me regret this." Ari rumbles, allowing you to get a good, long look at his muscled, hair covered chest. "I'd hate for my kindness to come back and bite me in the ass. It would be a shame to start the summer off on such a bad note.”

“I…”

His words leave you so speechless that you can only watch as Ari proceeds to waltz through the sliding door, leaving you outside all alone once more. But not before reiterating his promise to bring you another towel so that you can get ready for lunch.

“Well, fuck…” Is all you can muster before rolling yourself off your float and into the cooling expanse of the water. You swim down to the bottom, touching the floor with both hands as you work to center yourself. 

You hold your breath for as long as you’re able before the need for oxygen forces you to resurface. As you greedily gulp air into your burning lungs you tell yourself not to give a fuck about Ari and his bullshit. Instead, you decide to focus on the most important aspect of tonight, namely…

Just what in the hell were you going to wear?

END

Official Tag List

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[dilatorywriting]

Heroes vs. Villains : The Staff

Platonic GN!Reader x NRC Staff vs. RSA Staff Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. NRC Staff Version (Part 1: Crewel and Crowley)

ie. Headmaster Crowley is a nightmare, and Professor Crewel is, well, cruel. And to be perfectly honest, after meeting another dog-loving professor who doesn't treat you like absolute garbage, the Royal Sword Academy is starting to look a lot more appealing.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4]

‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me!’

Crowley had chirped that very sentiment to you ad nauseum, with all the enthusiasm of an old raven eyeing a shiny penny.

“Do you really believe that?” you sniffled, angry, as you sat slumped over in one of his rickety office chairs.

People at this stupid school were mean. And yeah, school yard insults and casual accusations of being the House Wardens’ little bitch were one thing—but these assholes would go right for the throat. All of your insecurities—your fears—all laid out like a nice spread of hors d'oeuvres ready for the picking. You had endured enough sharp barbs for a lifetime, and the fact that your glorious Headmaster and self-proclaimed parental figure kept writing it all off as a ‘learning experience’ was driving you mad.

“Of course I do, dear child!” he beamed. “What sort of educator would I be if I didn’t practice what I preach! Words are but the wind, as they say!”

You nodded, sage, and shot him a smile so sugary sweet it could rot the teeth right out of his skull.

“I wish I’d never met you and I hope that all your feathers fall off one by one,” you chirped. “And I use the ‘Number One Child’ mug you gave me to scoop water out of the toilets when the plumbing fails.”

Crowley’s mouth fell open with a nearly audible clunk, and if he weren’t so wrapped up in all kinds of immoral, black magic, bull-shittery, you would have liked to imagine that maybe that had been the sound of his heart cracking in his stupid, embroidery-covered, chest.  

You popped up from your chair and breezily made your way to the exit. You propped yourself up against the intricate, wooden, frame and clapped your hands together like a bubbly preschool teacher addressing a room full of particularly dull children.  

“I’m glad we could get that out in the open in a completely pain-free way. Words really can’t hurt anyone!”

You managed to slip the door closed just as he started to wail.

.

.

That afternoon you made your way to Professor Crewel’s office, as had become your routine. It was nice. Sometimes you would help him grade papers, sometimes you would just nibble on fancy cookies and listen as he ranted about the incompetence of certain staff members which shall not be named.

Sometimes his dogs were with him in the afternoons—a pair of giant, lithe, wolf-like beasts that were most certainly of a very proud and expensive lineage. Jasper was the black one and Badun the white, and each had a coat so glossy and well-maintained that they could put your own hair care to shame. Badun was enthusiastic, charismatic, and would bound to greet anyone who entered. Jasper was more quiet, reserved, but he was secretly your favorite of the duo. Whenever you stopped in after classes, the shadowy hound would lumber over and rest his giant head in your lap.

“No puppies today?” you called when you were greeted with silence rather than a wave of happy kisses.

“They’re in for their groom,” Crewel mumbled, busy at work with his head bowed over some lab reports or other. Normally he would grouchily correct you that his two precious pooches were adults. Dogs. And should be addressed as such. He must have been really distracted today. Or maybe you were just wearing him down.

You settled into the lovely, plush, chair off to the side that you had long since claimed as your own, and set your bookbag on the floor by your feet with a thump.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence with nothing but the sound of scratching ink over paper to break up the monotony, Professor Crewel dropped his head into his hands with a miserable sort of sigh.

“You should not have spoken to Crowley as you did.”

You blinked, startled. “What?”

“I of all people understand how frustrating the Headmaster’s antics can be,” Crewel continued, firm. “But you are still a student of this Institution—and one in a precarious enough position as it is. So you need to be mindful of your tongue.”

Indignation roiled through your gut, followed by a sharp prick of disquiet that you couldn’t quite place.

“Then he should be mindful to treat me like a student and not some—some pet project,” you huffed, kicking irritably at your patched backpack for want of nothing else to do. “And besides, what’ll he even do? Expel the one person in this entire college who mops up every single one of his messes? And I mean, it’s not like he’s running around the school crying or anything. I wasn’t that mean.”

Crewel pinched the bridge of his nose and you paused, mouth parting in surprise.

“Oh come on, he did not.”

“In the name of preserving our esteemed leader’s dignity I will say no more on the matter,” he grit out, and you fought the urge to immediately whip out your phone to message Ace, and Cater, and every other rabid gossip you could think of.

“Well, maybe he deserved it,” you snipped, crossing your arms stubbornly across your chest. A bit of cautious warmth spread through you and you nervously plucked at one of the loose threads on your uniform sleeve. “And besides,” you mumbled. "He can cry about me calling him a shitty father all he wants. You’ve been way more of a dad to me here than he could ever try to be.”

“I beg your pardon.”

You froze, fingers locking in place around the picked-apart edges of your jacket. The ice in his voice was unfamiliar and entirely unpleasant. It sent a frigid wave of worry curling through your veins. Had you overstepped? You’d thought—You’d just thought—

“I-I mean,” you spluttered. “I only meant that, well… Uhm… You’re really nice to spend time with. A-And, I just…” He made you feel like you were home again. Like even though Ramshackle was empty and cold, that you could still walk into this little office and say ‘I’m back!’ to an actual, real-life person and not just the shadows that lived in your foyer.

“Let me be perfectly clear, Prefect,” he sneered. There was an undercurrent of hostility running so sharply through every word that you were left wondering frantically if you’d unintentionally trampled over a sensitive topic. You hadn’t thought it was a big deal. You just—you just really, really looked up to him. And felt safe with him. And—And—

‘I’m sorry,’ you wanted to say. But instead you just let out an odd kind of choked squeak.

“I have no intention of playing parent to anyone,” he snapped. “Let alone an untrained brat who can’t even be bothered to play civil with the people who do attempt to care for them.”

Ouch.

“R-Right,” you spluttered, swallowing around the burbling lump in your throat and the warmth prickling along your lash line. “O-Of course. I’m sorry for assuming. I—I… uhm…”

‘I’ll just go then.’

But just like with failed apology, those four little syllables just couldn’t seem to make it past your lips either. So instead you just shakily snatched your bag from the floor and bolted from his office, burrowing your stinging cheeks as far into your collar as they would go. The last thing you needed to do was give anyone at this stupid school any more ammunition against you. And ‘Cry Baby Prefect’ sounded like another nasty nickname that would stick to you like gum to a flat-heeled shoe.

It’s fine, you whispered to yourself, voice wobbling far more than you would have liked. Grim hated when you came back smelling like dogs anyways.

.

.

“My goodness, are you alright?”

You blinked, harried, and glanced around yourself properly for what felt like the first time in hours. You were… not on campus anymore. Huh. What a trip. You’d never been so upset that you’d blindly run off into an entire new town before. But you supposed there was a first time for everything. You did remember feeling too nauseous to return to your little hovel for the evening, but you hadn’t really expected your frantic pacing to take you quite this far out of the way.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

Oh. Someone was talking to you, weren’t they?

Standing in front of you was a tall, lanky, man in a tweed jacket. He was stooped down a bit to make eye contact with you, and those hazel eyes were creased with worry. His blonde hair was pushed half-off his forehead in a style that looked more haphazard than intentional, and the hand he was offering you was littered with splotches of ink. There were patches of white and black dog fur littered across his entire outfit like some horrible fashion statement, and the thought of puppies made your throat tighten up all over again.

“My name is Cliff Rogerson,” he said, steady and kind. “I’m one of the instructors at the Royal Sword Academy. Are you lost? Do you know how to get home from here?”

Do you know how to get home?

You laughed once, manic, and then promptly burst into tears.

“Oh, dear,” he sighed, his heavy brow furrowing low with concern, and patted you consolingly on the shoulder. “Oh, dear.”

You were herded into a nearby café and directed into one of the quiet, corner, booths. The lights were soft and fuzzy in here, and the pleasant warmth of fresh pastries brushed gingerly along your frayed nerves. Mister Rogerson pressed a steaming mug of hot chocolate into your hands, and placed a delicately wrapped muffin off to the side of it. It was a tempting offering, and you decided to unbury your head from your hands long enough to partake.

“So how did you end up out here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’m a student at Night Raven,” you mumbled into your cocoa.

You could tell he was doing his best not to look shocked, which was at least a dozen steps above the way the rest of your stupid school would just gawk at you in outright consternation.

“Forgive me,” he smiled, gentling his apprehension into something that was more polite curiosity that anything. “But you don’t really seem like one of their usual pupils.”

So you explained your situation—the Mirror, and the magiclessness, and the homelessness. You talked about your friends, and your new demon cat/evil baby, and how much you missed stupid things like good shower pressure and fuzzy socks. Mister Rogerson listened to all of it with an attentive sort of sympathy that you hadn’t seen since, well, probably since you were dropped face-first into a school full of burgeoning war criminals.  

“That sounds like a time and a half,” he said once you’d finally tired yourself out. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all that.”

You picked at your muffin. It was ridiculously fluffy and eating it felt like pulling bits and pieces out of a cloud. A very, very delicious cloud.

“Forgive me for saying so,” he hummed, pensive. “But your situation doesn’t sound particularly safe.”

You laughed. “That’s one word for it.”

Mister Rogerson frowned, another twitch of that uneasy worry playing across his face. He ruffled around in his jacket pocket for a moment and pulled out a neat, cream colored, business card.

“It may be overstepping of me to offer, but at the same time I do think as an educator it’s my duty to try and help every student that I can,” he smiled, kind. It crinkled the skin around his eyes. “The RSA is not overly far from Night Raven College. If you ever want to stop by—if you ever need an ear to listen, or just a space to get away from it all—my door will always be open to you.”

You took the little piece of paper carefully, like it was something precious. There were swirls of colorful music notes splattered across the backdrop of it—raucous bursts of neons that were as endearing as they were ugly.

‘Tacky,’ spat a too-familiar voice in the back of your head. ‘What sort of statement was this lowlife trying to make?‘ You could practically feel the phantom distaste emanating from wherever a certain two-toned professor had camped out for the evening.

Probably at home, you thought bitterly. Because he has a home, right? And you are not at all upset that you will never be welcomed into it. And that you will probably never get to cuddle his puppies ever again. Nope. Not at all.

You swallowed the little burst of unpleasantness that accompanied the train of thought, and pocketed the card with a smile.

“Thank you. I’ll definitely have to take you up on that.”

.

.

.

Divus Crewel was many things, and unfortunately, being as cruel as his namesake was often one of them. He glanced back to the clock ticking on his wall for what was perhaps the dozenth time that hour. You hadn’t been by since his—ah—outburst a few weeks prior.

He had perhaps reacted a bit more unpleasantly than he normally would have. You’d just… caught him off guard was all. It was a bold declaration you’d made, and what? Had you really expected him to be overjoyed by the idea of forced parenthood? To swoon over the notion that someone had decided to latch onto him and his perfectly pressed suit like a leech despite the fact that he was so obviously thriving in his life of solitude?

And it wasn’t that he expected you to take his biting comments lying down. Oh no. You were fierce, and determined, and were most likely on your way here to bang down his door demanding recompenses for all your suffering. There was a tray of those too-expensive cookies you liked tucked away in his top drawer. Just in case you did show up and throw one of your tantrums, and he needed something quick to pacify you. That… That was all.

But each day that he waited for you to sneak back into his office was another spent in quiet solitude. Badun had taken to whining at the door and Jasper hardly got up from his bed at all—just tucked his black nose into his equally black paws and stared straight into Crewel’s soul. Like he was judging him.

He caught himself glancing at the clock again and forcibly turned back to his work.

This was ridiculous. You were ridiculous. And stubborn. And so, very, danger prone. Had something happened maybe? Was that why you’d disappeared—because you’d gotten caught up in some sort of trouble again?

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick—

He looked back at the clock.

Tick. Tick. Tick—

His office door flew open with a BANG and he swiveled in his chair, ready to chastise you for making such a ridiculous entrance. Instead, he ended up nearly nose-to-nose with a weeping Dire Crowley. The man wailed into his clawed hands, looking very much like he might accidentally stab himself in the eye all the while.

“HOW AM I SUCH A FAILURE OF A PARENT?!” he bawled. “WHAT COULD I HAVE DONE TO PREVENT THIS?!”

“What?” Crewel gaped, head spinning. “What’s happened?”

Crowley let out another inhuman squawk and shoved a piece of parchment into the alchemist’s crimson-gloved hands. It was torn at the top, likely from where it’d been pinned to something before the raving Headmaster had swiped it. Crewel read over the familiar script with narrowed eyes, something unpleasant twisting in his belly.

‘The Ramshackle Prefect kindly sends their regards, but unfortunately has other commitments for this evening. Please contact Professor Cliff Rogerson of the RSA music department in case of an emergency.’

“MY BABY LEFT ME!” Crowley sobbed, nearly inconsolable. “WHO’S GOING TO DO MY TAXES NOW?!”

The leather of Crewel’s gloves groaned in protest as his hands tightened into fists—his nails biting into his palm even through the sturdy material.  

“What do we even do?” the old crow lamented, sounding so genuinely crestfallen it was almost unnerving.

Jasper and Badun circled their master’s ankles wearily, eyes bright and lips twitching with nervous whines.

“I think,” Crewel grit out, the note crumpling between his fingers, “that it’s well past time that we have a chat with the Prefect about the importance of personal safety. And of the consequences of running off with strangers.”

.

.

.

[holylulusworld]

Forbidden lust (2) - Kinktober 1

Summary: It's time for payback. And more fun with your "stepdad".

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Kink: Homewrecker kink

Warnings: no real stepcest, smut, unprotected sex, doggy style, breeding kink, NWCM, homewrecker kink, gags, past cheating, mentions of character’s death, more plot than expected

Catch up here: Forbidden Lust

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2023

Part 2/3

Two weeks after the incident at Bucky’s office, …

After the day in Bucky's office, you ended up tangled in each other most of the time. It’s a wonder that he didn’t break you yet.

You find yourself pressed up a wall or bent over any surface the moment Bucky lays eyes on you.

He’s obsessed with you. 

If you don’t stop him, Bucky is all over you. Even in front of people.

Steve walked in on you more than once. He learned his lesson and tried to remember to knock before entering a room. 

Today you wanted to talk about your father’s last will but ended up pressed against one of the sliding glass doors at Bucky’s penthouse leading to the balcony.

Not that you would ever complain about getting destroyed by his glorious cock. The problem is you don’t get things done with him around.

Just like right now. Instead of talking about your father’s last will, and what Bucky’s friend the lawyer, and the private investigator he hired found out, you are doing it like rabbits again.

“Shit, you look so good filled with my fat cock. You’re meant to be full of me all the time. I’m gonna…fuck…” Bucky jerks his hips harder into your ass. He’s close to losing himself inside of you once again. “I’ll fill you up and breed this cunt. Dot will be furious seeing you round with your stepdaddy’s bastard.”

Dressed in his expensive suit, only the tie he stuffed into your mouth missing, he fucks the neediness out of you. He groans and curses your name all the while praising you. 

You whimper behind the makeshift gag in your mouth. It’s all you can do. Bucky cages you with his body and presses your trembling form against the glass door. Your breath fogs the glass door while the glass feels cool against your heated skin. 

“That’s it,” he places one hand against the window, right next to your head. “You always take my cock so well. Mouth, ass, pussy. All of your holes are just perfect. Unlike Dot’s dry desert.”

His crass words have you on the edge. Only thinking of Dot knowing that you fuck her fiancé makes you lose control every single time. You are so painfully close to your orgasm that you’d do anything for the man ramming his length into you.

“B-ucky,” you moan behind the gag. “P-lease…”

“What do you want?” he whispers in your ear, chest pressed against your naked back. “Do you want me to tell you that you stole me from Dot? That you’re a bad girl fucking a taken man?

You can only nod. Bucky knows about your kink. Because he won’t let you fuck taken men, he pretends to be engaged to Dot once in a while.

“Let me just,” he pulls out to push you onto the couch. You squeak, but don’t fight Bucky when he spreads your legs to slide back inside of your dripping cunt. “That’s better. I want to see your face while I fuck you.”

Bucky throws your legs over one of his shoulders, holding them in a tight grip as he starts moving again. 

“Maybe we should send her a video of us fucking?” He smirks darkly when your eyes become glassy. “Oh, yeah. Your cunt just squeezed me tight enough to hurt. We could just let her walk in on us again. I’ll show her your cunt stuffed with my cum.”

You grip your breasts, rolling your nipples between your fingers all the while staring up at Bucky. “Cum for me, doll. I wanna hear you sing my name.”

“B-ucky,” you spit the gag out to moan his name. “I want you to fill me up. Show her that you’re mine now.”

“Fuck, baby doll.” He spurts into you. “Have all of me now…”

“Bucky, we should focus,” you whimper when he nips at your neck. Bucky has you pressed against another window; his arms wrapped tightly around you. “I mean it. We are at your lawyer’s office. He will be back any minute.”

“Just look out of the window and let me taste your sweet spot,” he smirks against you. “Andy wouldn’t mind watching me kiss my girl.”

“James, and Ms. Y/L/N,” Andy walks inside the room, a manila folder tugged under his arm. “Can we start? I’ve got another appointment in two hours.”

Andy isn’t very happy seeing Bucky and you make out like horny teens. He clears his throat to pull Bucky’s attention toward him, not your neck. “Bucky.”

“What do you have for me, Andy?” Bucky pecks your temple. He whispers in your ear, making your heart flutter. “Do we have anything against Dot yet?”

“I talked to Mr. Y/L/N’s lawyer. He was as shocked as Y/N and her uncle that Mr. Y/L/N changed his last will one week before his death.” Andy places a document on his desk. He pauses to look at you.

Bucky and you sit down to have a look at the papers.

“I didn’t know any of this,” you sniff. “Why did he do this? One week before his death he changes his last will. I don’t get it. I know Dot is a master at manipulating people. But this…” You shake your head.

“We don’t know why he did what he did yet,” Andy continues. “But we know that he came with Dot to his lawyer’s office. The private investigator and the computer forensics expert he’s working with will come in half an hour. Maybe they found out more.”

“What about the last will? Can you tell us more about it?” Bucky asks. He’s back to business and tries to focus on the task at hand.  

“The original will states that the house and all of his possessions will go to his daughter. He wanted his brother and Y/N to take over the company together.”

“I knew it,” you sniffle. “Something was fishy about his last will.”

“Doll, you need to calm down,” Bucky softly says and pats your thigh. “Don’t work yourself up.”

“I cannot tell you why, Mr. Y/L/N, I can only tell you that your father took the redacted last will home without signing it. Two days later, his wife came to his office and handed him the signed papers.”

“Did you start without us?” You crane your neck to watch the men entering Andy’s office step toward his desk. “You couldn’t wait a little longer?”

“Name’s Jake,” one of them, a guy with blonde spiky hair holds out his hand. “I’m a computer forensics expert. If you want me to, I’ll hack into any account and make your enemies look like a clown…or an alien. Whatever you like best.”

“Jensen, not now,” the other man says. Unlike his colleague, he’s a little gruff and more serious. “Mr. Barnes, Ms. Y/L/N, I’ve got some good news for you.”

“Ari, a pleasure to meet you again,” Bucky holds out his hand to greet Ari. “What did you find out?”

“I found it out,” Jake grins. “Little Miss Dottie falsified your father’s signature. There is no doubt, your father never signed the new version of his last will. I checked it thrice.”

“We need to look into his accident too. The police didn’t want to cooperate with me so far. But I got an insider who will send me everything I’ll need,” Ari says. He watches your face fall and tries to choose his next words wisely.

"What do you mean? I thought the police said it was an accident," you watch Ari with worried eyes.

"I’m sorry to tell you, but I believe your father’s death wasn’t an accident…"

Part 3

Tags in reblog.

[spatialwave]

(smutty drabble lol. Definitely NSFW)

So obviously Angus doesn't have much experience being a munch but once he learns with you, oh lord get ready.

Forget about wearing skirts in front of him cuz he won't give you a moment's peace. He'll be trying to get it at the movies, the back shelves of the library, hell even when  your parents step out of the room after Sunday dinner. He has a fever and the only known cure is making you cum.

Don't get me wrong he loves fucking you or having you ride him, your tits bouncing in his face. But there's something else that really gets him going, how you gasp his name when he slides his fingers inside or the way you grab his curls when you're sitting on his face

hehehe, thank you for sending. i think we all deserve a little smutty angus tully drabble in our lives!

—

part 1… to be continued?

notes: nsfw. college au. 18+ characters.

getting ready for classes in the morning was one of—if not the—most important tasks of your day. you hadn’t cared an ounce about how other students perceived you, it had nothing to do with having perfectly curled hair or plump, red lips. it revolved around one thing, what you chose to wear and how that affected your boyfriend.

since you had started dating angus tully, going several months strong, the two of you had eagerly explored each other’s bodies. you two followed your hormonal urges and taught each other so many things—what made you whine in pleasure or what had you shaking and crying, begging for more. it was a glorious time of your life, growing used to pulling the tall boy into your dorm room and fucking between classes, his cock buried into the back of your throat or deep inside your pussy.

you spent countless hours every night learning what made angus squirm, how his hips twitched when you’d rub your thumb over the tip of his cock, smearing the pre-cum that leaked out. you hadn’t been prepared for his own enthusiasm, watching anxiously with half-lidded eyes as he kissed down your stomach until he lifted your skirt and pulled your panties aside.

he was slow and meticulous, perhaps a bit unsure, eventually finding your clit and letting his tongue circle the nub slowly—quicker, seeing how that made you react. he licked you up and down slowly, completely tasting and drinking you in, those big brown eyes of his not breaking as he learned every inch of your body.

it took him a couple times of eating you out to be confident in his abilities, successfully making you cum for the first time and watching in awe as your pussy tightened around his fingers as he lapped at your swollen clit. it was addicting, to feel your thighs squeezing around his head, your hands gripping at his curls as your voice cracked when moaning out his name. it was his favourite pastime.

today, you decided to wear a skirt. you knew the implications of your decisions as you hiked it up just an inch or two higher and smoothed down the blouse you tucked into it. you were content, smiling to yourself in the mirror as you wondered where your boyfriend would first find you.

these days were the best because you’d find yourself already so goddamn horny as you walked through campus, anticipating seeing angus. it was late thursday morning, which meant angus had didn’t have class until one o’clock. you ventured to the library, one of the few places you’d usually find him—and when you did, you didn’t bother getting his attention.

he sat at one of the desks in the centre of the library where it held the most traffic, his brows furrowed as he scoured an encyclopedia and scribbled away at a piece of paper. a final essay, no doubt. what a shame that he would soon be forgetting all of what he’d just read.

it was always like a game to you, finding angus in a sea of students and wondering how long it would take for him to spot you. you stood at one of the bookshelves that were near the seating area, right at the end as you pretended to look over the textbooks. medical textbooks, far from your own degree of interest, but your intent was to get up on your tiptoes and reach for something—your skirt riding up.

a quick glance over your shoulder, angus’ face still tilted down and fixated on the words of his text. with furrowed brows and a slight huff, you purposefully knocked one of the textbooks onto the ground. the loud noise startled many students, including your boyfriend.

you made eye contact for a brief moment, only for you to spin around quickly and pick up the book, bending over. your skin felt hot now that you knew his eyes were on you. staring at you with desire, undressing you, all while you’re turned away from him and trying to get your breathing under control.

slowly, you slip the textbook back up into its slot, taking one more shy look over your shoulder. you watched angus as he closed his books, shoving them hastily into his book bag and you took this as a sign to make way for a deserted area. your heart thumped hard in your chest as you absently smoothed down your skirt while you walked, drifting further and further into the depths of the library.

to ease the anticipation and ground yourself in the moment, you lifted a hand so your fingers grazed the spines of each book you passed by. you hadn’t seen any students in this area yet, only feeling the presence of angus turning into the aisle behind you.

“hey,” he called out, keeping his voice quiet, but you could hear the hunger in his voice. you slowed your steps, feeling his hand wrap around your wrist and within a few short moments your back was pressed against the shelf and his lips were against yours.

you moaned easily into his mouth, your lips parting almost immediately as you slid your arms around his neck and tugged on his curls with your hands, “do you like the skirt?” you mumbled messily against his lips, gasping as he pressed his thigh between your legs so you could rub against him to your heart’s desire. you needed the friction—badly.

“what do you think?” he chuckled lowly as his lips pulled away from yours, trailing down your jaw and to your neck. he nipped at the skin and sucked, leaving one or two marks near the collar of your blouse that would leave you wearing turtlenecks for the next few days, “fuck, i need you here,” he breathed, groaning as his hands fell to your hips and helped you roll and grind against his thigh.

“please,” you whimpered quietly, having to reach a hand to cover your mouth as angus kissed down your neck then dropped to his knees in front of you. the sight of this alone made you squirm, feeling the wetness build in your panties—ones you almost didn’t wear today.

angus took a quick look around before he lifted up your skirt, licking his lips as he partially tucked it up into the waistband so the fabric wouldn’t fall in his face. he preferred to be able to look up at you when he ate you out.

“these are my favourite ones,” he murmured in a praise-like tone, his fingers reaching up and tugging aside the black, lacy panties that covered your aching cunt.

his hot breath against you made your jaw go slack and a shiver send up your spine. you’d been in this position countless of times, legs spread and arms clutching to the nearest surfaces to keep you held up. thighs quivering and knees feeling like they could give out any second, with angus between them.

you looked down at him, biting hard on your bottom lip as his tongue circled your clit painstakingly slow—wanting to see you become a puddle because of him.

taking a quick look around and sensing no one else, you allowed yourself to let out the quietest whimper as you rolled your pussy along his mouth. he loved when you did that, fucking yourself on his tongue as he flattened it and tasted your juices, pushing it inside you. one hand lifting your right thigh, pulling it over his left shoulder, the other hand teasing your wet folds.

“angus,” you whimpered as he kept his slow movements, savouring you like a delicious meal as one of his fingers teased your entrance. you both knew you didn’t have the luxury of time, but he couldn’t help but tease you and wait for you to beg, “please.” you breathed, needing more from him. needing to be devoured, “please.”

satisfied, angus pushed two fingers into you, giving you the stretch and fullness that you desired. your head fell back and hit the books behind you, hands gripping tighter on the shelves as his fingers fucked you well and he sucked at your sensitive, swollen clit.

not once did he remove his eyes from you, watching as you had to try keep your voice down, breathing his name out as his fingers curled inside you and pressed against your g-spot, nearly making you scream out his name. he knew every part of you and you fucking loved him for that.

one hand flew down to his wild hair, tugging on his curls as you started to fuck yourself on his fingers, his mouth and chin wet from the way he abused your cunt that was growing tighter and tighter with each thrust of his fingers. he inserted a third, moaning filthily against you when you tugged harder on his hair, closing your eyes shut.

“cum for me,” he told you, pulling his mouth away for a moment so he could command you, “look at me.”

you opened your eyes obediently, looking at him as he smiled up at you. he loved when you looked so disheveled and fucked into euphoria, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and breathing heavy.

he returned his mouth to you, not easing you back into it. his tongue flicked at your clit, sucking on it and lapping at the folds while three of his fingers pummelled deep into your pussy.

that was enough to make your abdomen tighten, the heat inside you snapping when he curled his fingers again and left you shaking. your hips twitched and thighs tensed up as you moaned—quite a bit louder than you should’ve. your orgasm washed over you and left your clit pulsing under the touch of his tongue, wetting his fingers and face as your rocked yourself to completion.

if there was one thing angus loved, it was seeing how hot you looked when you came all over his face.

you felt the smile on his lips as your body slowed and your hushed whimpers came to a standstill, his fingers eventually pulling out of you and removing his mouth. he made sure to slip your panties back into place and untuck your skirt so it covered you up, like nothing ever happened.

through laboured breaths, you watched as angus stood up, smirking as he wiped his mouth and chin, brown eyes watching you recover. all you could do was give him a lazy, tired smile as you leaned all of your weight back onto the shelves.

“are you going to your afternoon class?” you breathed the question out quietly, batting your lashes as you lifted a hand up to his jaw, caressing him.

“fuck no,” he chuckled, wrapping his hand around your wrist and tugging you out of the library and to his dorm.

[the-broken-truth]

Yuu - Child of the Great Seven [6]: The Sorcerer of the Sands in Scarabia

Summary: The Sorcerer of the Sands ventures to Scarabia with his Precious Diamond. Will he be pleased or will the residents of Scarabia learn the wrath of a Scornful Father?

Note: Yuu also calls The Sorcerer of the Sands 'Baba'.

[Scarabia - The Common Room]

[The Sorcerer of the Sands peered down at the Scarabia Students before him with his hand firm upon the neck of his Serpent Staff, its' ruby eyes glowing dangerously as his scowl remained firm on his face. He remained silent before turning his gaze to Jamil, silently giving him the command to introduce him to the members of the dorm trembling within their flesh; the command was recieved as Jamil bowed his head and turned to the members he once enslaved for his personal vendetta. Yuu, dressed in fine garbs mirroring their Father's, stood beside him with their hands behind their back; showing the stature of the Sorcerer's Spawn.]

Jamil: Members of Scarabia. Today is a glorious day for us as our own deity, The Sorcerer of the Sands, stands before us! (Notices everyone's shocked expression before he continues) However, that is not the only incredible thing to have happened. It has been discovered that Yuu, The Prefect of Ramshackle whom we believed to be magicless, is none other than the offspring of not only the Sorcerer of the Sands, but the entrety of the Great Seven. Kneel before their greatness. (Turns to The Sorcerer & Yuu before kneeling with his head down)

[The Sorcerer and Yuu watched at the entirety of Scarabia's Dorm kneeled without question and remained as still as golden statues before the Sorcerer lifted his free hand, motioning it to instruct them to rise, which they did.]

Sorcerer of the Sands (Looks at Jamil): They respond well to your commands, Viper. Well done.

Jamil: Thank you, My Sorcerer.

Yuu: Jamil, you don't need to be so stiff around my father, ya know...

Sorcerer of the Sands: It's only normal for mortals to be 'stiff' around the presence of their deity, My Desert Flower. Since you are not used to being divine, you are not used to this reaction.

Yuu (Looks off): I suppose you are right, Baba.

Sorcerer of the Sands: Of course I am correct, Dear Diamond. I am the wisest of your lineage.

Yuu: Does that mean you've beaten Dad at Chess?

Sorcerer of the Sands (Exhales): I have explained this before: Just as he cannot best me in Mancala, I cannot best him in Chess. We all hour our strong suits, Child.

Yuu: Understood, Baba.

Sorcerer of the Sands: Now, onto business. (Taps the end of his staff on the ground 2 times) Jamil Viper.

Jamil: Yes, My Sorcerer?

Sorcerer of the Sands: For the duration of my stay here, you shall be my personal vassel. You shall answer to and take commands from none other than myself and my child. Is that understood?

Jamil (Bows his head): Your wish is my command, My Sorcerer.

Sorcerer of the Sands: Kalim Al-Asim.

Kalim (Stiffens): Yes, Your Sorcererness?!

Yuu (Snickering): 'Sorcererness'?

Sorcerer of the Sands (Frowns at Kalim): That is not my proper title, nor is that a proper title at all, Kalim Al-Asim. How are you Housewarden of Scarabia when you lack common knowledge such as this? (Exhales) Regardless, I shall give you 5 Servants to cater to your needs while Jamil Viper is under my command during my stay. You shall not ask anything of him. Understood?

Kalim: But, sir...!

Sorcerer of the Sands: UnderSTOOD, AL-ASIM?!

[The Force in his voice caused the dorm to shake slightly.]

Kalim: Y...Yes, My Sorcerer... (Bows his head)

Sorcerer of the Sands (Exhales and straightens his posture): Good.

[The Sorcerer of the Sands would then tap his staff 5 times on the floor: 5 Servants appear before him with their heads bowed.]

Servant 1: You called upon us, Master?

Sorcerer of the Sands: I did. (Points at Kalim) You 5 shall tend to the needs and demands of this...boy for the duration of my stay in Scaraba. Jamil Viper shall be my personal vassel. Understood?

Servant 2: Your wish is our will, Master.

Sorcerer of the Sands: Good. Now, Viper, Yuu, come along.

Jamil: Yes, My Sorcerer.

Yuu: Yes, Father.

[The Sorcerer turned and walked away with Jamil and Yuu following close behind him until they reached a room; The Sorcerer used his magic to alter the room as a pocket dimension of one of the rooms in his Palace in the other realm. The Sorcerer would sit on a cushion near the table where a Mancala board was waiting.]

Sorcerer of th Sands: Jamil Viper, sit across from me. You shall play a few rounds of Mancala with me. My Child, take your place next to me.

Jamil: Yes, My Sorcerer. (Taks his seat)

Yuu: Yes, Baba. (Takes their seat)

Sorcerer of the Sands (Makes his move on the Mancala Board): I am quite displeased with how Scarabia is being ran, Viper.

Jamil: How so, Sir? If it was what Housewarden Kalim said, I apologize on his...

Sorcerer of the Sands (Holds his hand up to silence Jamil): You shall not apologize for his idiocy for you are not responsible for it. What has angered me so is that Al-Asim holds the position of Housewarden while you, who clearly holds more power and respect in this dorm, are merely his vice.

Jamil: There is nothing I can do about that, Sir.

Sorcerer of the Sands: And yet, you attempted to change that.

Jamil: ?!

Sorcerer of the Sands: Oh, yes. I am well aware of your attempted coup on Scarabia, Jamil Viper. I keep a closer eye on my child than one would think.

Jamil (Fear laced in his voice): Sir, I was...

Sorcerer of the Sands: Do not apologize to me, Boy. I understand your reason behind it and I do not frown upon it.

Jamil: You... You do not?

Sorcerer of the Sands: Of course, I don't. You, young man, are a true genius. Using your Unique Magic to turn the once kind Housewarden nto a tyrant while making yourself look like the savior that Scarabia needed ws quite clever. You would have suceeded if not for 2 Factors: My Child & The Sea Witch's Dorm Members.

Jamil: I was not aware that Yuu was your offspring, Sir.

Sorcerer of the Sands: But, surely, you knew something was different about them. How else could a 'Magicless' Prefect defeat countless Overblots?

Jamil: I suspected as much, but had no concrete evidence.

Sorcerer of the Sands (Chuckles): My Child is a true serpent, making you think you are safe before snatching you in their fangs. Honestly, if not for their interest in the Housewarden of Savanaclaw, I could see both of you as a powerful couple... Unless, you managed to convince my child that you have more to offer than Leona Kingscholar.

Yuu (Blushing): Baba!

Jamil: Sir... What could I offer? I am a servant while Leona Kingsholar is royalty? While he is merely a second prince, he still holds an edge of me.

Sorcerer of the Sands: I am willing to change that.

Jamil (Raises an eyebrow): How so, Sir?

Sorcerer of the Sands: Gain the favor of my child and I shall personally see to your liberation. Make my child happy and I shall grant you 3 Things: Freedom, An Estate, and Endless Wealth. In exchange, I shall gain a promising mage as a son in law and powerful grandchildren.

Yuu (Turning red): Baba! I already like someone!

Sorcerer of the Sands: It's never too late to change your mind, My Flower.

Yuu: BABA!

Sorcerer of the Sand: Oh, alright. We shall speak on this matter on a later day.

[END]

[honestsycrets]

before anyone else I: the venerable [admiral!miguel o'hara x princess!reader]

❛ pairing | admiral!miguel o'hara x princess!reader

❛ type | one-shot, sfw (minor past suggestive themes)

❛ summary | once upon a time, miguel loved a princess. upon learning about her engagement to his father, King Stone, he's back with a plan in hand.

❛ tags | forced marriage, arranged marriage, historical period not defined, royal!au, admiral!miguel, princess!reader, mention of character death, elements of implied treason and betrayal, some angst, some fluff, annoyed miguel, lyla makes trouble, self edited, f!reader, persuasion inspired, a kiss, innocent!reader, Spanish is not translated, a kiss.

❛ sy's notes | no requests were fulfilled; filled to meet this poll.

An imperial boat docks. It waves in the water a little off-kilter, pulling to the right in all its glorious majesty. On the dock itself, the head of ground forces stood dressed in full regalia, all navy blue and white, the gold buttons glistening in the fresh morning light. Jess expected this day would one day come. The seamen shouted among one another on the ship until at last the crew outstretched a thick oak plank. Boots bounded down the strong wooden ramp leading from an imperial ship to the dock. The awaiting crowd was rough and rowdy, casting bellowing screams at the admiral and his crew. 

“There he is!” Jess boomed, clapping her umber hands together.

They were freckled, with the frequency of her exposure to the sun. Today, her skin was shielded by a heavy coat. She abandoned the thing over her chair as she wrote letters, recommendations, and battle orders. But she preferred it when her poet shirt was thrown open, teaching the men and women in her charge. 

Admiral Miguel O’Hara led the charge, passing by the lackeys throwing down trade goods from the belly of the boat. Compared to Jess, his clothing was rough, punctuated by his time at the sea. What use was there for a thick coat with the spray of sea spray daily? No, he stood in dark brown breeches and a thrown open poet-shirt, sodden with sea water, likely from dealing with whatever injury brought his ship back to this usually forgotten port. 

He was glad to be back on the Spanish shore, if only it weren’t this shore and the many stairs he would have to brave to get to the castle while the engineers worked on the Venerable. Miguel loosened the sweat from his coarse locks, his shoulders bunched and ready for another fight. He came to a stop in front of Jess, exhaling deep, rage-filled breaths. Jess shifted back on her boot heel, a grimace on her countenance.

“That’s a pretty good hole. She’s taking on water quick. You hit something, Miguel?” 

“Me? No, I don’t hit rocks.” Miguel snorted, casting a look over his shoulder to the woman that stood at his side. Lyla’s eyes averted, not quite saying anything and saying everything at the same time. Lyla obscured herself behind her thick honey-brown bob. “Someone was distracted with the king’s cask of Carribean rum.” 

“Lyla?” Jess came up behind her, grasping her shoulders for emphasis. “No. Our Lyla couldn’t’ve done that number.” 

“It was once! One in eight years.” 

“Those... those changes you wrote me about. They have you on edge, paranoid. Let’s have a drink with the imperial guard. They have missed you.” 

Miguel threw a hiss back at the two as he stormed up the stairs, bundling buttons of his dirty poet shirt to obscure the sight of his dark chest from onlookers, namely the sex-deprived women and men of the capital whose hungry eyes ogled his crew. He didn’t need a loon bothering him right now, not here, he might punch them into a permanent, instantaneous sleep. 

“Oh, come, Miguel, these things happen. Look how sorry she is.” She says as if he cares. Jess rushed to catch up with him, the beads on the ends of her braids snatching and clicking. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, his head heavy.  He doesn’t have time for this.

“What she meant to do is as much irrelevant as it was irresponsible. If you’ll excuse me, Jess, I now have to prepare a new ship to set sail.” 

“The king wants to see you. It’s about her,” she shouted. Miguel’s steps came to all but a grinding halt, his finger fingers flexing into a tight fist. His mouth was dry, and it wasn’t due to a lack of hydration but the mention of your name on Jess’s lips. She brought her hands to her hips, her hands on the golden embroidered loops. His face sagged, all irritation melding into something different, inscrutable. He threw her a look.

“Fine.” 

But first-- he had to get this sea stank off of his skin. 

“Admiral O’Hara! There is just the man I have been looking for. Come, come, let me pour you tea. No? No tea? Of course not, it seems I don’t remember the boy I used to know. You’re a man now. And one of decisive action! Coffee, yes? You are better suited to black coffee. Am I correct?” 

Everyone thinks he is thirsty in this blasted place.

He didn’t belong here. He was, as he preferred to be, stuck at sea. The unforgiving sea required his attention lest his men befall a terrible end. He could handle that burden. He stood below a great sigil of a sea dragon whirling to chew its tail. Its hands secured a great many orbs in its sharp, jeweled talons. His eye tracked across the inside of the crest, turning over the word hopelessly on his tongue. 

“Rum,” he answered caustically, his eye dropping from the great sigil before him to the jeweled sapphire and emeralds that were embedded in the floor. Between rows of sentinel were porcelain statues, their hands wrapped around blunt and aged swords, their fingers almost palpable on the artifacts that remained from times of old. The deep navy blue curtains and tapestries are detailed in ineffectual teal. He never cared for the other assortment of pots and jars that were so-called mythical artifacts and rolls of paper that would soon house the king’s poorly-made royal decrees. 

“Aha! A good seaman and his alcohol,” the king minced his laughter. The noise aggravated him, the memory of the man’s words buzzing in the back of his head. Now he kissed up to him. How he’d fallen. He blinked up to the royal crest, then down to the aged king. His long, grey hair at the middle of his back reflected his many losses. Miguel turned his eyes back down to the king, eyes crinkling at the corners, taking a glimpse of him. His tone slipped. “It makes the time pass more tolerably, does it not?” 

“It does.” 

He pops open a glass bottle of rum, pouring it into a cup encrusted with more fine jewels. Miguel doesn’t drink.

"I suppose you want me to get to the point.” 

That would be a nice change, yes. His eyes held modest deference, his heavy dark brown boots pacing toward a hearth in the middle of the king’s study. Wisps of vibrant blue fire threw embers into the air. He finds himself staring at a stained glass effigy of your mother. A woman who undoubtedly would have been ashamed of the husband that stood before him now.

“You recall my daughter,” How could he not? He released a small grunt, an acknowledgment of the king’s words. Mindful of his reaction, Miguel turned his hands over the hot air, plumes of warmth kissing his sun-worn cheeks. As the king spoke, the flickering flames warmed the slight ring on his thick fingers. “I’ve arranged her marriage to Lord Stone. An alliance of sorts.” 

Miguel’s eyes go wide, aghast, staring into the blank flames. He grits his teeth together, the thin blade of his patience whittling down with every word from the king. He kills his face of the horrified, fleeting emotions that dappled his skin like obvious spots. He might have snapped a look at the king before his eyes calmed, trained to maintain the illusion of composure. 

“How unfortunate.”

“King Stone?” around the corner, his second-in-command squeaked. He should have left her outside. Miguel brought his hand to cup his slight forehead, throwing her a warning look.  “That old coot is still--”

“Lyla.” 

“Yes, he is quite old, isn’t he? I was surprised when he asked for her hand in marriage, truly,” the king said tightly, born in annoyance. He has gone ashy, eyes desolate as he recounts the death of the prince, or perhaps his own. “I would have preferred an engagement to his son. I trust you heard about his assassination. It was a great surprise. A tragedy, indeed.” 

“We have heard many things about it. I am surprised that you would agree to such an alliance after what he's done.” 

It was impossible not to hear rumors in the ports he sailed through. Miguel did not only hold to royal ports but those that held slimy crowds of pirates and prostitutes. If he did not, he would never have the truth behind the many rumors that swirled through the air. Women in richer towns had time to spread rumors. Those suffering from poverty had no time for them. Their lives were ones of perpetual struggle. What use had they for the death of stupid princes?

“Feelings change.” 

Did they really-- 

“Miguel. Truly, I understand your apprehension. But unless you have the magic to raise my dead sons from the grave, I have no choice.” The king sighed, beating his old knuckles on the game board. He’d sacrifice another child for his own safety-- the illusion of it. Coward. “I must know if I can I trust you with her transport.” 

“She won’t last.” Miguel stared at him, breathing the words out, his frown darkening the rest of his features. “She is a balm to any battle-worn king, but Stone is not just old. He is dangerous. If you send her there, you will send her to her death.” 

“His wives are well cared for,” your father argued mildly because it was not him who would face the rest of a lifetime with Stone. He brought a fist to his mouth and bit down upon it, a vestige of the man he used to be. “Perhaps your feelings for her cloud your judgement.” 

“I can separate my feelings from my professional judgements, mi rey.” 

“Yes. I suppose you can, admiral. How long has it been since you bore the responsibility of being the Head of Guards? Seven years?” 

“Eight,” Miguel cropped, his hand shifting to the top of his pommel. “It has been eight years since I left the crown city.” 

“Head of ground forces regulates my guard now. I find them lacking,” he grabbed Miguel’s cup of undrunk rum and threw it back, his tongue snapping against the roof of his tongue. He felt for the sentinel of guards in the room. “My soldiers, that is. If they had been stronger, perhaps my sons would still be alive.” 

Be it like him to find fault in everyone but his own battle choices.

“But I am ever humbled by your selfless service, mi hijo,” he spoke mildly, “Please know it isn’t a decision I make lightly. I know my daughter. She would feel more secure if you were the one to take her to Stone.” 

They were nice words from a soon-to-be puppet king. Miguel turned his gaze onward, locating Lyla by his side. Her small, scarred hands warmed themselves over the ancient blue flame. A surge of heat turned over in his stomach, punctured by a fear he hadn’t felt in a while. He steadied his voice. 

“I would not be so certain.” Miguel wrinkled his forehead, throwing a look that looked almost off-kilter. After this many years, would it be easy to face you again? No, he decided. Not for this purpose. “Soft women are fickle to easy words.” 

What of me? 

Not you, Lyla. You’re not soft.

“If you do not want to, I can send her by way of Jess,” a long sigh slipped off the king’s lips. Then quiet, only broken by a clatter and Lyla’s frantic attempt to replace game pieces into their proper position. Miguel swayed to where she was, grabbing the head of a miniature oak knight and popping it into the proper position. 

“For her sake, I will deliver her.” 

Miguel said nothing more. He failed to wait for the king to dismiss him, perhaps out of confidence in their relationship, that this was not something he had to tread lightly around. Lyla rushed by his side, the wordless guards drawing the heavy doors open to the wide stone hallway before them.

“You cannot take her there,” Lyla spoke with a rigidity that Miguel admired, mindful of the volume of her words, only a whisper. “Your father is--” 

“Yes, Lyla, I know very well.” 

“Then what next?” 

At the end of the hall, Miguel rushed down the steps, out of the king’s chambers, and into lush, almost stabilizing grass. Free of the constricting walls that he would have once called home, Miguel took in the fresh air, his hands behind his neck. To take you there meant certain death. To not take you there, well, he regarded both just as poorly. The fat roses bobbed on their pointy stems. Miguel expects to see you there, with your chambermaids, eating fruits on an Arab blanket. 

“We take Jess up on her offer. She’ll be expecting me.” 

“Miguel, the intent in horseback riding is that your ride the horse.” 

“You know, on top,” Lyla jumps onto Jess’s sentence. “He hasn’t been on top of anything in years--”

“And break its back?” Miguel held the reins in his thick fist. The horse, a chunky mocha and white painted thing was a profit from his voyages overseas. Not only was it subjected to awful sea travel, but now to have a man of muscle on its back? With his newfound speed, it was a risk he did not need to take. “No. I have two feet. I can walk.”

Miguel was many things, but he wasn’t a monster. Or so he liked to think.

“I think you’re quite sweet, Admiral O'Hara.” Jess’s own guard, Gwen, spoke. She was a willowy thing, barely a sprout of a woman with a good heart. He could tell. Miguel looked down, opting for silence as he crunched down full blades of grass under his foot. 

“Miguel doesn’t like compliments,” Lyla said. 

He also didn’t like long, relaxing walks in the valley. Jess proposed something like drinking in her office. It would have been glorious-- but Lyla, whose recent binge nearly scuttled his ship, chose a good ol’fashioned horseback ride. Something that didn’t remind her of sitting on the patchwork doll that was the Venerable.

“The princess would marry someone she does not know?”

Dread filled Miguel’s stomach at the words, the truth in them half-cocked and wrong. He found no words on his tongue that could fit the weight of bitterness that he felt about the arranged marriage. Everyone knew, everyone but Gwen. She was a young thing.

“It’s not her choice,” Lyla spoke in your defense. “It’s her father’s.”

“Forced marriages are a thing of the past. They are not right. Has the princess ever even met Lord Stone?” Gwen asked.

In less than a week’s time, following the festival of roses, they would sail eastward. Or, so said the sailing plans he laid out for Jess. Who, for her part, looked away. Lyla and he exchanged a glance of mutual understanding. That was what he liked to call a sign. 

“No, before their deaths, her brothers never would have allowed her travel to Alche. This whole alliance is a sham. We’re expected to deliver the princess in some false faith that he keeps this so-called alliance. He will not. I cannot decide if the king truly believes in this alliance or if he is hopeful he will remain as a ruler. In either case, it is foolish. Stone would murder his own legitimate heir and for what?” 

Except they aren’t his words. Those words flowed freely from Jess’s lips. 

“The king will fall.” 

“Miguel. Those are treasonous—“

“Treasonous? He is incapable of governing.” 

“The council helps him,” Jess says, but the words come out slanted. She convinces herself as much of the truth as him. Gwen’s lips close, looking down to the sword at her side, then back to Jess’s troubled eyes. Miguel had her where he wanted her. Where she wanted to be-- abandoning this foolish faith in a man who long since gave up hope on a strong, independent nation. 

“A counsel of plants. Five of his sons have fallen. If this keeps up, we will fall next.” 

Jess felt the words running bone-deep. 

“You have a plan.” 

He always did.

The deep night sky was a sea of twinkling stars. Oil lamps illuminated the solitary garden. Miguel fit his hands in balls on his hips, eyes flickering from the blades of grass to the long stems of lilies. He breathed softly, drawing in breaths that should have been relaxing, but morphed into something awful, some unfiltered fear of the failure of his plans. 

“These are her gardens, aren’t they?”

“They are,” Miguel answered. “If nothing has changed, she cares for them herself and harvests them with the peasants. She’ll be here, tomorrow, for her last harvest as a princess.” 

On one hand, overturning the king and his council could go seamlessly. He had Jess, that much was for certain. Gwen, who seemed to go with her bidding, held a good heart about the ethics of arranged marriage. She turned her nose up at it, the suggestion that you would be forced into a marriage with an old, cruel king. Lyla, his Lyla, held no apprehension to the plan. She treated him with deference, seeking only his happiness as his best friend.

Would this-- being king-- make him happy? 

Miguel looked down. Soft pink roses, ripe and ready for the rose-picking festival. Your last, if things went to your father’s plan. He hadn’t thought about it: about how you might feel in the push for another engagement. Not one to an aged, cruel man-- but… he never thought to find you, to ask. He wasn’t sure he could stomach the rejection and yet still force you into a marriage with him. 

It wasn’t that he wanted to-- but had to.

Miguel turned his hand into the suit vest across his chest, removing a bit of aged parchment with a broken wax seal. He turned his finger over the old ink. In every interaction I face, I long to spot you, hidden among the roses, the lilies, to be one of the heads of delighted harvesters. But you are not here. You are never here. I fear you never may be.

“Miggy,” Lyla said. “Miggy look.” 

Miguel lifted his head to look at Lyla. She wasn’t looking at him, peering across the garden, somewhere Miguel couldn’t see from where he stood. He lifted his dark brown boots, stomping around the corner. His sharp red eyes were wide in shock, bags of exhaustion lifted by your sight. Had it-- really been eight years? 

Panic works in tandem with longing. He could run for Jess’s chambers, crumple there like the very coward that ran this fastly crumbling kingdom. Face you another day. He couldn’t help but indulge himself in the gentle lilt of your voice, the way you rolled the ‘r’ on his last name, even though it was very much not an ‘r’ to be rolled. 

“Is that you, Miguel O’Hara? ¿De verdad?” 

No, Miguel thought. Not yet. 

His mind was overwrought, more stimulation than he had in months of battling the sea. He could climb ropes, fix sails, fight pirates, throw out orders, and care for the ports. No issue. None. But as you stood there, looking finer than any treasure he ripped from the hands of the most experienced of pirates, he found himself unable to locate his practiced words. 

You were meant to be his. To be by his side. Of that much, he was certain. Miguel folded the letter in his hand and tucked it back into his dark coat, exploring your gown. A light, white off-the-shoulder dress, embroidered in teal and ombre details, with the most beautiful seafoam bowed sash. You pulled at the rebozo over your long dripping sleeves, the jewels of your hairpieces tinking together as you moved, pulling up your skirts saucily over your ankle. 

“Is it not the admiral?” your handmaiden whispered. 

“I did not know he was back,” said the other. 

“Please excuse us, girls. Lady Lyla, I would prefer a private audience with the admiral. If you would,” 

“Of course! Of course, come, hurry up, you're slow--” Lyla did not need to be told twice. She made herself scarce, grabbing the mid-backs of the girls, forcing them up the steps and out of sight. Miguel dipped down to take a lantern that one of the girls had forgotten.

“Hola, mi amor,” 

Miguel turned around, offering you his forearm. Your jeweled eyes fell on it. You took his broad arm with one hand, minding the train of your dress in the other. The pads of your fingers shifted along the muscle. It took a moment for him to register your curious touch. The increase in his muscle mass, particularly as of late, must have been jarring. His brows knit together, his eyes crinkling around the edges in a way that reflected his age by sea. You moved through your gardens. Miguel, your ever-patient servant, followed your lead.

At night time, your garden was impossibly beautiful. It was lined by bushels of healthy, salt-tolerant roses, cloaked in the secret of darkness. Miguel remembered the small pond as if it were yesterday, the secret place of his youth. Small bugs sang in the heaviness of your mutual silence, breaking with the pop of your lips.

“I saw you had a letter in your hands. From a woman, perhaps?” 

He lifted his hand, offering the lack of a marriage band. No wife, not even a love on a distant shore. The memory of your kisses, your bodies strewn in bed, overrode any ability for him to find another woman. What happened to your eyes-- you began, reaching to touch him. He turned his face away. You were the first to notice. Or, perhaps, just unbothered by tethers of propriety.

“You are still unmarried? Then why did you never answer my letters?” 

“What would you have me say, princesa?” Miguel’s words came at last. He hadn’t meant them to come out the way they did. A long, painful lament on his tongue, marked with barbs. “You chose your family over my proposal. Your rejection was quite clear.” 

“You, above everyone else, should know it was not an easy choice. I could not have told them the truth.” You sat down on your stone bench, fixing your skirts. “You would have hung.” 

“Yes... well. How funny is it that they are now dead,” he bit out. “While I stand here alive.” 

Your eyes were bright, watery, bits of tears slipping down from the corners of your eyes, over pink blush at your cheeks. Shit, he hadn't meant to say that. A slow breath leaked from his mouth. You stood up, brushing the tears away with the flowing sleeves. It hurt to see your pain well to the surface.

“Miggy, I know you hate them, but please don’t talk ill of the dead. They did what they thought was best for our nation and nothing more.” 

Right-- to secure the possibility of an alliance through an arranged marriage, how charitable of them. You stood before a bushel of roses, turning your eyes over the fat blooms as an excuse not to look at him. You poisoned your mind with the lies of your father and brothers. He turned you, lip trembling.

“What of what was best for you?” His hand found your cheek, rolling away the tears that spilled openly before those in the garden. The sentinel who watched, the flowers that grew in peace. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing at the comforting warmth that welled up in your chest. He was here, again. “That has always been the only thing that I am concerned with.” 

“I know. My brothers couldn’t understand. They only understood politics.” 

“What of your father? He knows how I feel.” Miguel said. The words were smooth and soft, gentle like the sill waters of your pond. “He may not know that I was your first--” 

“Miggy,” 

“Your virginity belongs to me. Stone cannot take it,” he punctuates the words. They seem to draw some ancient feelings loose, drawing back with your hand to your chest, cooling the heat that bubbled in your chest at the mere memory. His voice milded out, a smile warring at the corners of his lips. Eight years, and he knew you thought of that very warm summer’s night on the pavilion.  "But your father would still allow you to live in misery."

You're not thinking of your father when Miguel speaks of such silly, youthful things. It's hurled into the past.

“You remember.” The tone in his voice pulled at a question, but he asked none. You tugged on your rebozo and turned away from Miguel once more, embarrassed. He couldn’t resist. His hands cupped your slight shoulders, rippled with goosebumps, though it was not a cold night out. His lips worked on your ears, kissing the delicate earrings that dripped from your earlobes. “The last day of the rose harvest.” 

“Miggy, not here.” 

“Your guards fell ill for their night shift. I took their place. You bathed in petals and perfumed your skin that night. I dare say, on purpose. You were so good for me.” 

The memory must have made you clench, your blood runs warm, leaning into the soft kiss he set behind your ear, the scrape of his fang. Oh, stars, you cried.

“We should stop, my father--”

“Knows what love we have. Even if he is a spineless coward.”  

“Have? Miggy?” 

He held his chin level, swaying where he stood, seeking some acknowledgment that your feelings had not changed. For what seemed like the hundredth time that night, you faced him. In place of a response, silence was the best course of action. A grim smile worked on his face, his head pounding with the lack of alcohol, that little friend of his that had made these years pass so easily. You tugged him forward.

“You are mine?” you ask. 

“I am yours. I am loyal to you before anyone else.” 

To his surprise, you held out your hand, your fingers twiddling at him. 

“Then prove your loyalty to me.” You hummed. “Give me that letter. I want it.” 

“You can’t trust me, can you?” He sighed, slipping his hand into his coat pocket. Finally pulling it free, he unraveled it. Its crispy, flaked edges slipped from your fingertips. The royal seal glimmered in your eyes, wrought in sudden delight at your own handwriting. 

“This is mine. And you’ve kept it so close to your heart this whole time? Oh, Miggy,” 

“Don’t start,” Miguel took a step away, rubbing the frustration out of his forehead. Blood rushed to Miggy’s dark face. He should be so lucky that it was night, that the moon was not full, and that you would not weaponize it. You plucked up your skirts, daring a twirl, jewelry jingling, skirts whirling. His lips pulled in a smile at your delight, a party all on your own. Congratulations on your victory, he wanted to say, as if it hadn't resulted in years of endless longing.

“I knew it.” 

“You did not,” Miguel bit out, kicking out his feet over the inky blades of glass. “You interrogated me regarding its source. Another woman when I have a princess? How asinine.” 

“Oh, Miggy. If you write me a letter, just one,” you settled it back in his coat jacket. “I can be at peace with this marriage. I’ll close my eyes and think of you.” 

His mind reeled at your words. He shot you a wan look, which you returned with a confused flicker of your long lashes, wondering what you said that was so wrong. Miguel looked toward the armed guards, men who-- in the day, he served with. He trusts them in a way that is unique to service under the crown-- to you. 

“What sort of man do you take me for?” he bit out, his tone tapering dangerously low. “To think I would allow you to marry that man?”

“What choice do I--” 

“You listen to your father regarding the oddest things. You would marry an archaic sack of shit but not the love of your life.” 

“Oh,” breath punched from your chest, exhaled in a shaky breath. Your hand came to your chest, twiddling the jewelry at your chest. Miguel turned his head back to face yours, his scarlet eyes trained on yours. “I wasn’t aware of your offer.” 

He couldn’t help it. Not anymore. The time at sea, eight years of suppressed pleasure through memories of your warmth, and the letters you sent all culminated in overcoming longing. He dipped down, his lips sliding against yours. He swept his tongue past your lips, drawing you closer with a stabilizing hand behind your back. He was many things, but never a coward, savoring the tender taste of fig and honey and you on your lips. You were as sweet as he remembered. His lips parted, words barely a puff.

“I don't believe I ever retracted it, Princesa.” 

Yes, you say delightfully. He wonders if you'll still say yes after you learn of what he's done. He doesn't always like the decisions he has to make-- but they're for your good. One day, perhaps, you'll understand.

[milliesfishes]

hiii congrats on hitting 300 followers!! i’m always rereading your girl dad blurb you did for billy, i was wondering if you could some more of it?? like the thought of him doting on his baby is soo cute to me😭

(thank you lovey!! <3) 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚𝓫𝓲𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓭𝓪𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓮𝓻𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝓯𝓮𝓶 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝔁 𝓫𝓲𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓴𝓲𝓭

Before laying eyes on his daughter for the first time, Billy didn't believe in love at first sight.

But when he saw the baby in your arms after the most tumultuous hours of both your life and his, he felt the stirrings in his heart. This was pure, undoubtable love. Pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead and smoothing your hair back, he made a vow right then and there. He would always protect his girls.

Annie was the second love of his life, as sweet and good as any baby could be. She was always smiling, always wanting to be held and cuddled. Billy gave into her every time, unable to resist those little eyes, the ones that matched yours to a T.

He spent hours with her, bouncing her on his knee and making silly faces at her to try and coax that bubbly giggle out. She loved her daddy too, clapping her hands together and reaching for him every time he walked into the room.

Billy's favorite thing was to watch you with her, your hair falling over Annie's little body as you spoke or sang softly to her. Sometimes when he came home after a long day it'd be to that glorious sight, and he would just watch for a moment before making his presence known.

Today was one of those days- he was watching you, his sweetheart, lying in the garden on your back with Annie sitting next to you, a messy bunch of flowers closed in her chubby fist. You were smiling peacefully, hair spread out over the grass, dress ridden up to your knees as you traced a finger over your baby's arm. The soft glow of the sunshine made you both look like angels.

"There's my two favorite girls," he said as he walked over, kneeling at your side. He reached over and ruffled Annie's wispy hair. She babbled up at him, holding out the flowers to him. "F' me?" he gasped, taking the bunch from her. "Why thank ya, Miss Annie." She giggled up at him, reaching up her little arms and wanting to be held. He made a quiet rahhhh sound at her as he reached over you and swooped his baby up into his arms, flying her over to sit on his chest much to her delight.

You sat up, smiling and letting your hair fall to the side, the sunlight in the background making it glow. "She's been missing Daddy."

"Awwh, didja baby girl?" he kissed Annie's cheeks. "Mwah. Gotta spend time with Momma though. I'm mighty jealous."

"Annie, you wanna give Daddy a kiss?" you reached out and held her little hand, then gave Billy a knowing smile. "We learned kisses today."

"Didja now?" Billy sat up, bringing Annie with him. "Lemme see!"

"C'mon Annie, go mwah!" you blew a kiss at your baby.

"Mah!" Annie pressed a tiny hand to her mouth and flung it away.

"There ya go!" Billy laughed, affection bubbling in his chest. He kissed Annie's cheek with a smack! "That's right sweetheart, mwah." He grinned at you. "Teachin' her kisses...she's gonna be a heartbreaker."

"Just kisses," you insisted, sitting back on your hands. "All I did was teach her kisses."

"Ya did a mighty fine job of it," he replied, letting Annie grasp his finger and wave it around. "'m gonna have to start loadin' up on bullets. Sit on the porch with a shotgun." Billy bounced Annie on his lap, addressing her. "Cause you're gonna be as pretty as Momma, huh? Yeah, you're a pretty girl."

You laughed and laid back flat on the grass. Billy set Annie to the side, letting her watch a nearby butterfly before turning over and reaching for you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in your hair, pressing several sweet kisses to your head. "Yeah, Momma's the best kisser."

He kissed you long and deep, and you pulled back, giving him a look. "Not in front of Annie. Don't wanna teach her that kind of kissing yet."

"Right." Billy took his hat off his head and plopped it on Annie's head. It covered her eyes and she giggled, waving her hands up. Turning back to you, he grinned, diving back down and capturing your lips in his. You laughed, letting him roll you onto his chest so you were right on top of him.

Kissing him softly, you let your hair fall around his face, and he grasped your hips, hands sliding to your bottom and squeezing lightly. You squealed lightly into his mouth, pulling back and raising an eyebrow. "Billy."

He gave you one last lingering kiss and sat up so you were straddling his lap. Turning to Annie, you saw she was still sitting with Billy's hat shielding her eyes. Billy giggled, plucking the hat back and scooping her back up to hold between you.

Annie reached up and pulled on Billy's handkerchief around his neck, putting the end in her mouth. He grinned, pulling it away. "Let's not be eatin' Daddy's things, sweetie."

You took Annie into your arms and she grabbed a fistful of your hair. Billy winced. "Woah there, little lady. Be gentle with Momma's hair."

Giving him a smile, you pried her little fist away. "She's just a baby."

"Well-" Billy gave you a fond smile. He wrapped his arms around the two of you, burying his face in your hair, humming lowly. "My girls."

It was a lovely scene- Billy kissed your hair and held you close, your sweet baby between you. Suddenly sentimental, he murmured, "I can't even begin to tell ya how grateful I am for you, sweetheart." He kissed your hair, holding his lips to your head. "You've given me a family, something I never thought I'd have."

You smiled softly, looking up at him. "Billy..."

"It's true, sweet," he muttered. "Never thought I'd have somethin' like this. Somethin' real." Billy caught your lips in a sweet kiss, stroking the head of the little girl between you. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, darlin'. Best thing by a mile."

[sashasienna]

🔜

I've learned that, to really nail the great Wanting to Stay Alive Project that I'll probably be working on my whole life, I need to always have at least one thing to look forward to. More is better, and I try to find things for multiple time frames. Sometimes this means planning exciting events for the future, and sometimes it's choosing to look for everyday things to be excited about.

Right now, my excitement calendar looks something like this:

Today: I made really delicious spaghetti for dinner last night and I'm going to use some of the leftover ingredients to make lunch, which I hope will be equally delicious (I love to eat so meals are often one of the things I look forward to).

This week: Jonny and I are meeting with a mortgage adviser on Tuesday so we can start properly looking for a house. I'm not super psyched about the meeting itself, but the fact it's happening makes me feel really hopeful about the future overall. I also have a haircut appointment on Thursday, which is a mundane thing but I have a really great gender-affirming barber so it always makes me feel good.

This month: my brother turns 30 in a few weeks and a bunch of us are going camping for the weekend to celebrate. I'm not a good camper but it's a short trip and I'm really looking forward to celebrating with him. He's really cool and one of my best friends.

1-3 months: I'm going to a big outdoor music festival to see Blink-182 in about 6 weeks. I'm going with a really good friend and I can't wait for us to be the old people at the festival: we've paid a bit extra to use the grown-up campsite with flushing toilets and mattresses and we're gonna hang at the back of the crowds and be in bed by midnight and have an amazing time.

3-6 months: I'm going to visit some friends in Nottingham who I haven't seen in way too long. They're gonna teach me to play Kill Team, so I get to do a lot of mini-painting as a sort of active anticipation between now and then!

6+ months: I've just booked accommodation for me and a bunch of friends to go to an incredible TTRPG convention that's always my favourite week of the year. It's a straight week of renting out a holiday park by a gloomy beach in the middle of January and doing nothing but playing RPGs. It's absolutely glorious.

I haven't included a lot of game nights or tabletop conventions I'm attending for work, because I don't have time to write them all down and it would get repetitive, but they're also things I look forward to a lot and they give my life some structure it sorely needs!

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Throwback Rec!

Helloooooooo!

I've mentioned this when I first started the blog, but unlike with my previous rec blogs, there was quite a long period of time between the time when I started reading buddie fics and when I started this blog (live, five-ish months). Consequently, there's a lot of fics I've read during that period that I've never recced! So I thought I'd try to do a "Throwback" rec once in a while to rec these fics. Enjoy!

this must be the place by euadnes/ @kananjarus (Canon Divergent, Post-Shooting | 75K | Teen): Every life altering event is often led up to with a series of other important events. In this case, there were at least three: An unstoppable fire. An afternoon spent underneath a blanket of California blue sky. But firstly, and maybe the most important of all: There was the impeccable aiming of an ex-sharpshooter. *** Or, the Buck is also shot by the sniper AU that no one asked for.

🔥 Benign Fatality by EtoileGarden/ @etoilegarden (Time Loop AU, Season 2-4 | 23K | Teen): Buck repeats days until he doesn't die in them, has an underdeveloped sense of self worth, and Eddie is the one who wants to step in with him.

must be some kind of twist, I could get used to this by soyxunxperdedor/ @messyhairdiaz (Post-S4, Accidental Marriage | 38K | Explicit): He doesn’t remember much from last night, even less after the fourth or fifth tequila shot. So he certainly doesn’t remember bringing someone back to his room. He steels himself for the lancing pain and cracks his eyes open. Oh. Oh no. This is either really bad or… Well, not really good, but just. Not really bad, and that’s probably all Buck can ask for it to be. Because Eddie is in his bed, Eddie’s arm is wrapped around his waist, Eddie’s legs are tangled with his. And he has no idea why.

🔥 in the night we trust by glorious_spoon/ @glorious-spoon (Canon Divergent, Pre-S4 | 29K | Explicit): Eddie and Buck start sleeping together when they're all stuck at Buck's place during lockdown. It still takes them almost three years to notice that they're in love.

🔥 Didn't think you meant it by EtoileGarden/ @etoilegarden (Friends to Fiancés to Lovers, Post-S5 | 33K | Explicit): “I want - I want to get to - to have some sort of - of promise that I’m… loved. And. And worthy. And that I get to always go to bed knowing I’m - I’m fully, like, mentally, physically, legally committed to this person who - who’ll always have my back, who’ll always - always be there when I need them. But I guess,” Buck shook his head. “I guess I’m starting to really - really believe that maybe I’m not actually built for that. For - for someone actually wanting to commit to me, to marry me. So I - I think seeing the wedding today just kinda cemented in my brain that no one would want to marry me.”  “I’d marry you,” Eddie said, patted his knee. 

🔥 standing on the brink of emptiness by woodchoc_magnum/ @woodchoc-magnum (Post-Shooting | 71K | Mature): In which Eddie is struggling in the aftermath of being shot, learning how to take care of himself and realising he's in love with Buck; and Buck is dating Taylor, taking care of Eddie and Christopher and trying to figure out why he's so goddamn confused about everything.

🔥 Muscle Memory by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Amnesia AU | 40K | Teen): After a disappointment in his personal life, Buck wakes up one morning to find everyone he loves has forgotten him completely. No memories. No recognition. Almost like he was never really there.

oh, my dream (never quite as it seems) by woodchoc_magnum/ @woodchoc-magnum (S6, Friends with Benefits | 44K | Explicit): In which Buck and Eddie are trying out a friends-with-benefits thing (that's rapidly turning into more) when the world comes crashing down on them. As Buck hovers somewhere between life and death, Eddie has to deal with their friends, family and the Buckley parents.

It’s Not the Roaring Dream, It’s the Silent Lightning by giselleslash (Coma AU | 15K | Mature): Buck gets struck by lightning and wakes up in another life where he has everything he’s ever wanted, but soon that life starts to crumble around him and the painful pull back into reality nearly breaks his heart. (or the one where Buck is married to Eddie in a coma dream and he doesn’t want to let the dream go.)

found a park bench for a throne by withoutthetiger / @rewritetheending (Post-S6 | 23K | Teen): Set in S7, when Buck goes back to therapy and Eddie is there to comfort him after each session, much like Buck did for him in 5x14. They're friends, of course, but Eddie can only soothe Buck for so long before it becomes impossible to deny that they're also so much more.

I love the way you spoil me, baby by rosebuddiekin/ @giddyupbuck (Sugar Daddy Buck AU | 33K | Explicit): Buck is a sugar daddy who wants to spoil Eddie rotten and take care of everything for him. Eddie has never had that sort of relationship but is willing to give it a try. There is plenty of adventure along the way.

🔥 In the Gray You are Golden by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Zombie Apocalypse AU | 26K | Explicit): When the world fell apart, Eddie did his best to keep his son safe. But now winter's coming on, their supplies are dwindling, and Christopher needs medical attention, so Eddie takes the chance to move them across the country to the west coast, where the rumored 118 Safezone takes in all survivors. Buck's proud to be a member of the 118's search and rescue teams, but he can't shake the conviction that his lost sister is still alive in the wasteland. When he sneaks out to find her, he runs into Eddie and Chris instead, and vows to get them to the 118 safely. But the wasteland has many ways of tearing people apart, and the undead are just one trick up its sleeve...

🔥 you and me by woodchoc_magnum/ @woodchoc-magnum (S6 Fix-It | 55K | Mature): An alternate ending to Season 6, where Buck realises that what he's been searching for has been right in front of him the whole time.

🔥 The Education of Eddie Diaz by mansikka (Pre-S4, Friends With Benefits | 32K | Explicit): Eddie doesn't really know how it happened. One moment the 118 are drunk in a bar after a hard shift, confessions slipping from his mouth as he playfully kisses Buck on the cheek. The next he is on Buck's couch, taking up Buck's offer of an education that could be asking for trouble. But it's just sex, and they're just friends; it doesn't mean anything to either of them. So why is his time alone with Buck the highlight of his week?

🔥 i see you in my sheets (i see you in my sleep) by elless (Post-S6A, Friends with Benefits | 25K | Explicit): Buck and Eddie are FWB, act like boyfriends, and are suuuuper dumb and oblivious about everything.

🔥 a bleeding sun on a silver screen by rarakiplin (gmontys)/ @hoediaz (Actors AU, Friends With Benefits | 130K | Mature): One day, Buck will tell an interviewer that he would be happy to make movies with Eddie Diaz until the day he dies. But first, years before that, he sees Eddie for the first time on the set of Chimney’s fifth movie.

handle me with care by woodchoc_magnum/ @woodchoc-magnum (Canon to S6E9, Getting Together | 42K | Mature): In which Eddie tries dating again, and slowly comes to terms with his feelings for Buck.

Your Kiss Might Kill Me (So Won't You Kill Me) by morganofthefairies (PWP, BDSM | 9K | Explicit): Buck hadn’t been a virgin by the time he’d hit Peru – not even close. He still considered Peru a critical point in his sexual history, though, because Peru had brought him Fiona, and he was pretty sure he could credit her with like 80% of his sexual knowledge. None of that was the point, though. The point was that, six years later, when Eddie called for the jaws to get to a woman pinned in her car while responding to an 8-car pileup, and absentmindedly called him a good boy as Buck handed them over, he had a totally normal reaction to it.

[nc-vb]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐙𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐔𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐬, 𝐨𝟏. 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐳𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐜

Time is not prejudiced. It gives and takes as the ordinance of life sees fit. Time begets loss and fear, but it also spawns warmth. After centuries worth of time having passed for you, you learn that time also sires impatience, and does not wait for a lost soul to find their way. Time carries on, and flows likes the current of a river. Ironically, so, too, does blood.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 • jing yuan x reader, blade x reader, dan heng & reader

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 • sfw (series mdni), fem pronouns used, yanqing calls you "master" (as per your current position), only slightly beta'ed. • yanqing-centric!

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 • this is chapter one of the zenith unto animus series! if you haven't read the prologue and wish to as a series, please follow the "prologue" link below. • if you'd like to join the taglist for this series, please comment on any of the tzua chapters or the series' masterlist.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 • jing yuan

𝐰𝐜 3.3k

zebec -> a small three-masted sailing ship.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 • 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬' 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 • 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

For as long as the lieutenant has known you, and for as long as he’d been allowed to enter freely into your home, the instrument sitting atop the cabinet in your otherwise empty den has never been moved. It’s never been touched, for that matter, its former glorious jade gleam shafted by years upon years of dust. Everything else in your home had been pristine, shined and polished and free from the image of time— the meticulousness of a records master, he’d often assumed.

Unbeknownst to you, and he’d supposed you’d be upset with him if you knew, but Yanqing entered the den often, even against your advisement.

Whenever he’d open the door, taking care not to push it past the point where it would squeak and alert you, he was greeted with a great plume of dust, and blinded by faded sunlight that poked through uncovered, unwashed windowpanes. Funnily enough, if he tried peering into the room from the outside, he’d find that the glass there had been buffed clean. But the fact that that single piece of furniture and the guzheng centered in the middle of it were the only objects in the room left him… confused.

It’d been as if you’d purposely left it suspended in time. It hadn’t been neglect or laziness at all; you took perfectly good care of the rest of your home, and so this was not something Yanqing dared nor bothered to question, even though there were so many things he wished to question.

Why was I asked not to enter it? Why are there only two items in the room? Why is everything else clean but the den looks like it’s never been touched? Why does she always look at it so sadly? Why doesn’t she enter it?

The temptation to wake you up earlier to ask you these questions, just for his own selfish curiosity, is strong. Maybe you wouldn’t think of it as selfish, but Yanqing reminds himself he’s old enough to understand right from wrong — he understands it, but, as he has proven by entering the room in the first place, doesn’t always abide by its unspoken law. Each time he comes to meet you here, the curiosity eats and gnaws at him until you’re both out the door and away from the source of his curiosity.

Today, the creature sinks its teeth in him particularly deeply.

According to the clock on the wall next to the entrance to the den, it’s fifteen minutes to eight in the morning— fifteen minutes until you awaken.

It isn’t always like this that the lieutenant could be found waiting for you. In the beginning, it was by General Jing Yuan’s request that if he weren’t already preoccupied with another, more pressing task, he might accompany you to the Seat of Divine Foresight in his stead. Before the Stellaron disturbance, and numerous conflicts with Sanctus Medicus supporters, he’d been able to leave with you most days, arm in arm— instead, through use of a hologram device borrowed from his office, Jing Yuan is only able to greet you when you arrive at the office, and when you return home, and then some.

The lieutenant knew you, knew of you, from his general superior. Because he preferred being in the field and out of the office, often accepting tasks that weren’t given to him so he could keep from going stir crazy (and you’d wondered why this was such a constant with him — is it a subconscious need to please the general? Or is it a child’s whim, to impress the adults in his life and “prove” he’s no longer a child? You only assume it’s an even mixture of both) also kept your interactions with him to a minimum. And because of the demands of your own job, it left you with little time to interact with Jing Yuan’s ward, always buzzing about the Seat of Divine Foresight and across the Exalting Sanctum. Opportunities to even watch his and Yanqing’s chess matches or training sessions were scarce.

In each of them, you tried hard to connect with Yanqing, interacted with him like an adult and a young man might without the air of belittlement. Over the years, he had matured fairly quickly— you’d never deny this if anyone asked. For long-life species on the Xianzhou, this was typically the case, anyway, since the aging process is much different than that of a short-life species’. Unfortunately, or perhaps not, Yanqing found himself at that age where a young man’s obsession for one thing sometimes made it difficult for others to connect with him.

Others. Not you.

The boy had only ever known you in your current capacity— the Xianzhou Luofu’s Master of Record. You worked directly under General Jing Yuan, keeping the Luofu organized in every possible definition of the word. Small incidents, incidents that some days took up so much of your time and energy that you wouldn’t leave the Seat of Divine Foresight for days on end, returning home only to shower and change, incidents that you took charge on because your juniors needed your support, incidents— all of the going ons, all of the reports, all directives assigned to them, they required your attention and signature. Another unfortunate thing; there’d never been a morning where there wasn’t a stack of papers waiting for you.

Your mornings used to be a little different. When relative peace across the Xianzhou had yet to exist for the cards, you’d been the one to seek it out through battle. A highly decorated captain within the Luofu Cloud Knights, you were one of the sharpest weapons they carried, and you took great pride in it. You’d led many a charge, and even more men. Back then, when your name appeared in conversation, so did the memories of combat, battles won at your side, and the additional question of why didn’t she get promoted to general?

Yanqing adds this question to his ever-growing list. This is the only knowledge he’d had about your past, before you’d become a pencil pusher within the Seat of Divine Foresight. He’s yet to ask the general about you so seriously, though he’s quick to doubt what the general would tell him, anyhow; the general certainly displays quite a bit of anonymity on your behalf, at least to those you likely wouldn’t want to divulge your former self to. Naturally, rumours existed of you and your former profession. And Jing Yuan had always been kind enough to shut down any kind of prodding or nosiness into your business; there’d been a point where you hadn’t even told him everything about you.

But with this, you’d recently realized, would be an excellent segue into bonding with him. What you’d said only the other day about Yanqing being “everyone’s favourite”, about him being your favourite, was a most honest truth. You admired the young man; he made it easy for you to. Not only for his talent in sword arts, but for his perseverance and keen desire to be helpful— it easily reminded you of the days of Jing Yuan’s youth, under the tutelage of his master, and how far he had come since then.

Also. You’d simply desired the chance to pinch the cute from his cheeks.

And sure, it took time away from his morning training, but quickly, the request began to feel much less like a burden (not that he’d dare to think of it like that! A request from the general? Never!). He enjoyed his conversations with you, walking at your side, your stride never faltering, except when Yanqing needed to catch up; too lost in your storytelling, he’d slowed in his pace to digest every moving image that formed between each word. And even though you never divulged too deeply the details of your stories to him, Yanqing could easily tell that over the months and months of spending most of your mornings together that you’d been letting out a little more each time.

Were you trying not to spook him? The young lieutenant tries not to laugh at the idea—she does realize I’m a Cloud Knight, too, right? Of course, you do. You’ve never neglected to show your pride and enthusiasm toward him and his accomplishment. After all, you’d been where he was once upon a time before reaching your Captain status; more than anyone, you understand the frustration of being looked down upon by peers, subordinates, and even disapproving superiors. But you’d proved them wrong, as Yanqing has.

“The youngest ever Cloud Knight lieutenant,” you’d once mused aloud, tone so heavy with fondness and gaze so alight with pride that it’d managed to make the boy blush into his collar.

Yanqing blinks himself out of his stupor, somehow having entered the trance-like state whilst reminiscing on your shared memories. But he’d been doing so in the middle of the forbidden room, eyes stuck on the old instrument— he hadn’t heard the sliding door whine until it was too late.

“Yanqing.”

He’d never flinched so full-bodied before; if it weren’t for his youth, he might’ve thrown his back out.

“M-Master! I-I—!” You raise a hand, eyes not quite meeting his as you enter the room. There in the doorway, you stand, face still disfigured by the deep sleep you’d just woken up from — indents of your blanket pressed deep into your skin, cheeks swollen, and eyes barely able to tolerate the morning sun — you eventually pass him, arriving before the cabinet and standing before it like an alter. “I’m sorry, ______.”

Your hands hover inches above it, fingers shaking, albeit unnoticeably to the young boy behind you. Gaze untrained, it flits from end to end of the instrument, cautious; expecting. Your teeth pinch the inside of your bottom lip as your body floods with relief— no fingerprints. He didn’t touch it. Fast like a whip, you straighten, and Yanqing winces again.

“… Master ______,” he calls to you in testing, hands poised ahead of him to brace himself.

You turn, a tired smile stretched across your face.

“Yanqing. I do believe we’re running late today, aren’t we?” He swallows. “It’s already ten past eight and my alarm clock didn’t wake me up.”

“S-Sorry,” apologizes said alarm clock.

“It’s… fine!” Still smiling, you steer him out of the room, and he notices that when you’d first entered, you hadn’t created any new footsteps until you’d past him, opting to walk through the ones he created. “So, I’m thinking I’ll prepare us breakfast today, rather than eat out, hm? Does that sound alright?”

Yanqing doesn’t remember nodding— you don’t register that he had.

Would… the general know anything about the room? he wonders, stumbling when he lowers himself at the dining table, a four-seated rectangle made of white arbor. You pat him on the shoulder and get to work only ten feet away, pulling various vegetables, a container of eggs, and day-old rice from the refrigerator. Would… the general tell me anything about the room?

As transparent as the general might be to his ward, he thinks not. There are times he can remember, as of recently, that he’d just as easily sugarcoated things for Yanqing’s ears— ironically, the topic of the conversations generally trailed back onto your name. Something you did, something you said, something the Master Records Keeper said. Except Yanqing didn’t get to know what it was that you said. So, no, it’s easy for him to find it unlikely that the general would be so open and honest about you without your permission. He’s… loyal, in that way, he supposes.

Yanqing can’t fault him for it, for being a good superior, and an even better partner, the latter of which being something Yanqing knew and understood little of (though, at least enough to know what it meant to catch the two of you wrestling with your mouths at the end of the Seat of Divine Foresight when you thought no one was watching— you two must’ve been a lot closer than what you’d let on).

The look that’d been on your face when you’d caught Yanqing red-handed in the forbidden room was something unforgettable. Offhandedly, he’d wondered if you’d ever shown that expression to your opponents on the battlefield. He didn’t doubt it. But even for him, the Xianzhou Luofu’s youngest, most accomplished lieutenant, it struck a chord within him, and not one that produced a pleasant sound. It was discordant and tuneless, dark, something that might play upon the arrival of some great enemy, and he were being honest, you strumming it made him feel a little nauseous.

He never wanted to feel that way because of you ever again.

You serve breakfast about fifteen minutes later, a steaming plate of egg-fried rice and vegetables set down before him and accompanied by a glass of citrus-melon juice. For the most part, the two of you eat in silence— well, Yanqing does. You attempt conversation with him, but even when you’re supplied with half-baked, half-assed, or half-hearted answers from the boy, you appear unperturbed. Any other time, Yanqing internally remarks, eyeing you past his raised glass of liquidized fruit, you’d be harassing me to see if I was alright. His brows push together in scrutiny at you when you aren’t looking.

But you don’t say a word about it. Not even when your eyes had risen so quickly to meet his when you’d felt him staring, or when he’d jumped in his chair so suddenly, he’d bashed the tops of his knees against the underneath of the table. You don’t question him, not even for the reason of why he’d been in that room against your explicit wishes. You know he’s wondering why you haven’t said anything, too.

Rather than get upset at him, which had been your first instinct when you discovered the door to your former study halfway open, you’re letting it simmer. Fester. He knows right from wrong— he’s said those words himself before. Because really, it had been a simple request you’d asked of him whenever he was to visit, and it was made once, and only once— “Please don’t enter the first floor study.” Simple. Barely a burden. You know the silence is making him uncomfortable; you learned early into things that he’s a very vocal child, that he’d prefer to either talk things out or duke them out.

So instead, you simply watch him squirm in his seat and rub his barely injured knees, him refusing to make eye contact and staring floating swords into his half-eaten rice. I don’t think I’ll tell Jing Yuan, you eventually decide, and guzzle down the rest of your juice. It wasn’t touched, so there’s no reason to tell him about this; no reason to worry him.

Yanqing pokes at the final vegetable on his plate with his kuàizi before forgoing them, and leaning over to suck it up with his mouth. You snort, having seen it happen from the corner of your eye.

“All finished?” Yanqing nods, rising from his seat to carry his used dishes over to you at the sink.

“I… can wash them,” he mumbles, keeping a tight hold on them when you’d gone to grab them.

“… okay. I’m not complaining.” You gesture for him to take your spot when you move and he does, picking up the dish scrubby to brush away bits of rice and stuck-on-the-plate egg.

“So.” You watch him bristle beside you. “I’m not sure if the general mentioned to you anything about today. That we won’t be going to the Seat of Divine Foresight at all?”

The soaped-up scrubber pops out of his hand, having slipped from his surprise.

“We’re not working today?” he says. “T-Then, what…”

“I’m taking you somewhere with me. Besides, I know how much you love your swords… I think you’ll enjoy this little excursion.”

Yanqing blinks his shock away. You’ve never taken an entire day off for something like this (well, save for your two days spent awol when it’d gotten too hot aboard the Luofu). And if he’s correct in his inference, he wonders, eyes gone wide and cheeks a little warm… Is she planning on getting something for me?

You were. Not that he knew it yet. But it’d been funny watching the gears turning behind his eyes; you suspect he’d been curious to ask if this is really the case. It’s all a part of your plan to win his favour— not a difficult task so far, you’d quickly realized. Like you’d thought, you and Yanqing had a lot in common. It’s why you decided to share so many stories and anecdotes with him all this time, and he followed along with such endearing intent that you began to actually enjoy Jing Yuan’s order of him to accompany you each day he could not. It’d been less of a hassle; it saved you from having to set or forgetting to set your alarm; and, it supplied you with warm nostalgia, being tailed by someone so young, so energetic. It makes you forget how many lifetimes you’ve lived, and how many lives you’d seen lost. His youth proves time still ticks on, and life still founders.

It’s… a relief, after everything.

Certainly, immortality used to be something you feared, not something you revered like most others. Living forever, or at least, living many lifetimes past that of short-life humans, was overrated. Sitting at their bedsides and watching them die in your hands from illness or old age seemed to never hurt any less each time it happened. You thought you’d grow numb after several hundred years of it. You found few things worth existing for in this extended existence of yours, and over the many years gone past, that number has easily dwindled to only a handful.

Yanqing, as young as he is, has taken his longevity with grace. Barely in his double digits (though with how long-life species age, he’d be in his early teen years, anyhow), his maturity and seriousness has shown itself to be deft and in abundance. Rather than flit his youth away on games and merriment (like Jing Yuan once had, many centuries ago), he’d taken to train both his body and his mind after his developed passion for weaponry and battle (as you once did, a handful of centuries earlier than even he).

The flow of time changes in every decade, you remind yourself, staring at your reflection in your bathroom’s mirror. Even being all refreshed from the shower and under eyes covered with a thin layer of concealer, you still manage to come out looking gaunt. Yet you’re still clinging to the past. You’re going to be left behind again.

Suited and dressed, you walk down your stairs to find Yanqing slipping his own shoes back on.

“Finally ready, Master?” he asks, grinning a little knowingly, as if he’s already figured out your plan to spoil him today.

Aren’t you embarrassed? a new voice asks. You freeze, hand squeezing the banister just a little too tightly; you feel the metal bend beneath it, a new indent forming around your fingers.

Aren’t you tired of making that man wait for you?

“Yeah,” you say, landing on the first floor with both feet. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Aren’t you tired of making that man worry for you?

Yanqing, ever the chivalrous young knight, holds open your door for you to exit after you’d put your own shoes on. Of course, he’d also wanted to look to see where exactly that cracking noise had come from, and easily zeroes in on the wrinkled banister you’d finally stopped hiding when you moved.

He swallows, then shuts the door.

© nc-vb 2023 please don’t repost! reblogs & comments are always appreciated.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 (5/55)

@trailblazernet @yanqingisim@sadflightlessbirds @copjaeminissiperior @thevoidwriting @osiritheous

[howlingday]

HERO'S ARC

Gist: Oversimplified Punic War w/ Papa and Jaune Arc

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

Papa Arc: Here is my proposal. You give me an army so that I can conquer Mistral and expand our territory, rebuild our economy with their resources, and we'll be able to pay Atlas back in no time~!

Ozpin: This sounds great and all, but just to be sure, you're not going to use this army to go on a bloodthirsty revenge spree against Atlas, are you? Because we can't affor that.

Papa Arc: Oz, my old friend, I am simply going... to PAY... THEM... BACK.

Ozpin: ...Well, that's not reassuring.

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

Papa Arc: Jaune?

Jaune: Yeah, Dad?

Papa Arc: Would you like to come with me to build an empire in Mistral.

Jaune: Oh boy, would I~?!

Papa Arc: Isabella, do you mind if I take our nine year old son with me? I want to implant an intense hatred of Atlas in him and prepare him for a glorious campaign of vengeance.

Mama Arc: ...Ugh. Just try not to traumatize him, Nicholas.

Papa Arc: No promises~!

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

Papa Arc: Boy... Do you see that kingdom over there?

Jaune: Yes, father?

Papa Arc: That... is Atlas. Do you know what we do to Atlesians?

Jaune: No, father.

Papa Arc: We HATE them, Jaune. We hate them with every fiber of our being!

Jaune: But why, father? Can't I just play with my Digimons?

Papa Arc: NO, SON! They took everything from us! Our land! Our wealth! Our pride!

Jaune: ...Those monster! I'll tear them limb from limb! I'll burn their pathetic kingdom to the ground!

Jaune: ...Dad?

Papa Arc: (Sniffles) I'm- I'm sorry, son, I... I've just never been so proud! Keep going.

Jaune: I'll slaughter their people.

Papa Arc: (Blubbering)

Jaune: I'LL CUT OFF THEIR FACES AND WEAR THEM AS MASKS!

Papa Arc: (Sobbing loudly, Hugging him) I LOVE YOU, SON!

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

Li Ren: Hey! What the hell are you doing here?! This is my land!

Papa Arc: I'm teaching my son to be a great warrior.

Li Ren: Aw~! Well, that's sweet. Well then, little guy, let's see what you got.

Jaune: (Cuts Li Ren in half)

Papa Arc: ...Good boy. (Tosses treat)

Jaune: (Jumps and catches treat)

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

Jaune: (Adult, Scarred, Beheads general)

Papa Arc: (Hugs Jaune, Sniffling) Dad! Not in front of the enemy!

Enemy Troops: (Laughing)

Jaune: (Throws sword into trooper face)

Papa Arc: You killed that guy so well, son~! (Hugs tighter)

Enemy Troops: (Laughing harder)

Jaune: DAD!

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

Clover: What is this?! What are you up to, Arc?!

Papa Arc: I'm simply gathering the funds to pay Atlas back.

Clover: Oh... Well, okay then... Or are you rebuilding your strength to go on a BLOODTHIRSTY REVENGE SPREE?!

Papa Arc: Like I said, Ebi, I am simply trying to PAY... YOU... BACK.

Nora: Aw~! You guys are hugging~!

Papa Arc: N-NO WE'RE NOT! (Shoves)

Clover: (On the ground) ...I was. I WAS HUGGING! (Openly sobs)

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

Jaune: Wait, Dad, I'm confused. Are we really only paying Atlas back? I thought we were going to go on a bloodthirsty revenge spree.

Papa Arc: We are, son! I'm just saying that to get the Atlesians off our backs! Here's the most important thing you should know, Jaune...

Papa Arc: REVENGE. IS. EVERYTHING. An all-encompassing thirst for revenge is great for your mental health! Are you still confused?

Jaune: No, no, I get it now! But what if Atlas learns what we're doing?

Papa Arc: They won't find out.

Jaune: Why not?

Papa Arc: Because I use... (Lifts mask)

Ruby: TODAY'S SPONSOR, DustVPN~!

Jaune: ...I'm confused again.

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

Papa Arc: Well, son, here's to many more years in Mistral! Now, if you'll excuse me, I just have to go fight those guys over there. See you later, son! I love you-

Papa Arc: (SPEARED!)

Jaune: ...

Papa Arc: (Mufasa Cloud) What the-?! Seriously?! I DROWNED?! Ah, well...

Papa Arc: Always remember, son...

Papa Arc: YOU! ARE! VENGEANCE~! (Fades away)

Jaune: ...

Papa Arc: (Comes back) Also, delete my browsing history.

[sexiest-objects-tournament]

hey guys, and welcome to watchmojo dot com. today we're counting down the top 5 sexiest objects. because as the great bo burnham once said, a really good book is better than pussy.

starting us off at number 5, we have decay and detritus. there are fewer things more erotic than becoming one with something. after i die, i hope to be one with the earth, to be churned by the fungus and fed to the flora and fauna. i hope my open carcass becomes a glorious feast, that my ashes find their root far and wide. i hope my bones are picked clean, my skull turned to diamond in the womb of the earth.

next up at number 4 is weaponry. erotic swordfights. cleaning and sharpening your blades. glistening daggers hidden in a bodice. perfect aim with a bow and arrows. ornately carved hilts and pommels of gemstone.

for number 3 we have the deep ocean. victorian diving suits, erotica in anonymity. coral reefs, countless organisms in structured colonies giving homes to countless fish. underwater volcanoes, churning up food and heat. whale falls, the corpse of a god feeding hundreds. the particulates of underwater snow, shimmering in the gaze of a submarine. a shipwreck, the gutted hull becoming home to creatures who'd never seen its purpose on the surface.

number 2 is the moon. the collective wife of every lesbian. she split off from the earth long ago, and has remained close ever since. she plays an important part in our lives, from our oceans' tides to shielding us from solar radiation and asteroids. the cultures of the world have been fascinated with her for millennia,. writing stories about her travel and her phases. we've been loving her for as long as time can show.

and our number one sexiest object is a tie between computers and gore. we'll highlight each of them.\

computers. the screens we spend perhaps hours of our day in front of. from the carefully crafted code to the thousands of pixels to the purr when she takes on a heavy file, a computer has it all. not to mention the expanded possibilities of a sapient computer. a machine that has learned to love.

and gore. cannibalism, loving someone so much you need to consume them. vivisections, needing to see the inner workings of their body, hold their heart in your hand and watch it beat for you. or something lighter. vampirism, the intimacy of drinking their blood. wound care, stopping the blood with a hand on their chest, feeling their pulse to make sure they're stable, wrapping the bandages around them in sweet silence.

and the two of them together? wires exposed, viscera woven alongside. blood and electricity becoming one in the same. a heart pulsing at the core of a machine, laid bare for your eyes only.

[searchingforakeythatdoesntexist]

DAY 15- «On Thin Ice» Good Omens AU - Triptych Tribute, last part.

To @blairamok. Thanks for everything...!

Please, listen to this?

"Our love is..."

I, I can't get these memories out of my mind And some kind of madness has started to evolve And I, I tried so hard to let you go But some kind of madness is swallowing me whole

I have finally seen the light And I have finally realized What you mean...

And now, I need to know, is this real love Or is it just madness keeping us afloat?

And when I look back at all the crazy fights we had It's like some kind of madness was taking control

And now I have finally seen the light And I have finally realized What you need

But now I have finally seen the end And I'm not expecting you to care, no That I have finally seen the light And I have finally realized

I need to love...!

...I need to love.

Come to me just in a dream Come on and rescue me Yes, I know, I can't be wrong

And baby, you're too headstrong Our love is

...Our Love is Madness, yeah.

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↓Important message below, please check the behind-the-scenes!↓

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Aaaand... cut!

XD

Hello, dear Good Omens fam ^_^

I hope you enjoyed this last fantasie of mine as much as I did. Thanks so much for reading until here. It means a lot to me. Thanks to @blairamok for blessing us with his wonderful AU! I wish you the best, dear!

I have some family duties for a few days and I'll have to travel, so I don't know if I will be able to draw/publish any Daily Challenges for a while. Maybe this is just the sign that I HAVE to go back to simple things, simple challenges, simple ideas, just like at the beginning.

That was one Hell of a journey until now. Thank you all for following me in this challenge. I am learning so much while having fun. Aaand a little bit of pressure too - because HEY ANXIOUS PERSON, that's what I am - but it's almost always a good kind of pressure.

I have drawn more in two weeks that I have ever had in 10 years. This is such a relief to be able to do it, and such a wonderful thing to share my art with you and have your feed-back. Please, please, never stop telling me what you like and what you want me to draw! l would love to read any Challenge Ideas in the tags/comments section.

As for me, I'll try to never stop drawing, ever again.

Have a wonderful day/evening, my dear GO fam.

Elenthya

Personal challenge: a simple sketch each day

Goal: forcing me to keep things simple - inking, shading, just a few sashes of colour

Improvement pursued: to get the movement, the emotion, finding how to add depth, learning how to leave things barely finished

Max time allowed: 2 hours, as usual for my Daily Challenges. or 3-4 hours because it a Tribute to - 8 hours. EIGHT. HOURS. One-shot. Yeah, I know. Time to think about my own rules. Or, no Tribute works for a while. Plus, I love their figure but Crowley face drove me mad. Ugh.

Today's theme chosen by me:

Well, the song speaks for itself, doesn't it? :-) I previously wanted to use "Glorious" because this one is my favourite above all MUSE songs - the instrumental, the voices, everything in this song transports me. But the more I was trying to use the lyrics for this artwork, the more it feels inaccurate. So... Sorry, dear "Glorious". Another time. ;-)

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[exhuastedpigeon]

Buddie Hiatus Fic Rec - Month 10 Feb 16 - March 13

Final rec list of the hiatus! Thanks to everyone who followed along while I shared my favourite fics from each month of the hiatus.

ONE MORE SLEEP UNTIL 911 IS BACK!!!

0-5k

adventures of firehose and eightpack by brewrosemilk / @gayhoediaz Mature | 1.5k Eddie stumbles upon Buck's old twitter account.

to turn my life around (today is the day) by fallingthorns / @fallingthorns Teen | 2.2k Eddie freezes, hands gripping the steering wheel again. Because Eddie loves him. And Eddie promptly flips the car into reverse and peels out of the parking lot before Buck gets to the truck.

in the meantime by oklahoma / @sunshinediaz Teen | 2.3k bad things happen bingo—intubated

a place where i feel at home by Tizniz / @tizniz Gen | 3.1k Sleepy Buck wants cuddles with his boyfriend.

Suit by DaniWib / @daniwib Mature | 3.6k How Buck and Eddie’s suits get ruined before the Madney wedding.

this lovesick thing by fleetinghearts / @shitouttabuck Teen | 3.8k buck is buck: best friend, klutz, star of eddie’s every lovesick daydream. which is to say, things are the same, except maybe what eddie’s willing to ask for

arms race by drh0rrible / @betanoiz Teen | 4.9k When Buck makes a change to his wardrobe, Eddie assumes the worst and won't rest until he gets to the bottom of the change.

5k-10k

Two, Three Times in a Row by Leslie_Knope Explicit | 6.2k “We could’ve gone again.” Eddie snorts. “I’m old. You expect me to get it up twice?” “Yes,” Buck says, like it’s a given, like duh. “I could get you to do it right now.”

lay your cards down, down, down by 42hrb Mature | 6.3k Buck and Eddie get drunk at Chim's bachelor party and wake up married.

And when I sleep on your couch I feel very safe by justhockey Not rated | 6.7k five times Buck sleeps on Eddie’s couch, and the first time he sleeps in his bed.

of laughter, loose tongues, and blurry snapshots of last night by brewrosemilk / @gayhoediaz Explicit | 7.2k Buck and Eddie get wasted, wake up hungover, and consult Buck’s camera roll in order to sharpen their blurry memories of what happened in between.

the devil's on the details by MonsterRae1 / @monsterrae1 Mature | 8.6k Eddie accidentally summons a crossroads demon who won't leave him alone until he signs his soul away. It's all tiktoks fault.

Give Us The Grown by fruitsdoesnotknow Teen | 8.6k Buck starts leaving notes for Eddie. Eddie writes notes for Buck right back. They were always going to end up writing their own love story.

Ace of Hearts by glorious_spoon / @glorious-spoon Teen | 9.6k the poker game was a date. It takes Buck a while to catch on, though.

10k-20k

For the rest of my life (for the rest of yours) by JamesPearce911 / @diazsdimples Gen | 10.6k Buck, Eddie and Christopher go to the zoo to see the baby hippo and Eddie gets all up in his feels about it.

Cooperative Species of the Southern Coastal Husbro by Mad_Lori / @madlori Teen | 11.8k In which Abby Clark attends Buck and Eddie's wedding.

And Life Rushes In by catwalksalone Explicit | 17.4k Eddie runs into Taylor Kelly in a bar and learns a surprising new fact about his best friend.

how this silence of love hurts by bptlmevyemtc Teen | 17.6k it starts when eddie starts leaving daily fun-fact post-it notes on buck's locker. it somehow ends with them kissing.

throw a bone, i’m finally home by fleetinghearts / @shitouttabuck Explicit | 17.9k home for the holidays is a person, not a place, and a puppy can be for christmas and forever

20k - 30k

Hinged by TazzySnow Mature | 20.3k Eddie and Buck match on a dating app.

The Shadows of Every Spark by devirnis / @devirnis Teen | 22.8k the 118 run a front restaurant for money laundering, and accidentally adopt the Buckley siblings

there ain't no turning back by 42hrb Explicit | 28.3k The Buddie healing road trip

A Family Favor by thea_zara / @theazara Teen | 28.7k Evan Buckley never expected to call in the favor he's owed. He also never expected for it to change his life forever.

30k +

Precious & Fragile Things by Daisies_and_Briars / @cal-daisies-and-briars Teen | 46.9k Buck is the Fallen Angel of Petty Temptation, who has been tasked with tempting human Eddie Diaz to sin and enjoy life, but just a little. He thinks the job will be easy - get in, get out, go back to Peru to continue messing around with eternity. But when Buck arrives in Los Angeles, he finds Eddie is harder to tempt than expected, and more compelling than Buck had hoped.

Month 1 (May 15 - June 15) Month 2 (June 16 - July 15) Month 3 (July 16 - August 15) Month 4 (August 16 - September 15) Month 5 (September 16 - October 15) Month 6 (October 16 - November 15) Month 7 (November 16 - December 15) Month 8 (December 16 - January 15) Month 9 (January 16 - February 15)