#or an allowable distance i cant really go anywhere -_- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fandomfluffandfuck · 4 months ago

Note

ok so the new pics of our boys have made me simultaneously freak out and wish i was there. obviously this has sparked thoughts, mainly bc there most definitely needs to be a subastian comeback after seeing chris place those not-so-slick lingering touches all over seb’s back.

(this is so long cos i got carried away but will not be apologising😭😭)

the way seb feels nervous as he finishes being photographed and starts up the street, cameras everywhere and waiting for him to do something worthy of publishing. he walks up to the place where all of kevin’s guests are waiting and… there he is. chris. standing beside another man seb doesnt recognise but cant care about because look. chris has decided apparently that he wants to torment sebastian by showing up wearing one of his signature tight shirts. it stretches across his chest perfectly, squeezing at the meat of his biceps and making them bulge obscenely out of the sleeves. seb cant stop staring, even as he excuses himself to get through the crowd of people blocking his path to chris.

he gravitates towards the older man, not stopping until they’re within touching distance and even then, sebastian is unable to stop staring at the sharp cut of chris’ jaw and the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. a few seconds go by until chris notices hes there, and he turns to sebastian with such warmth in his eyes that seb isnt sure what to do with himself.

“seb! you made it,” he says, that low voice of his washing over sebastian as he nods and allows chris to get in his space, “im so glad to see you.”

its been a while since they last saw each other in person, and yet the pavlovian response sebs body has to even the slightest bit of praise from chris comes back in full force. he smiles widely, a deep blush coloring his cheeks when chris places a large hand on the small of his back. the touch makes sebastian shiver and he hangs on to whatever chris is saying, introducing seb to the other man even though his name goes in one ear and out of the other. sebastians brain is too busy trying not to melt out of his ears as chris slides his hand across to his hip and then lower down his back.

“you guys havent met before, have you?” chris is saying, and sebastian shakes his head, subconsciously leaning into the touch he has missed for the better part of a year (since they filmed ghosted together). the thrill of knowing the things he used to let chris do to him behind closed doors is making sebs head feel foggy as he tries his best to engage in the conversation. fortunately, chris does most of the talking for him, another thing seb appreciates because it just goes to show how well chris really knows him.

until everyone is told to take their seats, chris doesnt remove his hand from sebastians back and it drives him crazy. the fleeting touch would be innocent if not for the past nights that had started with a polite hand on sebs back and ended with one fisted in his hair. and it doesnt help sebastian to relax when chris keeps stealing in depth glances at him out of the corner of his eye - it only serves to make seb want to meet that gaze in the hopes that its as hungry as he remembers it to be.

chris leads him towards their chairs when the conversation ends. they sit down, an empty chair labelled ‘chris pratt’ placed between their seats. chris takes the time to lean over and catch sebs attention.

“you cut your hair,” he murmurs into sebastians ear, “i like it.”

“thank you, chris,” seb replies, ever polite just how chris taught him, blushing furiously under the praise. he wants too many things at once - for chris to reach out and touch him, anywhere or everywhere, sebastian doesnt care.

“you’re welcome, sweetheart,” says chris, and the nickname makes sebs stomach flip, “though, it is a lot shorter than it used to be. less to pull on, in my opinion.”

sebastian couldnt feel more cornered if he tried, despite being in the middle of a crowd of actors who all have no ided what is manifesting between him and chris in this moment. sebastian blinks and suddenly, another man is taking up the space between him and chris; chris pratt. he grins at the two of them and strikes up and comversation with sebastian’s chris. seb inwardly grumbles but is partially grateful for the interruption - he isnt sure what he might have done if chris kept looking at him like that. hungry. wanting. like, if he could, he was seconds from leading seb away from the group and pushing him up against a wall somewhere.

inevitably, after another round of photos and festering sexual tension, thats exactly what ends up happening. with the paps having taken all the photos they need and their cameras being put away, chris takes the opportunity to gently nudge sebastian towards a theatre of some kind nearby and into one of the single bathrooms around the corner.

the moment the door locks, neither of them can keep their hands off each other. its been so long without any time alone, months since seb has felt the way chris touches his body like he owns it and makes sebastian ache like he never has before. the two of them are all heavy breathing and sloppy kisses and eager hands, untucking shirts and unbuttoning pants.

its animal, the kind of hunger that latches onto sebastians gut and tugs, making him press chris into the door and line up their bodies so he can get one of chris’ thick thighs between his own and use it to give himself some relief.

“fuck, i missed you, sweetheart,” chris whispers, letting his hands find their way into sebastians hair, “you’ve been on my mind for months.”

“you thought about me?” seb asks breathlessly, not because he doesnt believe chris but because hearing how much chris wanted him might be enough to get him off.

“of course i did,” chris says, pushing his thigh into sebastians erection and eliciting a wanton moan from the younger mans mouth, “ive been waiting to get my hands on you for as long as we’ve been apart. you have no idea the things i want to do to you - you’re the prettiest thing ive ever seen and ive wanted to show you just how much i want you for months.”

chris continues with his sweet words until seb is making embarrassingly pathetic noises into the crook of chris’ neck, biting and licking at it in between gentle whimpers and desperate whines.

“are you close already, baby? are you gonna use me and make yourself come?”

seb nods weakly, his breath catching in his throat as he grinds against chris’ thigh with irregular movements and chases his pleasure.

“make a mess for me, sweetheart, thats a good boy…”

chris’ encouragement is what does seb in, in the end. he comes in his fucking underwear like a teenager, pressing his fingers into every part of chris’ body that he can reach and pulling him in as closely as he can.

when this is over, theyll talk some more, maybe arrange to get coffee together since theyre both currently in the same city. chris will invite sebastian over to his hotel and seb will pretend he isnt vibrating at the prospect of having an actual bed for chris to take him apart on. but in the meantime, seb needs to calm down, get his legs working again, and tell chris just how much he enjoyed this.

oh. and figure out a way to clean up his pants…

- ok thanks for reading this mess i just let the thoughts flow and they would not stop😅

related to pictures from Chris and Seb being together at the Hollywood Wa/k Of Fame ceremony for kevin Feige

Yeah! If I couldn't've been there, then I'm so fucking glad we got so much footage and so many angles of it! Every single one makes me stare at my phone like an idiot.

The "not-so-slick" touches... yeah 😮‍💨😮‍💨 we all KNOW that Chris being handsy makes poor Sebastian feel some kind of way.

(No! Do not apologize!! I am always here for the length 😏)

Exactly! The tight shirt! Evans, HOW COULD YOU. I love this description of Chris, too 🤤🤤 Anyone would stop dead in their tracks, no matter the amount of famous foot traffic behind them, lol

"Touching distance" is so visceral!! I love!

The sweetness of Chris underlaid with Seb's trained response to it 😏 I love it and the casual possessive touching, too. Get it, Seb! Let that name go in one ear and out the other 💀💀

The lean in! The fogginess!! Yes!

"until everyone is told to take their seats, chris doesnt remove his hand from sebastians back and it drives him crazy. the fleeting touch would be innocent if not for the past nights that had started with a polite hand on sebs back and ended with one fisted in his hair. and it doesnt help sebastian to relax when chris keeps stealing in depth glances at him out of the corner of his eye - it only serves to make seb want to meet that gaze in the hopes that its as hungry as he remembers it to be."

That whole fucking paragraph. Just. Yeah. 😮‍💨🥴

The way Chris taught him? 👀 Oh? I would like to know more?

Cock block Pratt, how dare he, lmao. But Seb's right with that... there would've been shit going down not appropriate for the public if something hadn't stopped them. Oh, if only 😈

YES! GET IT! GET THEM AWAY FROM THOSE CROWDS!

"its animal, the kind of hunger that latches onto sebastians gut and tugs, making him press chris into the door and line up their bodies so he can get one of chris’ thick thighs between his own and use it to give himself some relief."

I. Yeah. Yup. That's hot.

Of course, Seb likes hearing Chris say it 😏

“are you close already, baby? are you gonna use me and make yourself come?”

I. WILL. DIE.

Me and so will Sebastian when he has to do the walk of shame out of that bathroom. Sorry, boys, but I kind of hope the paps get pictures of that, too 👀

In conclusion:

I love this whole fucking scene for them, the mounting tension between them with this whole event as build up, the cutting loose so soon after the event, and the tease at more...

Goddamn.

Thank you for this. I will now read it again and picture more about how they look in that fucking bathroom stall because. Yeah.

#asks #whiteglovemanor #anon provided writing #chris evans #sebastian stan #evanstan #rpf #real person fanfiction #sub seb #subastian #sub sebastian #dom chris

37 notes · View notes

notsuch · 2 years ago

Text

Wanna write Junkers but dont know Aussie shit?

Writing a Junker for non-Aussies, some shit that will make it hit just right instead of half-assing it by writing arvo and calling it done:

the outback is a conceptual area, not a physical place, you cannot put "outback" into a gps and find it, but you can drive two hours out of your city and hit it. the outback can be a green lush rainforest or the outback can be red sand deserts. the point is, it's further away from where you are now and there is fewer people. A park is not the outback, but you can go "out back" to a park to infer its distance from your house.

the most aussie thing about junker queen, junk rat and roadhog is that shirts are a suggestion, not a requirement. if we dont have to wear full tops, we don't. no, that's not just blizzard going "lets show off half naked ppl", in many towns, especially on the coast, they have to enforce a "no shirt, no shoes? no service." rule, it gets that bad.

we also constantly get skin cancer, all the time. everyone. the australian sun has more uv in it than anywhere else in the world AND I DOUBT THAT GOT BETTER WITH ALL THE FREAKING RADIATION EVERYWHERE NOW. It doesn't matter your heritage, black, white, asian, you live in australia? you're getting skin cancer.

no this still does not mean we put on shirts. you'd think that change it, but no. wrong. fuck shirts. fuck pants too. scratch shoes probably while you're at it. ow my feet are burning on the hot pavement? TOO BAD SUCK IT UP. Shorts and a tank top if you really have to push it, but a bikini top at all times is perfectly acceptable for women.

but put on a fucking hat and sunscreen, you complete buffon, what are you, a tourist, not putting on a HAT? always put on a hat. DYOU WANT TO GET SKIN CANCER, HONESTLY,,,,,, but also we suck at putting on hats, just your parents yelled at you to do it and you tell others to do it and always have a hat on hand.

shirt exceptions: if you're in sydney or melbourne. they like, have actual standards about business dress. they even wear three piece suits and shit. my soul died just thinking about it. but even then,,,,, ehhhhh, if its summer, people get /hand wobbles, vague about shirt requirements. ive watched foreign business people see what sydney calls business dress and go EVERYONE HERE IS INFORMAL so like, its more dressed up than the rest of australia, but still probably more dressed down than half the world lmao.

they're call "sydneysiders" and everywhere else takes any reason to trash talk them at every opportunity. we all hate sydney. people who have never been to sydney hate sydney. sydney hates sydney: north sydney hates west sydney, west sydney hates east sydney and so on. everyone who lives in sydney wishes they didn't. fuck sydney. if you cant think of anything to say that's neutral, you can always just slander sydney and it'll be a fairly positive-neutral conversation. i can garuntee Junkers will be sitting there shoving radiated dirt into their horrendous bullet wounds, missing fingers, barely scraping alive, living in the literal apocalypse, and especially be like MAN AT LEAST IM NOT IN SYDNEY.

we call the brits 'Poms' and americans 'Seppos'. If you are talking to a Sydneysider, you can mutually hate on both of these groups. Poms more so. We hate the English. It's not active, btw, we aren't the yanks out here having national pride about a war or something, no, its a passive, low grade, mocking tone at all times about them. Ireland, Scotland and Wales are ok tho, we like them just fine. Just the Brits.

you are not allowed to openly state something is wrong, if its actually seriously fucked up, you have to understate it. for real my own mother was in a small flight plane that had to make an emergency landing in a farmer's field and the farmer came out and said 'bit of trouble mate?' as literal smoke was spewing out of the engine block and the pilot went 'reckon she'll be right in a bit', and everyone sat around having a beer.

except for the weather, you are always, at all times, allowed to complain about the weather. its too hot. its too cold. why is it so humid, why is it so dry. "hows this weather we're having?" is a normal conversation starter to make small talk and also just kill five minutes in line at [sports venue of the choice]. I can physically hear the two fucking junkers in the line to the Scrapyard Arena being like 'man fuck this weather lately' as if it's not the 432432 day of burning hot dry desert irradiated heat that was exactly the same as the day before, and everyone will be 'no yeah bloody hell aye'

slab of beer is a defined currency once you are outside of cities. this is a 24xbeer cans. you can pay for services in beer.

when passing people, "hey" is only acceptable in busy settings, the rest of the time, we're so fucking talkative. people in cities can say 'hi', but outside its got to be the 'eyyy' 'g'day', 'hey bruz', it's always "hi, how ya going?" then a nod and response of "not bad, you?" if you have the time to answer, otherwise a nod with 'g'day gotta go' and an indication you're in a rush is perfectly acceptable. if there is time for it, this is when you go into complaining about the weather. not engaging in this process is ruder than swearing at each other.

a mad cunt and a sick cunt, are your best friends, or the dude at the party who brought the rum and you all cheer. a shit cunt is the worst person who ruined it for everyone by calling the cops because you shouldnt stick a ice box drink cooler on a lawnmower and ride it while drinking said rum. asshole.

the ice box drink is called an Esky, by the way. Not cooler. Esky.

NORTH IS HOT, ITS WHERE ALL THE CROCODILES N CASSOWARIES N SHIT ARE.

the south is cold and does actually get snow, aka the Snowy Mountains are in the south. Yes, we did name it that.

Tasmania (that one big island at the bottom lmao) is snowy and rainy and makes really good whiskey and is probably actually just fine b/c no one cares about it and is not connected to the mainland at all, they judge all "mainlanders".

THEY'RE NOT CALLED COWBOYS, THEY'RE CALLED STOCKMEN, OR JACKAROOS AND JILLAROOS.

Kangaroos are like asshole deer. You will not break them if you hit them, your car however is *completely* fucked.

WE DO NOT CALL THEM 'FARMS'. They are 'properties' or 'stations'. A 'cattle station' is an acceptable term. A sheep station. If you say 'a property' everyone knows you mean an agricultural piece of land, and that it's specifically many, many, MANY, thousands of kilometers long. If you call them farm, we instantly clock you as american or a rich city person who has a 'hobby farm'.

The person who OWNS many, many, many, many, MANY, thousands of miles of land and don't actually work it themselves, may call themselves Farmers, but the rest of us often clock them as rich fuckers because of that reason.

We are not afraid of spiders, snakes, kangaroos, jellyfish, whatever it is foreigners scream about this week, the way you think we are. We don't like them, (ok some of us do), but they just are, and we all got education lessons young about how to not be an idiot about them.

we are fucking with you, at all times, i'm an aussie and I am fucking with you right now. i can meet another aussie in a bar that i do not know, have never seen in my entire life, and make shit up on the spot to distress someone about some animal that does not exist, and the other australian without a fucking beat will IMMEDIATELY. JOIN IN. Junkrat will be tricking Brigette about the existence of Land Sharks and even if she wants to strangle him to death, Junker Queen will 100% back him on whatever the fuck he's saying.

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #junkertown #junkers #junkrat #roadhog

245 notes · View notes

dutifullyshamelessearthquake · 3 months ago

Note

IVE BEEN GONE FOR TWO LONG

WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT CHAPTER TWO OF THE DISTANCE BETWEEN US!!! because I ADORED IT??? Omg I’m so so sorry I have been so criminally slow to scream about this here because oh my WORD I melted into a puddle!!!!!!!!! Cynos sickness worsening was so well written!!! And I loved the dynamic between him and kaveh!! Especially with how spicy Cyno was 🥺🥺🥺 also!!! the way my heart genuinely melted when Tighnari finally came home, that release was so so precious. 😭😭 and on top of all that sweetness and tender love you still captured a truly miserable Cyno and I just!!!! I cant!!! It’s so cozy and warm and I love the balance of hurt comfort and I can’t wait to read chapter three at a more timely manner!!

I know you also have been super busy recently but I hope you know that you’re not alone and you’re doing great!!!! I know myself and many others are hyped for whatever you do next and personally, I really wanna make some sick Cyno art soon and I’m thinking I’ll have to use this one for inspo for sure! 🥰🥰🥰

AHH I'M RESPONDING TO THIS LATE BUT IT'S SO GOOD TO SEE YOUR NAME IN MY ASKBOX AGAIN!! I never realised just how much I looked forward to your response to everything I post, until now! For days after the chapter came out I'd be coming on to check my askbox to see if you've read it, haha!

No apology necessary!! Life happens!! The fics aren't going anywhere!!

BUT AHH I'M SO HAPPY YOU ENJOYED IT!! I had so much fun writing spicy Cyno, he was trying so hard to keep up appearances. I love it when a character becomes nippy and short tempered when they're not feeling well. And his dynamic with Kaveh!! Kaveh was such a joy to write, he's one of my favourite parts of this fic

NARI!! I loved writing the relief of him being home and Cyno just finally allowing himself to crumble after desperately holding it together for so long. He really needed Tighnari and I'm so happy he has him now 🥺 He's gonna need him... I haven't had time to work on chapter 3 but I know what's gonna happen and let me tell you. Cyno is in for a bad time.

Thank you so much!! Things seem to be settling down now and I really hope that's the case, because I'm itching to get some writing done!

And omg!! I'm always so excited to see what art you create, especially when it's Cyno/sickfic flavoured!!

#earthquake author's note #sickfic #genshin sickfic #sick cyno

6 notes · View notes

princess-of-purple-prose · 3 months ago

Text

[ID copied from alt:

Crossover fanart of Ford Pines from Gravity Falls and Martin Blackwood from The Magnus Archives. They are rendered in greyscale. On the left is a small cartoony comic. All three panels depict Ford and Martin sitting next to a campfire warming themselves. Panel 1: Ford has a large, mostly empty, speech bubble reading, "Info Dumping" with several "blah" scattered around it. Martin is in a blanket, looking comfortably interested like Ford is making him nostalgic. Panel 2: Ford has a large speech bubble that is quoting wikipedia, "A chair is a piece of furniture with a raised surface supported by legs, commonly used to seat a single person, chairs are-" It is cut off by Martin's speech bubble which reads, "Oh good god, I have a type." Martin is looking at his flexed hands in consternation. Panel 3: Ford looks confused and suprised, he has a speech bubble reading "What." Martin has both his hands under his chin looking like he wants to be anywhere else. His speech bubble reads, "What." On the right a two panel comic that is more detailed. Panel 1: Ford is looking at Martin, who looks relaxed with his eyes closed. Ford's speech bubble reads, "Do you need any food? I have rations." next to it Martin's speech bubble reads, "Nahhh, I'm alright, your intense, overwhelming loneliness is enough to keep me going!" Panel 2: Ford looks at Martin suspiciously. Martin is looking into the middle distance, eyes wide, eyebrows furrowed, and mouth pursed. He has a thought bubble reading, "why did I say that"

Fan art of Ford Pines from Gravity Falls. He rendered in greyscale and a style similar to that of the show. He is looking looking angry, his arms moved expressively outwards. He has a speech bubble reading, "You cant do this to me Bill! This show is rated TV-Y7" instead of being written in text, TV-Y7, is a screenshot of said age rating logo. Below is another speech bubble reading, "The censors will never allow it!"

The first part of a Fan art vertical comic of Ford from Gravity Falls. It is rendered in a sketchy greyscale style. Panel 1: A Young Ford, in his 30s, is ramblings excitedly, his speech bubble reads, "So did we do it!? Become famous? prove them all wrong? blah blah. In the history books? blah. HAH I knew Fiddleford leaving couldn't stop me! (blah is repeated 7 times)" An older Ford is looking at him talk with a flat expression. Panel 2: Older Ford is angled as if he is looking down on Younger Ford. He has an expression of contempt. His speech bubble reads, "God I really was an arrogant, naive, loser." Panel 3: Younger Ford looks shocked and his speech bubble reads, "What"

second part of a fan art vertical comic of Ford from Gravity Falls. It is rendered in a sketchy greyscale style. Panel 1: Younger Ford is looking at the viewer with an angry, blustered expression, his fists are clenched. His speech bubbles read, "what are you talking about," "I am making history" Panel 2: A close up of Younger Ford's head and shoulder, his speech bubble reads, "I am-" Older Ford's hand is on his shoulder. Panel 3: A wider reverse shot of Older Ford leaning into Younger Ford's space with his hand still gripping his shoulder. His speech bubble reads, "Thank you for reminding me of what I can be. I often find myself slipping." Younger Ford's teeth are clenched practically growling.

the last part of a fan art vertical comic of Ford from Gravity Falls. It is rendered in a sketchy greyscale style. It is a single panel. Younger Ford has a hand on his shoulder where Older Ford had gripped it. He is half turned to look at Older Ford who is walking away, back turned. Older Ford's hand is up in lazy wave, his speech bubble reads, "But now I need to get back to what really matters... My family. Goodbye" Younger Ford has a small speech bubble reading "wait-" End ID]

Some Fords! (and Martin K Blackwood is also there)

#op this is so based holy fuck #gravity falls #gf/tma #described

2K notes · View notes

cryopathiic-a · 11 months ago

Note

■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

"Douma...I am scared for you."

❝ Hello there, sweet little Enmu~ ❞ A pleasant chime as Upper Two turns around on heel to greet his loyal companion. As Enmu has been staying over for a while now, his blood scent lay thick in the air, overpowered only by Dōma's own. So, even though he had sneaked up on the priest, the near-reflexive response did not give away any surprise. Only after Dōma had turned to face him, did his brain piece it together.

A conversation from earlier touching upon deeper thoughts had confessed that his dearest guest was experiencing some sort of inner turmoil. As a guru, Dōma would know. Just like he knew the reason for it. Still, his innocuous pout feigned ignorance.

Enmu's proverbial rose tinted lenses are fading like a silken blindfold coming off. Dōma, unbeknownst to himself, is experiencing one most painful human experience — someone falling out of love on you. Being left behind. Being treated as something defective for what he lacked. Yet, all that lied within him that he could access, was perhaps some childish indignation over the implication that he would have anything to be threatened by.

Maybe he had trusted Enmu enough to think there was nothing more to worry about. It was a first for him in many ways — spending so much time with someone ( primarily due to Enmu's initial clinginess ) feeling as if they're always with you ( mostly because of Enmu's stalking problem ) allowing yourself to relax around them ( perhaps because of Enmu's blood art ) and certainly enjoying them in more ways than one ( this one was pretty self-explanatory ). Everywhere he looked it was always something about Enmu. It had come to a point where imagining his life without Enmu was no longer an option. Not because it would hurt, he said. But because it would be devastatingly boring.

A cool hand reached out to pinch Enmu's decorated cheek between his knuckles.

❝ Awh, what's with that look on your face, my most delectable hallucinogenic? ❞ A cant to his head, fingers gently tugging the skin up to form a small smile. ❝ What's on your brilliant mind this time? ❞ It was a smidgen patronizing, but he shut his mouth and listened to Enmu's concern nonetheless. Even if it came as a mild shock. In fact, if he really gave it some thought —

This marked the first time Dōma had heard those words in over a century.

Usually, people do not treat him with such compassion. Because compassion implies equality; and he is the one always on the pedestal. Even here, where his orbs glisten under the kanji holding them at a distance, the two demons are hardly on even ground.

A step closer is given. Then, Dōma cups both of those creamy cheeks and squishes his face closer to his own. A bubbly giggle follows — but there's that smidgen of something sinister in it.

❝ Hey, Enmu? Since you're my subordinate, I'm still glad you're concerned about me. But... Well, I'd just hate to know you're wasting your time worrying over meaningless things. As there's not much that scares me... and I have everything I could ever want right here, huh? I even have you. ❞ He pulls him into a rather tight hold, then. And there's that lingering insinuation that Enmu is not going anywhere. A small purr leaves the larger of the pair. Dōma nuzzles him gently, nose to nose and cheek to cheek. ❝ So, you know. Things are looking great for me, really! You're sooooo sweet for that, though~ ❞

#(( for reference to that anon: douma in 90% of other ships just calls them the equivalent of babe or smt... and then there's this ^ ))#(( enmu started the pet names so douma had to finish it i guess ))#(( also lmao enmu: i have doubts douma: you signed the form. you signed the fOrm enmu SIT down :D ))#♛ ¦ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇꜱ༺ answered #fruitanddarkness #dark themes tw

1 note · View note

skiller0dani · 4 years ago

Text

Palace Garden | General Kirigan

M A S T E R L I S T Shadow and Bone Masterlist

smut requests info w.c | 4.8k summary | You are the General’s personal Healer, he doesn’t go anywhere without you. So when General Kirigan is invited to the King Pyotr’s annual ‘end of year’ party at the Grand Palace, you join him. Except the King’s second son, Nikolai, takes a special interest in you.

song

My Shadow and Bone pieces will probably include Spoilers from the SHOW. I have not yet read the books, I have only read through most of Six of Crows. I’m finishing that book as we speak, I have only seen the Shadow and Bone tv show, I haven’t read the books.

PSA: I write with limited knowledge of who Nikolai Lantsov is, although I know he is royalty (King of Ravka I believe) but in the show he isn’t the King, so I made him a Prince. Don’t be mad at me, this is all for fun and it’s FICTION.

“You’ve received another invitation from the King, just how long do you plan to ignore him?” You snicker as you drop a letter onto the General’s desk. It’s an invitation to King Pyotr’s End of Year Celebration, attended by decorated Soldiers from both the First and Second Army, and hopefully the esteemed General. The previous year the General had ‘urgent’ matters to attend to so he was unable to attend the dreaded party in his words. In truth you always had fun at the King’s Celebrations so you didn’t know what always soured his fun.

“Until the day after next.” His shoulders were rigid and his tone was clipped.

“General, tonight is the Celebration. You must answer the King by then, you know that.” You chuckled with a roll of your eyes, watching as the General begrudgingly tore open the envelope. You watched as his eyes scanned the paper in front of him, his eyebrows pinching together in frustration.

“General?” You knew it was unwise to engage him when he was in a state of agitation but in all honesty, you didn’t fear him the way everyone else did. General Kirigan swiftly ignored you and reached for a pen, and upon further examination your eyes caught your name written on the letter from the King.

‘I am most eager to meet your esteemed Healer, Y/N.’

The General tends to get a tad, possessive, of the things he deems belong to him. You were one the things the General had claimed as his own, and anybody who shows a particular interest in you tends to annoy him. You can see the tension growing in his shoulders, and while you might not know how deeply he cares for you, you know he sees you as more than just his Healer. Hopefully, he sees you as a sort of friend as well.

“Are we going to attend the Celebration General?” You ask cautiously, watching as Kirigan’s expression shifts from mildly annoyed to thoroughly agitated. You make sure to keep at least one foot distance between you and the General at all times, he tends to be a bit unpredictable when he’s upset. You watch as the General stands, yanking at the buttons of his Kefta before tossing the heavy fabric onto his bed.

“Yes, we are. Apparently both Princes will be in attendance.” The General says through a huff, reaching for his dress jacket- the black one with gold detailing he wears for social events. The Princes? Neither of the Princes have been spotted inside the Grand Palace for a few months now, it’s no wonder the King has chosen tonight for the Celebration. The end of the year isn’t for a few weeks and normally the Celebration is closer to the years change. You try to mask the mild excitement you feel at the prospect of meeting either of the Princes, although you don’t hear much about Prince Vasily. Most of the young Grisha women training in the Little Palace whisper about Prince Nikolai.

“Does this please you?” The General asks, his tone distracted as he finishes buttoning his Kefta in the mirror. You shake your head, your eyes briefly catching his.

“I couldn’t care either way General.” You say with a shrug, and you swear you see the tiniest smile grace the corner of his lips. For as long as you could remember you’ve had a thing for the General, what women wouldn’t? He’s tall, handsome, has dark hair, dark eyes, and he’s powerful. You doubt some Prince could ever compare to General Kirigan, not that you’re hoping one will. A Tailor swiftly enters the General’s chambers then, her eyes landing on you.

“A package has come for Y/N sir, and she should be getting ready for the party soon.” She says, her eyes only briefly meeting the General’s before flickering back towards the floor. His eyebrows stitch together when he sees the box she holds. You reach for it before his hand raises, “give it to me.” He instructs sternly. The Tailor quickly hands the package to the General and you see an unreadable expression pull onto his face. He plucks a note from the top lid of the package, and hands it to you before opening the package.

I await our meeting with bated breath dear Y/N.

- Prince Nikolai

Inside the package is easily the most beautiful dress you’ve ever seen. It’s blood red with silver detailing, and it goes all the way to the floor. You take the dress from the General, stroking the smooth silk. He can see the twinkling in your eyes as you eye the gift from the Prince, it sends surges of frustration through his tightening chest. The Tailor ushers you into the General’s bathroom so you can change, and the General turns his back for privacy. It’s been like this for some time now, you hardly ever get ready for social events in your own room anymore. You’d been the General’s Healer for quite a few years now, and on more than one occasion he’s had to provide some Healing for you as well. He’s seen your entire upper torso bare from when he had to heal a stab wound through your chest. Needless to say, you were probably too comfortable in the presence of the General.

You stepped out of the bathroom and the General turned, his eyes landing on you. For a second he didn’t know what to say, you were absolutely stunning. Your hair had been let in loose curls down your back, normally you wore it up and out of the way so he didn’t normally get to admire your hair falling around your face. The dress hugged each of your curves beautifully, but the color was irritating him. Surely it was tailored to match whatever the Prince was wearing and General Kirigan couldn’t let that slide.

“Well? Am I presentable?” You ask the General, knowing you’ll need his say-so before you’re party ready.

“Nearly.” The General says, his voice trailing off into a whisper as he leans over towards the Tailor. You can see her smile but it’s quickly masked, and you don’t know what he’s saying to her. Quickly the Tailor ushers you back into the bathroom and fumbles around for a few things from her kit. She turns back to you with concentration on her face and soon the appearance of your dress begins to change. The red color fades away and is replaced with an inky black color, and the silver detailing morph into gold detailing. Soon the dress remains mostly the same, except for the fact that it matches the Kefta the General is wearing. When you step out of the bathroom again, you see a pleased look upon the General’s face.

“Now you’re ready.”

»»————-　✼　————-««

Your arm was hooked with the Generals as you entered the main hall of the Grand Palace, your eyes immediately traveling to all the ornate decorations covering the walls. Decorated window curtains, glass chandeliers, a wide ballroom laid out in front of you. It was crowded with people, a soft Orchestra playing in the background, and soft chatter. The General wore an easy smile across his face. He was keeping up appearances, you know he didn’t want to be here. His arm held you to his side tightly, and looming before you was the throne for the King and Queen. Stood on each side of them were the Princes, Vasily stood next to the King, and Nikolai next to the Queen. The King looked positively delighted to see the General.

“General Kirigan! Good you could make it. You remember my sons Vasily and Nikolai don’t you?” The King gestured to both of the Princes, and while Vasily regarded the General with a polite smile, Nikolai’s eyes were firmly on you.

“Yes of course, allow me to introduce the Princes to my Personal Healer- Y/N.” General Kirigan sounds almost proud as he introduces you, and you bow for the Princes who both send you a smile. Although Nikolai’s smile is flirtier then this brothers, who remains polite. The Queen’s eyes trail down your gown, noticing the slight shimmer to the fabric.

“Your dress is lovely, you must have had a good Tailor.” She smiles and you blush as you take your place next to the General, your arm slipping through his with ease.

“Well actually it was a gift from Prince Nikolai. T-Thank you for such a generous gift!” You inform her shyly, feeling General Kirigan’s body go slightly rigid beside you. You carefully peek at the General, and you notice he’s locked in a heated stare-down with Prince Nikolai.

“You’re very welcome, did the color not suit you?” He asks and it’s just now that you notice the Kefta he’s wearing matched your dresses previous color perfectly.

“Oh not at all-”

“I thought it would be better for my Healer to match my Kefta, your highness.” The General cuts in, his voice polite but firm. The General says it as if you should match because you’re his Healer but you know what he’s really saying. He’s telling the Prince he wanted you to match his Kefta and not Nikolai’s, General Kirigan is saying that you belong to him and the Prince knows that.

“Of course.” The Prince’s tone is tense, and the smile on his face looks practiced. You stay firmly placed by the Generals side, offering a polite smile as the General nearly drags you away from the royalty and further into the party. You can feel the frustration washing off the General in waves, your hand curling around his bicep a little tighter as a weak attempt to calm him. Kirigan almost cant stand the sight of you wearing a dress the Prince picked for you, but seeing the Princes face when he realized the dress he picked no longer matched his Kefta, but the General’s instead was wonderful enough to make up for it.

“General? I apologize but you’re needed urgently-” A Grisha solider pushes gently through the crowd and begins to whisper hastily in the General’s ear. You see annoyance cross onto the General’s face before he shoos the Grisha away. He turns towards you, leaning down to brush his lips over the shell of your ear. The small action sends shivers down your spine.

“Can you manage by yourself for a few minutes? There’s something I need to attend to, but I should be back shortly.” He whispers and you quickly offer him a nod before slipping your arm from his. General Kirigan shoots you an apologetic look before following the path the Grisha took before he disappears from sight. You hold a glass in your palm, although you’re not sure what the shimmering liquid is. You feel slightly out of place, and everyone steers clear of you. They saw you with the General, and are probably going to continue to ignore you to prevent receiving the Generals wrath.

“Y/N, right?” You hear a voice to your right and you know who it is before you even turn. Only one person is brave enough to approach somebody the General has placed an ‘unspoken’ claim on.

“Prince Nikolai.” You smile politely, taking a step to the side to create a small amount of distance from you and the Prince. He sips at his glass, a twinkling of mischievousness in his eyes.

“So tell me the real reason the color of your dress was altered. I thought we would have complimented each other nicely.” His voice is smooth like honey, his eyes a cool amber. It’s not that you find the Prince unattractive, quite the opposite actually. You just aren’t interested in him that way, and his good looks could never compare to General Kirigan. The Prince is clean cut and refined, while the General is rugged and untamed. They’re opposites in every way, and you just can’t be attracted to anybody else. Prince Nikolai could never compare to the General.

“I apologize Prince Nikolai, but I wanted to match the General.” You say with ease, finally allowing yourself to take a sip of the mystery drink in your hand. A look you can’t place briefly crosses over Prince Nikolai’s face, if you didn’t know any better you’d say he looked hurt.

“I see.” Is all he says and for the next few minutes you feel a tense silence before a hand presses against the small of your back. You turn your head and nearly breathe a sigh of relief.

“General.” You smile, although his eyes are firmly on Prince Nikolai. His hand gently pulls you closer to his side, and your heart races the tiniest bit faster when his hand curls around your hip to rest there. You know you and the General aren’t together, but the placement of his hand tells people otherwise. You lean further into his side, and you can feel his body relax ever-so-slightly as you do so. When the Orchestra plays a slow song, General Kirigan glances down at you with a raised brow.

“Prince Nikolai, if you’ll excuse us.” General Kirigan says when you notice other couples moving to the dance floor, including the King and Queen. He turns then and leads you out to the ballroom floor, his hand pressing against your lower back, holding your chest flush with his. He takes your hand with his free hand and soon you are both gently swaying to the music. The lights in the ballroom dim, the stars twinkling outside becoming even brighter.

“General, could I ask you a question?” You ask softly, relaxing into his embrace. When you hear him hum softly in response you turn your head up to look at him, he towers over you. You nibble on your bottom lip, your heart beginning to race like mad in your chest. His grip on your palm shifts to allow his fingers to lace through yours gently.

“Why does Prince Nikolai make you so...upset?” You ask, and deep down you know the answer. You just need him to say it. General Kirigan’s eyes flicker to meet yours, an expression on his face that you can’t read. His body presses more firmly against yours when his hold on your lower back tightens, pulling you even closer to him then you were before. You wished you could stay here in this moment with him forever, just the two of you and nobody else. You know that in your heart, you’ve fallen in love with General Kirigan but you doubt he’d ever feel the same way.

“Because I dislike the amount of attention he gives you.” General Kirigan admits, his eyes turning away from yours. You thumb rubs circles over the back of his hand subconsciously as your mind tries to grasp what he just said.

“Prince Nikolai could devote his entire life to attempting to impress me, and it would make no difference General.” You say softly, drawing his gaze back to yours. Your faces are nearly touching, your noses brushing against each others as you lean up on your tippy toes to be closer to him.

“Why not?” He can’t help himself as he asks, surely there’s not a chance you could ever feel for him what he feels for you. Part of him hates himself for being so weak, for allowing his heart to care for you, for allowing a weakness to crawl into his heart.

“Because he could never mean to me what you mean to me General, no matter how hard he tries...he could never be you.” You whisper softly, your cheeks burning hot and your eyes refusing to meet his. General Kirigan feels every emotion he’s tried to push away flood through him then, joy, excitement, glee, pure happiness. A small smile overtakes his face as he leans down to whisper in your ear for the second time tonight.

“Aleksander.”

“What?” You’re startled to say the least, pulling back to look into his eyes. Did he just...?

“That’s my name.” He clarifies, a full smile on his face now. You feel your heart pounding heavily in your chest when you suddenly hear a loud explosion. Startled, you push yourself into General- Aleksander’s chest. His arms curl around your body as the floor to ceiling windows are thrown open, and fireworks are seen outside. Immediately people flood out onto the Palace garden to view the fireworks, and Aleksander is gently leading you outside with them. Your hand is still locked with his as your head tips up to watch the colors explode in the sky. The Alkemi really pulled all the stops for this firework show. Your breath is stolen right from your lungs as you watch the fireworks go off, but soon you feel Aleksander’s fingers turning your face to look at him. Your eyes lock onto his before you’re leaning forward to connect your lips to his.

His arms wrap around your torso to pull you against him tighter, your arms flying up around his shoulders. You hear the fireworks exploding above you and the cheering of the crowd around you, but soon all of them fade away until it’s just you and Aleksander out in the garden alone. You don’t notice the people cheering for the fireworks around you, and you certainly don’t notice Prince Nikolai eyeing you with a broken heart from across the garden. He’s heard much of your victories in battle, and he knows more about you then you thought. When you part from Aleksander, you see a smile on his face and you know that same smile is mirrored on your own face.

»»————-　✼　————-««

By the time you make it back into Aleksander’s room, the moon is at it’s peak in the sky but you don’t feel tired. You stand shyly in his doorway, usually this is around the time you’d bid the General goodnight and begin the short trek to your room. But you’re not ready to say goodnight, you’re not ready for tonight to be over just yet and you can only hope he isn’t either. You bite the inside of your cheek just as you turn to head back into the hallway.

“Leaving so soon?” You hear his voice cut through the silence, and when you turn you see hurt flashing in his eyes. Does he want you to stay?

“I assumed you’d want me to go...like I normally do.” You say softly, your cheeks burning hot.

“Stay.” Is all he says, and it’s all you need to hear. You take a few steps into his room, shutting the door softly behind you. Aleksander crosses the room to you, his hands cupping your cheeks and pulling your lips back onto his. Your hands grab at the lapels of his Kefta, drawing him ever closer to you. His lips move languidly against yours before the kiss grows more desperate, his hands yanking your legs around his waist as he lifts you easily. His palms rest on the globes of your ass, quickly turning you and placing you down on the desk, not caring about the papers that are sent scattering off the desk. Your hands are trembling as your fingers work to unfasten the buttons of his Kefta. His hands don’t know where to touch first, gently grasping at the underside of your breasts before trailing down your curves, feeling how the dress hugs you so perfectly.

“G-General!” You gasp as his lips latch onto your pulse point, his hands digging into your hips. You finally unbutton his Kefta completely, pushing the fabric from his shoulders as soon as it’s freed. You yank at his dress shirt until its untucked from his pants, and his hands reach up your back to pull at the zipper securing your dress.

“Desperate?” Aleksander teases as he slowly pulls the zipper down your dress, the shoulders falling down your arms. You nod frantically, in truth you’ve never felt this desperate for anybody in your whole life. Your palms cup his cheeks, pulling his lips back to yours as his hands pull your dress down your body until it bunches at your waist. You’re practically panting against his lips as one of Aleksander’s hands slides up your thigh before he pulls away from you. He pulls back, just far enough that your lips can’t reach his. You try anyway, leaning forward and chasing his lips with an open mouth. He chuckles softly but stays just out of reach.

“What’s wrong?” You whine, your hands resting on his shoulders. Aleksander has a smile on his face, his hands are still on your hips, holding you tightly. He can’t believe that you’re here in front of him, letting him kiss you, letting him undress you. If only you knew all of the terrible things he’s done with the very same hands that are touching you, you’d probably want nothing to do with him. Aleksander brushes that thought away.

“Nothing, I just wanted to take in the moment.” He smiles but you groan, pulling helplessly at his shirt. He chuckles before leaning back towards you, pressing his lips to yours again. He loves that you’re so eager for him, so needy for him. Aleksander finishes pushing your dress down your legs, leaving you in nothing more than a pair of panties. His hands reach up to cup the underside of your breasts, his lips moving quickly against yours. Your hands reach to the hem of his shirt, and you part briefly to pull his dress shirt over his head.

“Sure about this?” Aleksander mumbles against your lips as his hand dips into your panties to drag a finger through your drenched folds. You nod helplessly against his lips, your fingers digging into his shoulders when he pushes a lewd finger into your tight opening. He thrusts his finger into you quickly, loving the desperate whines coming from your lips.

“Words please.” He says softly, quickly pressing a second finger into you. Your nails press crescent moons into his shoulders when he crooks his fingers into you, making you squeal.

“Yes, yes I’m sure about this.” You gasp, his thumb making contact with your clit and rubbing tight little circles. Your lips press firmly to his again, and he swallows all of your moans. Aleksander groans softly when he feels you grind your hips into his hand, your back arching as his other hand slides up your stomach to pinch your nipple.

“God all I want is you Aleksander-” You moan, saying his real name for the first time. Hearing you moan his name has shivers trembling down his back, and his fingers pulling out of your tight heat. Your hands are reaching for the waistband of his pants, fumbling with the button before you give up and Aleksander is swatting your hands away. He quickly undoes his pants and reaches into them to pull his hardening cock out. With one hand, he rips your panties from your body, leaving you naked and sprawled across his desk. It’s not a sight he’ll ever forget. He steps into your spread legs, one hand on his cock and the other hand on your hip as he presses his tip against your slippery folds. Your hands pull his chest against yours as you press your face into his neck when he pushes into you. Both of you release a moan simultaneously when you feel him stretching you open.

“Please tell me this isn’t a one time thing-”

“Stop talking.” He growls before pressing his lips against yours as he continues to work himself inch by inch into you. You mewl against his lips as he bottoms out, his tip nestled against the spot that makes your toes curl. It burns just a bit, but you’re still panting against him as he stays completely still inside you. You try to pull your hips back but his hands lock you in place, a playful smile on his face as he watches you roll your hips. His pupils are blown open in lust as he holds you against him, and he feels you growing wetter by the second. You want him to move so badly, you feel tears of frustration pushing at the backs of your eyes as you weakly try to once again get him to move inside you.

“Move please.” You beg shamlessly and Aleksander presses a quick kiss to your lips.

“You have to promise me something first.” He says softly and you groan, rolling your hips desperately again. He’s so hard inside you, you can feel your walls squeezing him tightly.

“Anything!” You nearly cry out, you ignore him when you hear him chuckle softly.

“Promise me that you’re mine. I can’t have anybody else seeing you this way.” Aleksander growls, starting to feel a little impatient himself. Your hands pull his bare chest against yours, your lips a hair’s distance away from his.

“I promise. I’m yours, only yours.” You promise, your hips wriggling against his once more. Seemingly satisfied, Aleksander pulls his hips back and slams back into you, causing you to cry out as he sets a brutal pace. He slams into you, ramming his tip against your g-spot repeatedly. You cry out as his lips latch onto your neck, leaving bruises in his wake as he bites and suckles any skin he can find. Your arms wind around his shoulders as he slams into you, reducing you to nothing more than a boneless moaning mess underneath him. Your lips press to his and you kiss him with a fiery passion, your body rocking against his. Suddenly Aleksander pulls out, gently yanking you off the desk to bend you over it. Your toes barely touch the ground before he’s sliding into you again, taking you roughly from behind. You hear him hiss through clenched teeth as his hand runs up your spine to twist your hair around his hand. He yanks you up onto your elbows by your hair, holding you in place as he keeps his brutal pace.

“Oh yes, yes-” All you can do is cry out and moan underneath him, all of your thoughts reduced to nothing more than endless praises to his cock. His grip on your hair loosens before your upper body collapses against the desk again, and his hands move instead to your hips to draw your body back against him to meet his thrusts. Pulling you back against him allows him to ram even deeper inside you, and you can feel his tip hit your cervix every time he thrusts into you. One of his hands reaches around your body to pinch and roll your clit and as soon as he does you’re crying out and moaning like a bitch in heat. His teeth are clenched as he groans above you, you feel absolutely heavenly.

“Fuck, fuck! Gonna cum, I’m gonna cum!” You cry out helplessly, your hip bones screaming in pain every time they’re rammed against the edge of the desk. Aleksander doesn’t slow down even for a second, continuing to brutally pound into you, desperate to chase his own release. Aleksander yanks your torso up so that your back is pressed to his chest and one of his hands reaches down to roll your clit. You cry out desperately as your orgasm washes through you, causing you to clamp down around him tightly. Aleksander fucks up into you, slamming into your overstimulated body until you’re violently trembling and soon he’s cumming in hot spurts. Your exhausted body nearly collapses to the floor when he pulls out and steps away. Aleksander immediately reaches forward to catch you before you crumple to the floor.

He scoops you into his arms and gently carries you to the bed, and you practically melt into the mattress. You see concern pooling in his eyes as he pulls the blankets over you, his thumbs brushing over the bruises on your neck and shoulders, plus the purple bruises on your hipbones from the desk. He leans down to press his lips to your gently and you smile into the kiss.

“I know that look, stop worrying. I can Heal myself in the morning, I’m too tired now.” You reassure him and his worry eases a bit before he’s standing to turn out all of the lights and slide into the bed next to you. Aleksander reaches over to pull your limp body against his chest. Pressing a kiss to your head, he holds you against him tightly.

“Did I go too hard?” He asks into the silence and you nuzzle into his warm chest.

“It was perfect Aleksander.” You promise, pressing a kiss against his chest. He relaxes then with you in his arms. Soon he hears your breathing even out and he knows you’re asleep. Aleksander knows by now that he’s falling in love with you, but for your sake he has to keep his distance. He’ll have to find a new Healer, no matter how much it pains him to do so. If anybody found out the Black Heretic loved somebody, you’d be in grave danger and frankly, Aleksander is afraid of what he’d do if he ever lost you. His heart breaks when he remembers what he has to do tomorrow, but luckily it isn’t tomorrow yet and he can enjoy laying here with you sleeping in his arms.

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone fic #general kirigan #general kirigan smut #the darkling #the darkling smut #the darkling x you #darkling x you #aleksander kirigan smut #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova smut

1K notes · View notes

drachenfist · 2 years ago

Text

it's an unseeing gaze that pierces through the younger, yet all the same it seems to sense everything. it is unsurprising, really, for a man of lee sin's calibre to know the master of shadow's embarrassment, and to understand his plight in both convalescence and the willingness to admit he enjoyed sharing the monk's bed. he had put up a good fight - really - attempting to keep his distance in a way that was wholly proper. but he also was no longer wholly man, and whatever the dragon wanted - it usually got. it helped, of course, that he and the dragon wanted the same thing in this regard, even if his valiant efforts had been all for naught the second zed's scent had mingled with his own in plush furs and warm quilts. inwardly, he sighs. inwardly, he thinks the dragon within laughs a little.

a wry smile pulls at his lips, zed's candor always appreciated. " you are correct, unruly pupil. i would imagine my bossiness to not be one of my finer traits. " a sip of that warm tea, and lee sin sighs, allowing any remaining tension to ease from the strong expanse of his shoulders in a deep, vulnerable breath. calmness edges the corners of his mind, a soothing balm to the covetous nature that the spirit within sought to emulate. relax, he thinks, he is not going anywhere.

the wry pull at his lips softens, mouth and jaw doing all the work of his expressions thanks to the darkness of that blindfold. he does not need to see zed to know he is blushing - does not need to behold his features to know the words cost him a chunk of pride. lee sin rewards him with an outstretched hand, the tattooed one, palm up and requesting the younger take it. should he choose to do so, the monk is quick to twine their digits together, calloused flesh to flesh, and skate his thumb along the back of zed's hand. it's a slow, tender touch, comforting and serene - and utterly intense as his pinkie emulates the stroke across the sensitive expanse of his palm. " then you may stay. " he murmurs gently, " tonight and every night you remain hereafter. besides- " a momentary pause, almost as if he is carrying on a conversation within his head, " the dragon would protest your leaving anyway. "

lee does not elaborate on that statement, choosing instead to take another slow sip of his tea. by then, the beverage is empty, and he sets it aside, placing that hand upon the sensitive underside of zed's wrist to feel his pulse, to count the beats and hum at the sensation of it. the flutter of his heartbeat - that was as good as seeing the red that surely adorned pale features. " well, " he begins, two fingers now stroking the soft skin there, where he knew veins to be blue beneath flesh, " the elders have elected to allow us to spend the day at rest. or more aptly, tend to your personal matters. which is just as well... " his fingers cease their movement, head canting to the side so that the long bit of silver-white ponytail falls upon a bare pectoral. " since you and your heart rate deem you eager to continue training. " he fixes him with a 'look,' brow arched beneath his blindfold - but the amusement is clear. " what part of enlightenment shall we explore today, master of shadows? "

what benevolence is he deserving of, he cannot dull the corollary of war, the way his hands were eternally blighted by the blood of noxian invaders. the stygian stream of his consciousness was the river styx, their incessant wails a discordant whisper in his ears. non negotiable he chastises, warranting the assassin’s sigh. acceding to his charity had felt undue at first but lee was of unyielding resolve and zed had experienced it first hand. succumbing was but the natural order of things and consequently had he ended up learning other ways to palliate his suffering. “ yes, of course.” his words are solemn yet are without the verity of the monastery’s occupants. “ i have learnt that defiance in your presence is worth little.” he accepts the steaming cup, the suffused warmth expelling the lingering chill from his fingers. “ i would like to think my conduct has improved under your tutelage.” he rests the rim to his lips and takes a long, ruminative sip. It was a unity of flavors, a brew that renewed him, the breath that emerges in its wake is one of relief. zed paused, decorum faltering as roseate rises to the tips of his ears and he steels his gaze, focusing on the slow, outward ripple of the tea. “ I -” he began but the words evade him, as lee continues to speak he reluctantly permits their eyes to meet. “ did not come here with the intent to purge you of propriety.” zed allowed the cups brim to remain at his lips for a moment. “ but neither will i deny your presence to be of some … solace to me.” the confession does not come without a toll and that is the flush upon his pallor, evident of his turmoil between speaking and fastening himself to silence. “ what will happen now that the weather has turned for the worse.” dawns were greeted with labor, often carting the solidifying brick to the outer limits of the monastery. for the passing days he had worked in tandem with the others to fortify the first of many structures. will they too feel restive, mandated to stagnance as gelid white mantles their land in a frosted slumber. “ if we aren’t to continue, should we.” he pauses, taking another rather deliberate sip. “ continue our training.” lee had taught him much since his advent to the mountains, to the monastery, to him. At time he felt as much he knew was there that he did not, each moment spent with lee was accompanied with a sense of enlightenment, zed still uncertain how he felt about that.

#making out best kind of training #LETS GOOOOO #deathsmark #verse. main /

3 notes · View notes

delimeful · 4 years ago

Text

you cant go back (2)

warnings: fear, miscommunication, guilt, mentions of theoretical gore/injury, dehumanization, referring to a person as 'it', general angst

For the fourth day in a row, Lady Macbeth had spurned him.

Roman frowned, pulling the strap of his messenger bag over his head and tossing it over the back of a kitchen chair.

Lady was old, smug, and occasionally very cranky, but she wasn’t deaf like Ophelia-- she always came prancing over once she heard his keys rattling in the lock, delighted at the opportunity to smear cat hair all over his pants and get her claws stuck in his shoelaces.

Yet here he stood, catless.

For the past few days, too, she hadn’t been in the house at all when he got home. He’d been downright worried that first day, uneasy until she strolled back in at dusk.

They had an expansive backyard that their younger cats took delight in frolicking in, but their second-oldest cat was a rare visitor to the outdoors. Lady was first and foremost a homebody, and she preferred a warm body to sit on. Their squishy heat-generating human bodies were the only reason she hadn’t assassinated them all in their sleep by now, according to--

Roman cut the thought off sharply, feeling familiar grief pit up in his throat. He shook his head, the motion harsh enough to make his neck twinge. There was no time for standing about and pondering! He had a cat to locate!

A determined jut to his chin, he grabbed what supplies he would need for this perilous journey-- cat treats, a catnip toy, even a tempting cardboard box-- and strode confidently out the backdoor.

For the next half-hour, he wandered around the acres of their property, greeting each of the goats and chickens by name as he checked all the most common cat hidey-holes.

He’d almost given up by the time he stumbled across the old barn, pant legs covered in burrs and the beginnings of a sunburn across the back of his neck. Whatever delightful cat secrets Lady was so busy with, surely he could discover them when it wasn’t the middle of summer.

Just before he could turn around, though, he noticed that one of the doors was just slightly ajar.

Roman felt his brow gradually scrunch up the longer he stared at it. It had been locked up after the last of the old supplies had been moved from it, hadn’t it? The last big storm had proved it wasn’t weather-worthy, his dad had plans to take it apart for timber, ones that had seemingly been forgotten after… afterwards.

Petty inconveniences of getting there forgotten, Roman crept closer on light feet, grip tight on the catnip mouse in his hand. The wind died down at an eerily perfect moment, and he strained to hear beyond those old wooden walls.

Not everything is a grand conspiracy, a voice in his head reminded him, sounding suspiciously similar to Specs, it could simply be someone without housing that took the opportunity for shelter provided by the abandoned barn.

Roman sidled halfway through the ajar door, and froze at the sight of an upright humanoid figure only a few meters away. Something about it wasn't right, instantly putting him on edge. He kept staring, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

(“I’m telling you, these lights were strange even by my standards! Almost… alien.” An unsettling grin that was a beat late.)

The figure’s head was dropped forward, but he could tell even from this distance that it wasn’t human, with shiny purple-grey segmented skin and legs with knees facing the wrong way. It had spiky shoulder joints, but its arms seemed to be tucked behind it.

(Roman had shoved him off the couch, sour about being taken in by one of his tales, and he hadn’t brought it up again.)

Most alarming of all, there were four long, spindly limbs stretched out into the air behind it, seemingly spawning from its back. The legs were spider-like in nature, but shiny instead of hairy, and each one ended in a sharp point. As he watched, he could see the limbs shifting slowly, pairs of them lifting and falling in odd synchrony with the creature’s slow breathing.

(Roman had been freaked out, and his brother had dropped the subject. He should’ve asked, he should have known something was wrong--)

“Miaow.” A plaintive voice called, nearly startling Roman out of his skin.

He tore his gaze away from the (alien) mystery intruder, and felt his jaw drop as he took in Lady Macbeth’s current position. Loafing on the feet of an insidious intruder?!

For shame, he mouthed silently at her.

Lady blinked slowly and continued to purr, unbothered by his accusatory stare. One of those spider limbs shifted again, making Roman swallow nervously. He really didn’t want to see what sort of automatic reaction an extraterrestrial’s stabby-arms would have to finding a cat in its space.

He waved the catnip mouse enticingly. Lady gave him the bland look of a cat who had preferred those expensive feather toys for as long as he had known her. Roman resisted the urge to facepalm.

The insanely dangerous method it was, then.

Putting all his sneaking skills to use, he sidled further into the barn, dropping into a crouch and beginning to creep across the dirt floor as slowly as possible. Each step was carefully placed, almost entirely silent, and whenever those freaky appendages twitched, he froze in place for a full thirty seconds.

The alien’s head remained lax (asleep?) as he drew closer, but Lady refused to entertain his desperate motions for her to leave her ill-chosen bed. At this rate, he’d have to pick her up off of it, and hope that she didn’t complain too much on the way out.

He shifted his weight forwards, and suddenly all four of the arms were still, almost taut in the air. Only a couple feet away, the alien’s head bobbed slightly. His time was up.

Clenching his teeth, Roman made a gamble.

He tossed the little mouse toy directly at the space above the alien’s head and dove for Lady.

There was a whistle, like a whip or an arrow sliding through the air, and Roman made the mistake of glancing up as soon as he had his hands securely around Lady’s body.

All four of the spider limbs had jabbed into the same point, skewering the toy from several different angles. The alien was certainly awake now, and it had four times as many eyes as any one person could reasonably need. Between one heartbeat and the next, those huge dark irises went from staring at the poor mutilated toy to staring at Roman.

Terror shot through him and he gave up on subtlety, throwing himself back as hard as he could and hoping that he made it out of range.

He landed on his back with a whomp that knocked the wind out of him, and flinched as that terrifying whistling sound split the air again, ending in a muted thump. He was so wired with adrenaline that he couldn’t tell if he’d been hit or not. Locked in his arms, Lady writhed and complained loudly.

“Not going anywhere,” Roman wheezed, “you little fiend, con-- consorting with the enemy.”

There were several more whistle-thumps, which was either very good or very bad for him. He rolled to his side, pushing himself up on an elbow and taking stock of himself, braced for the worst.

The alien was still standing there against the central support beam of the barn. Half a foot from Roman’s leg, it's very sharp extra arms had left holes pierced in the hard-packed dirt of the barn’s floor.

“But no holes in me,” Roman cheered weakly, and then shifted Lady to the crook of one arm and flipped the alien off. “Nice try, Space Invader.”

The alien made a deep clicking rumble, but stopped trying to impale him. Instead, it moved to hold all those limbs high up in the air menacingly, ready to stab down at any point. The remains of the toy mouse sat near its feet, cotton innards spilling everywhere like a grim warning.

Roman got to his own feet, wincing at the feeling of Lady’s claws poking into his ribs as she attempted to kick her way to freedom. He took a moment to stare once he was back upright.

The alien’s skin plates had gone completely pitch-black, only the slightest hints of purple between the plates to prove that there’d ever been any color to it at all. Roman was abruptly glad that he hadn’t encountered it in the dark of night.

Its eyes were just as dark, with only the slightest difference in shades of black to indicate the difference between iris and sclera. Despite his artistic eye for color differences, even Roman couldn’t tell where its pupils were. If it even had pupils.

It also was still stuck in one place, despite its legs seeming totally operational. Roman slowly shuffled to the side of it, making sure to keep a few good steps clear of stabbing range, and found that it did in fact have normal arms and hands.

Well. Mostly normal. There were five fingers, but they were all way too long and ended in thick, claw-like points. He thought they also maybe had one or two too many joints.

More to the point, the alien couldn’t do anything with these arms because they were bound together at the wrists and tied tightly to the central support beam of the barn. It was stuck there, and going by the aggressive rumbling it was doing, it knew it.

Roman pulled out his phone and managed to take a shaky video of the alien, circling around it to both get a better angle and prompt it to threateningly twitch those back limbs some more. He knew his sci fi tropes, including the one where the alien mysteriously disappears the moment the plucky protagonist tries to tell anyone about the danger. He wasn’t going to be called crazy again.

Once he was content with the amount of evidence he had, he made the trek back to the house at a near-sprint, the cat in his arms protesting all the way. He burst through the back door, letting the screen fall shut behind him, and finally allowed Lady to walk on the power of her own four paws. She beelined for the screen door, stood up on her hind legs, and rattled it expectantly.

“Absolutely not,” Roman told her firmly, nudging her away. “I don’t know what it is with you and courting death via Xenomorph, but you are henceforth banned from the outdoors.”

If angry little kitty looks could kill, Roman would be as dead as King Duncan.

Shaking his head, he went over to the ancient landline phone in their kitchen, lifted the phone from its cradle, and paused.

Who was he going to call?

He’d had some half-conceived notion of calling his parents, or that infuriating police officer, or even just 911. What would he even say? ‘Hello operator, my emergency is that I have an alien in my barn, I promise this isn’t a prank’? Even the dial tone wouldn’t believe that.

And what if they did get someone out here to verify that there was a real alien? There was little doubt in his mind that law enforcement and then the government would quickly step in, whisking the evil version of E.T. away into some distant Area 51 lab. Roman would never see it-- or get any answers from it-- ever again.

He hung the phone up with a solid click, and turned to face the kitchen.

If he was going to interrogate a hostile alien, he needed to arm himself.

---

Shockingly, when he returned to the barn, the alien was still there.

He had crept up quietly again, hoping to catch it unawares, but this time it had been staring unerringly at him from the moment he peeked through the door, those smaller, rounder eyes wide open under its main ones.

He pushed the door open further with a dramatic flourish, pretending like he hadn’t been sneaking at all.

“Alien scourge,” Roman greeted, wincing at the crack in his voice. He cleared his throat, ignoring the way the alien’s dark gaze sent chills down his spine. “I don’t know how you ended up here, but I do know that you’re going to give me the information that I need.”

He pointed the end of his weapon of choice for emphasis, and the alien recoiled with a hiss, quickly jabbing out at it with those back arms.

Just as he’d hoped, however, putting vegetable oil on the already-slick plastic handle of the kitchen broom had made it basically impossible for those single-pronged limbs to stab or grab it. He grinned triumphantly, poking the alien with the end of it. The playing field had officially been evened.

“Now, unless you want me to introduce you to the Earth concept of piñatas, you better tell me what you’re here for.”

The alien was entirely silent, watching him with those shiny, pitch-black eyes. Behind it, its spider arms were vibrating with tension, probably in preparation to stab out the moment he slipped up.

“I’m serious,” Roman warned, poking it a little harder and getting exactly nothing for his efforts, not even a glare. “I know what I saw that night, and there’s no way it’s a coincidence that now you’re here. It was an abduction."

He paused for effect, and the alien let out a series of clicks and low, warped sounds that sounded like meaningless nonsense.

"I don't speak alien." Roman frowned. "Tell me what happened. Why were you-- or, your-- your brethren or your shipmates or whatever, why were they taking people? Where did they take them?”

The alien made what sounded like the same exact series of noises. Roman groaned in frustration.

“In-- In English! You understand what I’m saying, don’t you? If aliens are real and have the technology to infiltrate Earth without being detected, they have to have some way of communicating! An insta-translator or telepathy or math nonsense or something!” He threw his arms out in frustration, making the alien twitch.

He paced back and forth for a moment, before coming to a stop in front of the alien again and leveling it with an accusatory stare. “You’re faking it. I don’t believe that you can’t understand me.”

The alien just kept staring at him, flat plates where its mouth should have been, not a single expression visible on its face. It was about as convinced by Roman’s argument as everyone else in his life, which was to say, not at all. He felt a surge of white-hot anger, and levered the broom at its neck threateningly.

“Tell me, right now!” he demanded, stinging tears building up at the corner of his eyes. “Tell me where my brother is!”

He shoved the broom further forwards, and the alien snapped its limbs forwards and knocked it away, startling him into stumbling back. It hissed at him again, stabbing at the ground like a warning. He scowled, swiping at his face with a sleeve, and swung the broom handle at it sharply.

The swing went wide, more than a foot from touching any of it, but the alien showed the closest thing to emotion he’d seen so far, half of its eyes flinching closed in anticipation. Roman felt a sickening twist in his gut, some odd mix of guilt, anger, and vindication, and he turned away sharply.

Not for the first time, he wished he’d been the one that had been taken.

Remus wouldn’t care if the stupid cops didn’t listen to him, if their parents didn’t believe him, if the whole town thought he was insane. He would know how to convince an alien to talk, would threaten to-- to crush its extra eyes or cut off limbs or do something Roman was too squeamish to even think up.

If it was Remus, it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t know what to do. He’d at least do something.

He wouldn’t be going through the motions of life like everything was the same.

Pretending had always been Roman’s specialty, after all.

Roman cast a furious glare over his shoulder at the alien, resentful that it was still staring at him even as he was in the middle of a breakdown, and tossed the broom into the corner.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, swallowing back the thickness in his voice, “and every day after that until you tell me.”

Threat delivered, he stormed out of the barn and slammed the doors shut behind him.

#sanders sides #humans are space orcs #ts roman #ts virgil #space au #humans are deathworlders #ycgb #you cant go back #my writing #writing #sanders sides fic #alien virgil

299 notes · View notes

randombubblegum · 2 years ago

Note

i feel like awsten is just too close to everything? he's way too online and even when he takes "breaks" it doesnt seem like he actually does, it feels like hes just not tweeting but reading everything that's being said about him. like i was on parx twt from like late 2017 until like..... october 2019 (FANDOM was ironically my last straw lmfao) and when i was there i was suuuper sensitive to critique about them or even the slightest bit of negativity and over the past couple years having properly distanced myself my perspective has completely shifted and like. im just a fan lol i cant imagine how being terminally online as a member of the band is fucking w his head. like. all the points hes tryna make or things he's calling out could be solved by him just getting off twitter the only takeaway from his music is that he is just too online. its like hes begging desperately for fans to wake up and change and hoping writing album after album will make them do that but that is. the most naive and brainless evaluation of stan culture ever and something he would def know if he wasnt so into causing his own problems

YEAH YEAH YEAH!!!!!!!!!! you hit the nail on the head here. like every word of this is correct LOL

he is way too online and invested in what stans and randoms alike are saying about him. hes never ACTUALLY “taking a break” hes constantly constantly lurking and keeping tabs and namesearching. the twitter standom sees that he is insanely sensitive to criticism and is unable to recognize, being that theyre all like 16, that a 30yo band dude who is THAT unable to regulate his own emotions publicly is NOT healthy so they all jump to coddle him to make him feel better because they like him. unfortunately this results in the toxic positivity i mentioned earlier, where NOBODY IS ALLOWED TO SAY ANYTHING CRITICAL ABOUT ANYTHING AWSTEN DOES OR ELSE WELL BULLY AND SUIBAIT YOU UNTIL YOU DELETE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! which is, in a word, batshit.

the real irony is that 99.9% of criticism ive seen about awsten/parx is both fair and warranted, and also from fans themselves (or people who were fans and are currently upset about the direction the band is going). nobody is out here taking potshots at waterparks just to hate on them or calling awsten a fag on twitter anymore? like they dont have “haters” lol they have fans who, like us, got into them when they were making better music and awsten was behaving in a way that was endearing, and are now disappointed and feel let down by the new direction theyve gone.

he really is just TOO online, should not he seeing what his fandom is saying about him to anywhere NEAR this degree, and needs to seriously distance himself from the internet as he uses it now but instead keeps getting worse. this will inevitably blow up in his face and hell have no one to blame but himself and the cabal of bloodthirsty, belligerent, improperly-socialized twitter stans hes encouraged into a mob.

#eventually theyll be the one to take him down too lol #mail time!#neg

13 notes · View notes

newtonsheffield · 3 years ago

Note

Spicy Sunday request: in the world of the casual au, post them becoming officially official, Kate seduces Anthony in the office now that their silly rules like no office sex don’t apply. Please and thank you!!

Now, Because I'm a heathen, we're taking some inspiration from a certain Magazine cover that was announced yesterday.

you know the one

I'm Still at work, come meet me and we'll go to dinner.

The message had greeted Kate as she got off the train an hour ago. She'd spent a week in Liverpool dealing with some ridiculous dispute between corporate entities that had made her want to bang her head against the wall every day. She'd said as much to Anthony last night on facetime, propped up on the table next to her thai food, His hair flopping in his eyes as he smiled that stupid lopsided smile of his.

"Poor Katie, Do you need me to make you feel better?" His voice had been far too low, his eyes seeming to burn through the screen at her.

She'd forced herself to scoff, though a jolt had run down her spine almost immediately. "No, thank you. I can help myself."

His eyes had darkened, his smile turning a little feral. "Well I'd like to see that."

And part of her had been tempted to do it, she'd been aching for him all week. Since he'd kissed her on the train platform before she left, his voice low in her ear.

"I miss you already."

And really, two months after their relationship officially started, she wouldn't have thought she would miss his presence so much, but by the second night it felt like her chest was aching, and really, they didn't even live together yet. She'd sat, every night in the sweater she'd stolen from him on the first morning she'd woken up as his girlfriend, the one she'd peeled off him the night before, her teeth trailing down his chest. The one she let him wear once every few weeks so it smelled of him, and her thoughts had wandered to him.

But no, apparently she'd decided to tease him, just to see his brow furrow.

She'd taken the sweater off instead, sat in her bra and said

"This is all you get tonight, But if you want to help yourself, I won't complain." His Hand had been in his sweatpants before she'd blinked.

So no, she really didn't want to go to dinner now, what she wanted, was, quite frankly, a good hard shag. And fortunately, she was under no illusions about who her boyfriend was.

She'd slipped into the bathroom in the lobby of the building and slid out of her clothes, retying her coat tightly around her before marching towards the elevator, the doors sliding open and- Oh for Fuck's sake.

"Kate! Hey!" Brian sneered, his eyes raking down her form she forced herself not to squirm.

"Brian." Kate slid round him into the lift, pulling her arm from his reach just in time. "Please don't touch me."

Brian frowned, "So you and Bridgerton are still-?"

The lift doors had mercifully started closing as Kate said , "Brian even if we weren't, it's never happening."

The office was quiet when the doors slid open, she could see the light of Anthony's office on in the distance, her heart thrumming as she made her way towards it. And there he was, spinning idly in his chair, his tie a little undone, his sleeves rolled up, his waistcoat still on but jacket abandoned, his hair falling into his eyes. And fuck he was so handsome it made her heart burst, as he stared down at his phone as though he was waiting for something.

"You know, all work and no play makes Anthony a very dull boy."

He shot up at the sound of her voice, his eyes widening, a smile on his face, "You didn't text me back."

"Did you think I wasn't coming?"

He shrugged, "I don't know, maybe you ran off with Brian."

Kate rolled her eyes walking further into the office, "I'm pretty sure Brian would be a lousy shag honestly. He's surely compensating for something."

Anthony smirked, tugging her closer, his chest puffing a little proudly. "I'm glad you're back."

"Me too." She couldn't help but smile down at him, when he looked at her like that, with his eyes shining.

"I got you a present from Liverpool."

"Cool. I got us a reservation at-"

"We're not going anywhere, Anthony." Kate sighed, tugging his hand to the belt of her coat.

Anthony's brow furrowed, "But... aren't you hungry?" christ he was dense sometimes.

"I hope you are." She tugged on his hand, the belt untying slowly, Anthony swallowing convulsively, a gasp falling from his lips as he saw only tight black lace stretched across her skin. His eyes darting up to hers.

"You said I wasn't allowed to at work." The slight edge of petulance made her smile as she pulled the coat from her shoulders, settling herself on the desk directly in front of him. She tugged him forward by the tie, the wheels of his chair sliding easily forward, until he rested between her thighs, a soft moan escaping him.

"Well we broke all the other rules. I think this is fair, don't you?"

Anthony nodded eagerly, his hands already tight on her hips, his thumbs dipping under the waistband.

"Now I think you said you wanted to make me feel better." She barely got it out before the scrap of lace was torn from her, Anthony's tongue moving over her, hot and hard and unrelenting, the silky strands of his hair slipping through her fingers sinfully, his stubble scraping against her as her hips canted forward, Anthony's moan sending a shiver down her spine.

It felt like all the air had been sucked from the office, Anthony's arm tight around her waist, anchoring her in place as he forced her closer and closer to the edge,

"Eyes on me Kate." His voice was rough, her eyes locking with his as his tongue started moving again, his fingers joining his tongue and-

"Oh Fuck!" He'd forced her over the edge, his arms gripping her to him even as he pulled back, a smug smile on his face as her shoulders heaved.

"Feel better?" He looked far too smug, far too satisfied. She'd have to fix that. She forced herself off his desk, pushing his chair backwards, watching as his eyes clouded, her hands tugging at his belt, forcing his trousers down as she straddled him. A whine escaping his chest.

"Not yet."

" I can fix that." It was a groan really, his hands tight on her hips again, encouraging them to rock against his, And How had it only been five days? it felt like a lifetime, since she'd had his firm body against hers, rocking into hers, his eyes locked with hers before his eyelids fluttered closed, his head falling against her chest, burying itself there, his voice wrenched from his chest muffled against hers.

Kate, Kate Kate, I love you, I love you,

Her own voice cracking as it left her chest, Anthony I love you too, it's so good I missed you.

The sound of them echoing through the office, their chests heaving, and then everything fell apart. Her voice breaking as a soft scream tore through it, Anthony's own sharp cry muffled by her chest as she shuddered against her.

His eyes were still cloudy when he tilted his head back, their lips finally meeting, tongues tangling lazily.

"I've changed my mind." He pushed his hair from his eyes leaning back in his chair to look at her. "You should go away all the time if it'll be like this when you come back."

Kate chuckled, "Sure. I'll remember that when you say No, Katie please stay, stay forever."

"Well I guess that's as goos a segue as any to what I wanted to ask you tonight," He tucked his hand into the waistcoat he was still wearing, fishing something out. Kate's brow furrowed as she stared down at the tiny brass key. "Wanna bring that loaf of bread you call a dog and move in with me?"

Kate's heart was pounding in her chest. "You're asking me this now? When I'm in my underwear?"

Anthony smirked, "In my plan you weren't in your underwear, so don't blame me for that. Yes or No?"

Kate sighed, "Well, I think Newton would be sad if I said no, so... yes just for him."

As Anthony's lips met hers again it occurred to Kate that maybe doing this at work hadn't been such a great idea, because they wouldn't be ready to leave for quite some time.

#could I have made this anymore aggressively long if I tried?#casual: a bridgerton and sons au #bridgerton and sons au #spicy sunday🌶#kathony #anthony x kate #anthony bridgerton #kate sheffield #kate sharma #molly's asks and answers

76 notes · View notes

crastlefolke · 3 years ago

Text

A fic about the Simmers being invited to MCC, based on @riacte 's battle scars au:

Scott tapped his pen against the sign-up sheet, recounting the names for what seemed like the 20th time.

"The turn out this year isn't great huh?" Noxite remarked, twisting the paper around on the desk to get a better look at the names.

"We've got 36. Scraped 36 I should say, as I had to blackmail my cousin into participating and a few of the other participants are using it as an excuse to miss the lecture."

Stan Twitt had conveniently scheduled the event to fall on the same day as MCYT High's monthly building lecture and workshop, where famous architects and artists would present their projects to the students. Coincidentally, there was a huge uptick in illnesses and truancy around the same time which the Principal never cared to look into.

Noxite raised an eyebrow "You'd think what with the amount of people trying to get out of it we'd be flooded with applications-"

"So why aren't we?" Scott tapped one of the names, IJevin, "Simple. This is the first year the hermits have been actively encouraged to participate. Main campus people don't want to run the risk of interacting with the social pariahs even if they know there's barely a chance of them winning at the moment."

Privately Scott admired Jevin for participating at all. The championships were gruelling for the best of players, it would be nightmarish for anyone without up to date PvP and parkour training.

"We could invite students from the second year? We only need one more team after all." Noxite tried to sound upbeat but he could see his championship falling apart before his eyes.

Scott shook his head, "I checked. Not permitted," he put his head on the desk, "One more team. We just need one more team..."

The new gaggle of students stood out among the grey in their bright blue SIMS High jackets as they crowded round the map. With the exception of one area, MCYT's campus was entirely made of the same bland cobble and they were hopelessly lost among the identical buildings.

"Oh give it here, Zeuz." Vixella grabbed the map and turned it the right way up, "look I'm 90% sure that the square thing is the reception where we came in, right? And that big circle is the PvP arena? So-"

"Which PvP arena? Some green guy told me there were seven of them."

"Sorry, seven?" James Turner stopped kicking pebble against the wall and went back to looking at the map, "Who needs seven PvP arenas?"

"Maybe they're all very small?"

"Not important, guys, we're going to be late for class."

"We are late for class. No one else is around."

"It's a miracle anyone gets anywhere- hey you guys see that?"

Gluon was pointing at a flash of colour peeking through the cobble pillars. From a distance, it was a faint skeleton of purple framework, forming a dome over yet another grey building. Four heads immediately peered over the map again.

"According to the map that is the 3-H classroom." Zeuz looked at the others, "funny, I don't remember hearing about a 3-H."

Vixella frowned, "I do. One of the other students told me about them. Apparently they, and I quote, "kinda suck at basically everything? like we don't even know why they're allowed in this school lol they cant even naruto run" so they just do their own thing separately from the main campus."

"Well thank God for them," Gluon said decisively "That's the landmark we need. If we make a trip to this mysterious 3-H classroom then we should be able to reorient and get our bearings."

The four of them set their sights on the purple dome and picked their way across the campus. As they approached 3-H the pavement gave way to pot-holed mud paths and the ground steepened significantly.

"Did the school's budget run out or something?" James asked after tripping over an old fence post half buried in soil.

Gluon laughed "Either that or these guys are really unpopular."

"You joke, but you're right on the money with that one." Scott dropped in from one of the ziplines, chuckling at their startled expressions, "You guys are the exchange students right? The Simmers?"

Vixella nodded, "Yep, that's us. We're supposed to be at the archery classroom, but..." she trailed off, trying to think of a polite way to explain the situation.

"...But the entire campus is ugly, bland and has less defining features than a polar bear in a blizzard, right?"

James was slightly taken aback "Well, we wouldn't go that far-"

"Oh please, you don't have to pretend in front of me." Scott smiled at them reassuringly, "I may be a teacher here but I also happen to have good taste. Scott Smajor, by the way. I teach the 3-H students. You may have heard of us."

"Actually, apart from Sasha, we hadn't." Zeuz showed him the map, "We only came over here because it was the only bit of colour in this place and we needed a landmark to work out where we were. The leaflet we got doesn't mention any classes beyond 3-G."

Scott's face darkened for a moment.

"Alright!" he said abruptly, "Archery lessons are off for you lot. I'll clear it with your teachers, don't worry. Today, you get a tour of 3-H. Which reminds me, surely you should have a couple of student guides to show you around?"

The four of them stared blankly at him.

"You're telling me Stan Twitt set you loose on campus with just a map and timetable?"

"Pretty much," said Gluon. "It wasn't so bad when there were other students about to ask for directions but then everyone disappeared to their classrooms and we had to try to find our way around by ourselves."

"Not that the other students were exactly keen to give us directions." Zeuz thought back to the group in 3-B jackets who'd sat on a wall snickering every time they passed, "In fact I'm pretty sure some of them got a kick out of sending us round in circles."

"Well I can assure you you'll find the Hermits a lot friendlier. Come on- no we're not walking all the way up this hill, God no, we'll take the ziplines. Hop on."

As they glided over the hill Scott explained the 3-H situation. He told them about Stan Twitt's promotion to Principal leading to the prioritisation of PvP and Parkour, and how the school had evolved a rigid hierarchy forcing those more creative but less athletic to the bottom of the pecking order. He then told them how this had eventually led to the creation and isolation of 3-H, and how they'd taken that status and made it their own, giving themselves the name Hermits and designing their own classroom and buildings.

"It's a very tight-knit family," Scott said fondly, "Friends made here are friends for life."

The description Scott had given them of the 3-H classroom hadn't prepared them enough.

"Woah." said James, taking in the bright colours and intricate shapes.

Vixella found herself grinning "Maybe it's because we spent the whole morning surrounded by a quarry's worth of cobblestone but this place looks incredible."

Despite being clearly unfinished, 3-H was a vast improvement to the miserable grey blocks of the main campus. Each building felt unique, injected with a personality and style. The paths were wide and lined with trees, and students were dotted about on picnic tables in the sun.

"Right!" Scott clapped his hands and beckoned them over to one of the tables where a blond girl and a boy with dog ears were pouring over some blueprints, "Simmers, meet False and Ren! False, Ren, this is James, Vixella, Gluon and Zeuz, exchange students from SIMS High. Hence the name Simmers."

Ren shook their hands enthusiastically, "Pleasure to meet you," he smiled, and unlike the main campus students he actually seemed to mean it.

False stuck out a gloved hand, "Welcome to 3-H! I can't believe their actually letting people visit us now."

Scotts grin slipped slightly, "I may have... ah... adjusted their timetable a little to get them here."

"This place beats what we were doing down there by a mile," Vixella said hurriedly, "We were meant to have a two hour long archery lesson but every building looked the same so we got lost and ended up bumping into Mr Smajor on the way up here. This place looks amazing, by the way. Have you seen it from the main campus?"

The hermits shook their heads.

"None of us really go to the main campus. Like ever." Ren explained, "We don't have lessons down there anymore and the students can be... well... rude."

False looked as though she wanted to use a much stronger word to describe main campus students but stayed quiet.

"Well I'm glad we found our way here," Gluon said, "I didn't want to admit it but two hours of archery is not my ideal morning activity. Besides I think this is the longest conversation we've had with MCYT students since we arrived. Everyone else is in such a hurry for some reason."

Scott grinned "Well don't worry, no one's in a rush here. False, Ren, if you're happy to take a break from... all that," he gestured to the blueprints, "I'm sure the Simmers would appreciate a tour of 3-H."

"Absolutely!" Ren leapt to his feet, upsetting a pot of pens in the process. "Right this way, ladies and gentlemen-"

The Simmers were enchanted by 3-H. Ren and False proved to be excellent tour guides, with Ren excitedly introducing them to the other hermits and False, delighted to find that the Simmers also had an interest in architecture, explaining the details of the plans for each building. Scott tagged along in the background, pleased with the pride the hermits were taking in their projects and the admiration they received. That shows you, Twitt.

They were approaching a huge pit in a marshy patch of land when Ren stopped short suddenly and slammed his hand to his head.

"Oh geez I'm meant to be helping Iskall with his lights- guys I'm sorry I promised Iskall I'd give him a hand with the lights this afternoon and I completely forgot."

Ren looked genuinely dejected. Vixella suspected that if he had a tail it would be drooping.

False patted his arm, "Don't worry about it, we've just got Jevin's place left and then we'll be looping back round to the main classroom. We can meet up again then."

"Yeah, believe me we are in no hurry to leave 3-H," said Gluon, "If you'll have us we'll happily hang around till the end of the day to say goodbye."

Ren visibly perked up, "Cool! Catch ya later, Simmers, Scott, Falsie."

With that, he bounded off back towards the classroom.

"Hopefully he doesn't get too badly injured," False said as she watched him disappear amongst the buildings, "I'm not sure if you've noticed but he's more than a little accident prone. Anyway, this is Jevin's project."

The pit opened up into a huge bowl of green liquid under a layer of glass. Hesitantly, James peered out over it, trying to see how deep it went.

"You can stand on it if you want," A familiar looking student in a white hoodie waved at them from atop the glass.

"Oh I know you!" Vixella said without thinking.

False looked puzzled "You guys know Jevin?"

"You're probably mistaking me for Pete," Jevin chuckled, "I get that a lot."

James shook his head, "No, no you're on posters dude. On main campus."

Now it was Jevin's turn to look puzzled, "I'm on posters?"

"Yeah, hang on," Gluon rooted through his pockets, pulling out a piece of paper "MC Championship 1 participants. Look, you're there on aqua."

Jevin laughed, "So I am. Who'd've thought it, a hermit on a poster on the main campus. Bet Stan Twitt loves that."

"Jevin's kind of in the Championship in secret at the moment," False said, and explained the circumstances of the hermits involvement in the Championship.

"I don't really want all the others cheering me on and stuff, y'know. Don't want that pressure, even if its well meaning."

Vixella nodded. "Don't worry we'll keep quiet about it. Mind if we come to watch though? Part of the exchange was front row seats to the Championship and I'm not cheering for any 3-A students that's for sure."

Jevin brightened at that, "Yeah! That would be great! Front row seats, eh?"

"Right next to Scott and the Principal himself."

False snorted, "I bet Scott's happy to have some company that isn't Twitt, right Scott? Scott?"

Scott had been oddly quiet throughout the conversation. He rubbed his nose thoughtfully.

"You're gonna be around for the Championships you say?"

Zeuz nodded "We're here for the next 3 weeks."

"Well, at the moment the Championship has hit a bit of a block. We don't have forty participants to play." Scott chewed on his next words, "Essentially we need one more team- four more players- at short notice."

It dawned on Vixella what he was suggesting, "You want us to play in the Championship?"

"I don't see why not. You technically attend this school, there's four of you and you're already friends. Plus literally anything beats sitting next to Stan Twitt for the event."

"No, no, we'd love to!" Zeuz said. Gluon stomped on his foot. "What?"

"Mr Smajor we don't learn Parkour and PvP at SIMS, and some of the games look very... rough."

"You'll get protective gear, and from the sounds of your timetable you've got a pretty rigid training schedule anyway. Unfortunately I'm not allowed to sneak you up to 3-H every day, nice as that would be."

Vixella looked at the others, "Well I think it could be fun? What about you?"

James nodded, "I'm down if you are. We spoke to Stan Twitt for about five minutes this morning and I could feel my braincells leeching away."

"Let's go for it then!" Gluon turned to Scott. "We humbly accept your invitation to participate in the Championship!"

Scott felt like he could jump for joy and reach the moon. Instead he simply said "Excellent! I'll tell Noxite right away. Now we'd better get back to the classroom before it gets dark."

"See you in the championships!" Jevin called out, before disappearing back into the depths.

"Do you think we've made a terrible mistake?" Gluon whispered as they walked back, "Signing up for a Championship we're bound to be last in?"

Vixella shook her head, "Nah, I reckon its going to be a blast."

#mcc #anyway everyone go read battle scars right now

25 notes · View notes

wizkiddx · 4 years ago

Note

Blurb req- Tom and the reader on a private jet hungover? just pure fluff?

fluffy requests are well and truly open ( bcos I adored writing this ahah) and let me know what u think , I am deff not a writer so any feedback or tips would be v appreciated :))

summary: tomhollandxactress!reader - a wrap party followed by an early morning flight and a grumpy Harry, what could possibly go wrong?

warning: mentions of alcohol and sickness

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

The remorse. The regret. It only made the pounding in your head even worse. Why those two 1.5 litre bottle of Bacardi had been brought out was beyond you. Why the you six of you had then decided to empty said bottle was even more of a mystery. It wasn’t like any of you had needed it, you’d all been more than ‘merry’ prior to the cheap rum and coke.

Hence the state of you, Tom and Harry as well as your manager Davey and Tom’s team of Rachel and Andrew. All having made very little effort with your appearance - joggers and hoodies all round, with you and Rachel also sporting sunglasses because you were simply smarter than the boys. Thankfully, this wasn’t a big trip that fans knew about, this was you and Tom moving location under cover - the studios didnt want anybody to know that either of you made a feature in this film, so everything was under the cover of darkness. Which to be honest you were not complaining about. However, you were complaining about the fact the flight had been scheduled to leave at 7 am the night after your wrap party though.

The two of you had just wrapped your most recent and most ambitious movie to date - hence the massive celebrations last night for just surviving and getting it done. It had been the most intense 3 months of your life, there had been times you’d cry for hours on end, times you just wanted to quit fully knowing you’d never be hired again for leaving a multimillion dollar company in the lurch.But you all, somehow, had survived. So celebrations were in order of course but perhaps not as far as you all managed last night?

Your whole convey appeared to have travelled to the airfield in absolute silence, no one particularly fancied hearing anyone else’s voice- which to be honest seemed quite fair. You’d ridden in a car with Tom and Harry, with you resting your head on Tom’s broad shoulder - which had obviously made Harry gag, rolling his eyes. Bless Harry, really he was the only reason you and Tom had got together, after getting sick of the mutual pining he’d been forced to live with during the previous 2 projects you’d worked on together. But now, having had to put up with the two of you being so ridiculously loved up for the past 3 months - understandably a bit of distance from you and his brother was overdue.

One of the flight attendants busied themselves loading your luggage, whilst the pilot asked you and Tom for a photo. Of course, you weren’t going to say no however you did have to cringe at how rough you both looked. His teenage daughter certainly would be less excited to see that her Dad hadn’t met Tom Holland and Y/n Y/l/n. Instead he’d met the zombified, undead and rougher frauds. Still you smiled as much as you could, wincing when you removed the glasses and the early morning sun pierced your restricted pupils. God it wasn’t your day.

The guy didn’t seem to mind though, excitedly hurrying off onto the plane to settle in the rest of you - leaving just you and Tom outside on the tarmac.

“Poor guy, we look like shit.” You murmured while taking a step closer to lean slightly into his side.

“Speak for yourself love.’Tom snickered into the top of your head, after pulling you completely into his chest. This wasn’t normally allowed, your relationship still wasn’t public and both of you intended on keeping it private for as long as possible. But you were in an otherwise empty field in the middle of nowhere (somewhere in Georgia) before 8 am. It was actually quite nice to feel your boyfriends arms round you in the outside world, especially when you felt this shit. After a few moments you pulled away, arching back at Tom’s pouty face as you motioned it was time to get on the plane.

“’S too late you know.” Your brows furrowed at his half formed sentence, facial expression only demanding him to explain more. “They all have already taken the good seats… Harry basically sprinted on so he can hog the bed thing.” In response it was your turn to pout, groaning as you fell back into his chest again. Yes, this was a complete first world issue, a private jet paid completely by your bosses was not something a lot would moan about. Truly you were grateful for everything you had in life, but with the worst hangover of your life when the opportunity of lying down for 6 hours instead of being stuck in a chair had manifested itself… well of course you felt robbed by your almost brother Harry.

Chuckling at your reaction, he gave you an extra squeeze before leading the both of you up the stairs to the cabin. Sure enough Harry had completely and totally claimed the longer couch at the far end of the plane, lying on his stomach with his face hidden in the crook of his elbow. Rolling your eyes at the predictable situation, you didn’t miss Davey laughing at your sorry state - nmaking you throw daggers at him in your eyes.

Davey was your second father, the relationship between the two of you far transcended any professional working one. Which is why the two of you acting like this was very much a norm and not rude at all. He had also got the next best seat in the corner with the most leg room which he clearly loved to show off.

Unsurprisingly then you and Tom ended up squashed into the corner with your legs crumpled up together in the small space floor space. The brunette opposite you didn’t seem to mind so much but that was because he had an adaptational advantage. He could sleep anywhere and everywhere , whenever he wanted. On set if he was tired? Just take a ten minute power nap on the floor. Bored of a long car journey? Just conk out against the window. It absolutely infuriated you, as no matter how hard and how exhausted you were - it was rare you could get any further than a light doze. Even before the two go you got together, having a best mate that could skip all the boring bits and was immune to jet lag… you can see how that makes you want to punch him square in the face.

After a short safety talk from the pilot and flight attendant, the plane whirred into life and you were up in the air. Although in your current state, it would be reasonable to assume the beauty of flying had somewhat rubbed off - you were certain it never would. No matter how many flights you took across country ,and in fact continents, for work; you’d never get sick of watching the view below you. It was perfect and breathtaking and took your mind off the pounding in the back of your head for the first 20 minutes.

Until the need for sleep took over as either you need to be unconcious or you were going to vomit - which you really didn’t want to do at 40,000 feet in a tin box. Trying to rearrange your limbs to get comfier you accidentally knocked Tom’s leg rather forcefully, causing him to jump half out his seat, heavy eyes blinking quickly as he tried to get his baring as to what was attacking him - quickly answered by your guilty look.

“You okay love?” His voice was slurred, sounding almost sleep drunk - but perhaps was just actually still a little drunk. You’d only headed to bead last night at 4 am and had to be up at 6 - which isnt very long for your poor kidneys to try and process the stupid amount of alcohol you’d both happily been chugging the night before.

“Feel shitty and cant sleep.” You weren’t in the mood to white lie - honestly some sympathy from your beautiful boyfriend seemed like a dream at the moment. Tom’s idea was better though.

“C’mere then.” His arms outstretched, you immediately jumped into his lap - the two of you shifting about to get comfortable till you were sat side on to him, your bum and back leaning against the arm rest of the chair with your legs going over his thighs and pressing against the wall of the plane. Pulling you closer to his chest, Tom took a deep breath as he pressed his chin against the crown of your head; your face now nested into his chest.

Nothing needed to be said as the two of you melted into each others bodies, the slow and deepening breathing enough to prove to each other you were both incredibly contented in that moment. More than that you felt safe- you’d admitted to Tom some weeks ago that you had never ever slept better than when he was beside you. Yeh it was cringey but sometimes that’s allowed right?

… well not to Harry. Because as the plane was about to begin it’s descent, the pilot had tasked Harry (who had slept off the worst of the hangover and had spent the last 30 minutes of the flight scoffing at how adorable the two of you looked fast asleep together) - even after Rach had scalded him and had taken a photo of the two of you on her phone.

Causing Harry to ,ever subtly, wake the two of you up by throwing his half empty water bottle over your heads.

Safe to say, Harry very nearly didn’t leave that jet alive.

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x actress!reader #harry holland

272 notes · View notes

lackingspace · 4 years ago

Text

Null Moon (Marko x Reader)

Rating: SFW

Word Count:5.5k

Summary: Due to some mad bogus circumstances your hand was forced into relocating to the Santa Carla witch coven. Not exactly where you saw yourself, but beggars cant be choosers or however that saying goes. New coven, new community, no idea how this was going to play out, what could go wrong?

Warnings: Nothing really. Just 80s slang, some suggestive themes, trigger warning for witchcraft I guess, vampire boys doing stalky vampire things, and expanding the magical community at large. Throw in psychic fliting too. The only real warning here is that I wax soliloquy, stopping me is impossible.

So I watched Lost Boys again and Marko just too pretty and wouldn’t stop, so I had to write about it. I’m dedicated to worldbuilding because it pleases me, so no smut yet, but don’t worry, its comin. Enjoy the 80s slang sprinkled everywhere. Out of no where I know, but I hope you all like it ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Part 2: Blood Moon ✧･ﾟ:

Salt was something you’d found yourself trying to quickly get accustomed to. Don’t get it twisted, you weren’t mental and liked it in your food just fine, but it was in everything here. It was bogus, really. None of your new sisters warned you about the mundane annoyances when relocating to their beachfront town.

It was almost insidious how it could worm its way into just about anywhere and everything. Even on days you were a shut-in, your hair still had a salty ocean breeze scent and you swore you’d find grains of sand in the oddest of places. It wasn’t that big of a deal, just another thing out of your control-- one you’d never be able to change.

The atmosphere answered to no one. Maybe this was the ocean’s way of welcoming you into the fold? Taking it as a sign that the gods were pleased with your departure from the Louisiana coven helped soothe the bitter ache.

You had other things to occupy your thoughts, anyway. Nothing exciting, just the very normal, very stressful situations that came with moving. Having a not so smooth departure made your integration into this coven rocky. Trying to smooth that out while accommodating for the new energy and dynamic of the community made things difficult. Stressful? Definitely. Normal? Unfortunately. Hectic? Totally, but still necessary to process.

Getting to know your new coven sisters was also proving tedious, certain views not quite matching up. At least you were kept too busy to really worry over it. Keeping your mind occupied made everything easier. Even if they didn’t know why you’d really been looking to transfer, it was no secret on their end why they’d been so eager to accept you. They’d had a very specific position that none of the current members were willing to entertain.

A major part of the job was the operation of the coven owned metaphysical shop on the boardwalk, night shift specifically. That had a swirl of mixed emotions bristle your senses- excitement just edging out over apprehension. Your old coven hadn't been open to the human public in any way, shape, or form. The practice was sacred and you were taught to keep it that way.

The only non-paranormal individuals allowed within the walls were partners of the community. A werewolf's mate, for instance, maybe suffering an energetic imbalance would be brought in. So dealing with the stuffy clueless human populace nightly? Well, the idea was less than stellar...but survival required adaptation, and you could be flexible. Still, predicting the havoc it’d play on your nerves was easy. Good thing wine existed because having a glass a day was majorly on the agenda.

Oh well, every job had to have something and each place had slightly different energetic needs, different spiritual practices, and don’t even get you started on the nuances of rituals- everyone and their mom have their own twist. Baton Rouge had been a prime example of that- a hotbed for the magical community, it was embedded in the culture. Overflowing with a little something for everyone and then some. Different ailments, practices, people, and best of all different magics.

On the other hand, all that variety came at the cost of a massive headache in interspecies politics. Witches and vampires, weres and goblins, selkies and sirens, demons and wendigos, elementals and everyone, keeping up with who was at who's throat was exhausting. It gave you a gnarly stomach ache frankly, but if that was the price of learning your craft, well, it wasn't that steep.

Headache, stomach pains, whatever- it was a price you'd gladly pay- had paid. Plus, you had loved the community there. Once you got past the politics there was a wealth of knowledge and power just floating around, free for grabs- even when it wasn’t free, there were ways to get what you’d wanted.

Admitting that your departure had left hella bitter resentment towards your previous sisters was something you actively denied. Your new high priestess hadn’t wanted any hexes sent their way following her acceptance of you. Assuring her it was a mutual departure had been easy, they were extremely desperate and hadn’t really gone through all the hoops to look into it. Besides, it was technically true, there wouldn’t be hexes, just bad blood. There wasn’t really a need to let them know they’d be black listed from the area communals. You’d been to enough of them in the past, they weren’t that special anyway.

Here, alone in the dark with your thoughts, you could sit with the discontent. The choice to leave hadn’t been yours, but you could admit it was for the best. When faced with exile you were willing to sacrifice. Resentment notwithstanding, growth rarely happened if you stayed stagnant for too long. This could actually be a blessing in disguise, even with the perpetual gallons of salt. So here you were; New city, new coven, new people, new rules.

A sigh escaped you at the thought as you put on a nice balancing act for anyone watching. The rules were certainly different here.

Less in some ways, more in others- some very curious agreements. Carefully trying, and trying being the keyword, to descend some questionable-looking stairs while carrying delicate cargo. It being pitch black didn't exactly help either, but at twelve am with no flashlight, the darkness was expected.

Not like you could carry one right now anyway and you’d be caught dead before you put on one of those gaudy forehead lights. A distant bonfire, presumably with partygoers, a few miles off was the only source of light outside of the odd shop still lighting up the boardwalk in the distance.

Neither were a help to you here, but the darkness didn't bother you much, it was more the feeling of the wood against your feet that had you on edge. Foregoing shoes had seemed like the smarter choice knowing you'd be walking in the loose sugary sand, but with the way it mixed against the rough wood to scratch against the arch of your foot? Regret was front and center which only exacerbating your already agitated mind.

Catching your toe on an uneven patch in the wood had you hissing in pain. Someone was def getting cursed if you got a splinter. Actually, you'd be surprised if you made it out without one. These steps were legit grody, they barely even qualified as stairs honestly.

Just some half termite eaten planks, driftwood more likely, definitely nothing professional, all nailed together and stuck into the side of a steep sand dune. Falling on your ass at some point was almost guaranteed- You were always a major klutz in these situations.

Shrugging your shoulder and regripping the box, at least the sand would give you a semi-soft landing whenever it happened.

You should thank whatever beachrat made these stairs though, adjusting your grip on the box again had the jars inside clanking together, water sloshing- good thing you'd tightened the lids before leaving the shop. Thanks to these little stairs you didn’t have to miserably fail at trying your luck in midnight sand surfing. If this was midday you’d have trouble with it still- trying sand surfing now? That'd be so warped. Ugh, just imagine having to make your way back up? Now that'd be a real treat- psych.

When both feet planted safely, and surprisingly splinter-free, in the soft sand you shook yourself into focus. No more letting your thoughts drive you, way too much negativity to unpack and you didn't need that energy seeping into your work here. Moon-water wasn’t usually the most influenceable, but you could, and with your attitude the way it was? You’d totally choke if you didn’t check yourself. No need to mess up your first job, right?

Breathing deeply you set about focusing your mind; grounding, feeling yourself coming back to a controlled center was the first step of your job here tonight. Tightening your grip and breathing in had the scent of the ocean hit you full force. With practiced ease, focusing inward had your eyes naturally drifting shut and calm settle over you. It was incredible how soothing grounding- ritual in general really, could be.

Your next inhale highlighted the subtle undertones of the boardwalk overlaid in the breeze, an amalgamation that fused into a scent uniquely Santa Carla. Letting your energy sink deep within you, then lower down still, dropping into the earth, feeling the vibrations of your surroundings- naturally letting it mix with the energies surrounding you. The ocean was a powerful tool, you'd be a ditz to ignore its embrace. There was an unusual magnetic pull in the air, a buzz that licked against your senses.

The full moon was calling, and like the ocean, you were here to answer.

Centered and ready to work you made your way down to the shore. Funny thing about this new coven, part of the new rules was night rituals were restricted to a single practitioner. That restriction had seemed mental to you, and frankly? You still thought they were a bit out there to bend to such restrictions, but once you learned there was a surprisingly sizable vampire pack in the area it had made more sense. Having just one practitioner was easier for accountability and all that, but like, it was still twisted.

Vampires were picky. They claimed a territory and stuck to it. Any other lucky supernatural creature was subject to their "authority". Barf me out with that attitude. If they weren't solitary, it was usually a duo, anything more than a trio was especially rare. Vampires could be mega volatile in general, but especially towards one another. The fact that there were at least four confirmed vamps in the area? Now, that piqued your interest. Their bonds had to be radically tight to stay together with any type of calm.

Unfortunately, vampires and witches? Typically not such a hot mix.

Vampires and magic didn't always mesh well and historically that meant witches and vampires couldn't play nice together. Funnily enough, this coven didn't go against status quo- every sister you'd met so far vehemently detested vamps. Too bad they were smackdab in the middle of fang city.

The location being legit brill had something to do with how docile the coven acted. It said something when witches were willing to take shit and obey in order to practice. Energetically potent, magically powerful, Santa Carla was a delightful nexus. Not to mention scenic too.

The coven was desperate for someone to be the designated night ritualist, working the stores night shift was just a caveat. The timing had worked out because you were just as desperate. You thought the whole vampire witch feud thing was lame, but it’d saved you from ex-communication, so you'd keep that tidbit to yourself.

Vampires didn't bother you really. Well, they could, but not because the vampy bit, just the entitled attitude. Anyone could be a barf bag regardless of what they were. You'd met just as many ditzy witches as narbo vamps. You were more concerned that you'd most definitely have human tourists bombarding you every night.

What got you though was the craziest part of the deal. When within a 15 mile radius of the boardwalk there was a restriction to strictly restorative work. Even being a nexus, you weren’t sure this place was worth neutering yourself energetically for. Sure, vampire's had their reasons, severe sensitivity to magic yada-yada, not to mention if their bond was as tight as you assumed, they probably felt active magic like nails on a chalkboard, but damn.

You couldn’t believe the high priestess would agree to it. It really seemed the witches got the short end of the stick here. You weren’t seeing a lot of benefits for yourself. So far your opinion on the coven was….well, at this point you were half-convinced you’d joined a gaggle of ditzes.

Having taken stock of the ingredients they had on hand a quick glance had made replenishing the monthly moon water a top priority. It was such a simple thing, very useful, super versatile, and no one in the coven had been willing to make a large batch of it. Ugh, imagine letting prejudice get in the way of making such a staple ingredient. There wasn't anything fancy that went into it. A cool head, even temper, patience, and a little prep was all that it needed.

That’s what you were here for now, though. They could keep their dislike and eat their cake too. Still, you weren’t completely obstinate and took their warning to heart, it wasn't just the vampires that made the area witches refuse the night shift.

Santa Carla wasn’t exactly Disneyland. Murder was a thing and it happened here daily. Nexus’s tended to have a magnetic draw. Pulling in powerful things, good things, weak things, bad things- the sheer unpredictability wasn’t a friend in this case.

A random human could decide tonight was beach shanking night and you’d be the lucky victim. You’d like to see them try at least. Maybe one of the vampire pack would break the agreement if they were feeling a bit nippy? Doubtful if they didn’t want a war on their hands, but possible. A stray wendigo attracted to your energy feeling a midnight snack seemed more likely. Could even be a banshee needing a quick meal. Never can tell how things were going to work out.

Knowing yourself though, you’d probably just trip up those hella grimy stairs and break your neck.

You weren’t too worried about being attacked though, honestly. You had wards in place and if it got past that, well, you'd deal with whatever it was then. No use worrying about it now. You were more than happy to take on the privilege to essentially moon bathe on the beach while funneling the energy to the water. It was good on all levels.

Walking to the area you’d scouted during the day set your mind back into focus. Setting the box down, the jars jostling while you grabbed the blanket hanging off the side of the box. Spreading it out and setting up your area had everything falling in place. The jars spread just along the outside of your circular blanket, with that done you sat yourself down in the center.

Determined to do this right you brought back that focused rooted energy. Using this as an opportunity to release some built-up tension would be a good idea too. Let the ocean wash away your bitterness with the tide and allow the moon to shift you into clarity for whatever was to come. Even if you did think your new sisters were idiots, they were to be your idiots and you had to embrace it.

As you laid there working the energy and letting it shift, you noticed a curious sensation at the edge of your perception.

A slight tickling at the fringe of your awareness; soft, so extremely soft and subtle that if you’d just gone about your business and hadn’t been so introspective focused you’d totally have passed it over.

Watched.

The subtle sensation wasn’t threatening as of yet, but you were definitely being watched. By what? You weren’t sure. Getting a firm reading on it was difficult. The more you focused on the energy the further it pulled back. Pursuing it only had whoever it was slyly staying just out of your grasp.

Definitely not human. Wouldn’t be a witch or a medium either, they’d just answer your psychic questioning. Could be a were, you’d heard they’d been in the area recently. The next brush sent a shiver down your spine and had you crossing weres off. It was definitely too silky to be one, they always felt gruffer to you, wilder. Possibly a demon, they had that shade of sensuality and always liked to follow you around in new territory. A quick flash of tightly-wound sharp control coated in a mischievous air finally spit out the answer; Vampire.

Satisfied, you dropped the pursuit and turned your attention back to the sea. Subtle brushes returning, but this time not trying to hide itself or their interest. So one of the new overlords had decided to drop in on their new subject? That was just fine as long as they stayed watching and didn’t interfere.

You’d give it to whichever vamp this was. They had wicked nice energy. Like, once you got a read on that was. Playful, cheeky almost to a fae’s degree, brimming with an elusive danger, while still having a quiet peace underneath. That quiet calm resonated inside your own field and was exactly what you needed to settle back into your space. You didn’t hate the idea of their company so much.

You’d expected a run-in at some point, but right away? They were some go-getters to the max.

Nothing came of it though, the watcher had just been that. A watcher. When three am came, went, and passed, you’d decided to pack things up. You felt their vigilant gaze the entire time. Even after you got in your car and motored on home, it was still with you. It was only after you entered your home did their light press on your awareness leave.

The rest of your week played out much the same. Feeling that attentive gaze in every outside ritual from start to well after the finish. Even while you were working the shop they’d pop in and out of your awareness only to settle when you were locking up for the night.

You’d tried to catch a glimpse of who your designated monitor was, but it proved an impossible task. Stealth was a vampire’s friend and this one was incredibly apt. They stayed just far enough away during ritual and on the boardwalk you were too busy entertaining space cadet humans or dealing with an actual client to seek them out.

On that note, there was a surprising number of shapeshifters in the area, changelings especially had been a nice treat. They weren’t exactly common in Louisiana and working with them was always interesting. They required a delicate eye and full attention when diagnosing their condition.

A shapeshifter’s physicality was entirely based on energy manipulation, so one wrong push or pull and you could injure them more than help. Pinpointing where your attentive observer was out in the crowd became annoyingly out of the question.

They’d turn up eventually. Until then, however, you’d just have to sit tight. Lucky for you changelings had a penchant for gossiping. They’d been kind enough to give you a rundown on the pack and their opinion of them. Changelings weren’t known to have easily won loyalty, so the popular opinion on them being pretty rad, was surprising.

They were apparently chill on the authority, which was shocking enough, but they said the pack leader, David, could be hella genial. Vampires weren’t usually described that way. Not outside of the anyone they were glamouring anyway. Maybe the coven weren’t such spazes to reside here.

Friday saw your week coming to a close. You’d woken up ready to put your first week behind you and spend the weekend really exploring the area. There was a nice hiking trail not too far away that you’d really wanted to spend some time at. A few brownies had spirited into the shop and mentioned it as a great area for herbs and ritual during conversation.

Brewing a second cup of tea, calming herbs this time- regular humans really did get on your nerves with their incessant brainless questions and barf bag attitude. There were a few mediums that'd dropped in who you didn't mind, actually really liked, but the rest of the human race made you want to gag. Lumping witches and poor mediums into the same category didn’t seem fair.

The night was steadily cruising along. The humans came in bursts, sporadic, but manageable. Client-wise, nothing too dramatic either, the most interesting case was a few sprites suffering a nasty goblin hex. It was an easy enough fix, orders on how to use the herbs, and a cautionary chastising to leave the gobbies alone unless invited. They giggled their departure as you shook your head, sprites never learned.

The night's energy had you listless. Only a few hours left before you could close down shop and you were antsy. No pressing ceremonies to perform tonight for the coven either, so heading straight home to open that bottle of wine you'd acquired before your arrival was on the top of the to-do list.

Curiously, your nightly specter hadn't visited once. It was surprising how fast you'd gotten used to a vampire’s energy body. If you were honest with yourself, you'd even come to look forward to having it- him, the changelings had listed only male vampires, being a steady sensation on the outer edges of your senses.

The absence of the strange new routine left you with an unsettled itch. Something was off, you could tell, your antsiness screamed of something about to happen, you just weren't sure what.

The answer came not too long after that. With a lull of what you assumed to be the last customers of the night, you’d busied yourself restocking and starting to close down. High on the shelf ladder reorganizing the herb wall. It got so messy with the daily run-through of customers’ grubby hands all over it. Turning a jar forward as the bell above the door sounded.

"Welcome! I'll be-" the energy that zapped your senses had you cut off the greeting with a sharp inhale. Thank the gods you hadn't been holding one of the glass jars, it'd be smithereens otherwise.

The shift had hit you instantly, an electric buzz that lapped against your mental self. Giving you a clear idea of what just walked in. Four of them. They'd all come. Shifting through the sensation, trying to grasp each of their unique patterns had you stopping short when you felt your chaperone's energy reach out to you.

It wasn't just a soft prodding like usual, instead, it was like a full-body caress. More like a lick if you were honest.

Skin tingling, electric sparks sent down your spine settling somewhere you'd rather not question right now, and if your nipples had tightened from it? Well, that was nobody's business. Beneath the shameless lick was an urge of reassurance.

The unspoken highly nuanced language assuring you of safety. Thank the goddess you were fluent. It was odd, really, a vampire reassuring a witch of their safety? You weren't prey, not if they wanted the coven to stay placid. Even if they’d decided to attack you weren’t helpless. The kiddie gloves would come off quicker than lightning and then they’d see what was up.

They’d definitely break you, but you’d do some damage. So there wasn't any rhyme or reason to make you feel safe or calmed. Nothing you could think of except for your own peace of mind. It had a giggle bubbling up, but you clamped down before it could escape.

You appreciate the sentiment regardless and dragged your energy against his in return, showing your mirth, and if he was apt enough to recognize the instant anxiety their entrance caused, he'd feel the praise underneath.

Taking a deep inhale before steeling yourself. You'd anticipated that it was only a matter of time before a meeting. The high priestess had said it’d come at some point when they felt ready, so you were decidedly not going to freak out and treat them like any other customer. Even if one of them had already made your nipples pebble.

You were also so ready to end the mystery of what your babysitter looked like. Putting a face to, well not a name, but an energetic signature rather. Stepping down from the ladder you made your way towards the front counter.

They were milling about between aisle shelving so getting a clear look wasn’t working. You could see bits of hair, flashes of leather, and hear their banter- typical dudes messing with each other. You were right, hearing how affable they were with each other solidified that they def have a legit bond.

Waiting another minute behind that counter still hadn’t made them come to you. Sighing before you decided to speak up, "What can I help you with tonight?" That had the laughter in the back trickle off before a rumbling voice spoke out, "Many things, maybe nothing. Depends on what you're offering." He hadn’t needed to emerge from the aisle for you to feel the leer paired with that statement. Ah, so David was the edgy type. You could work with that.

What you might stumble over though, was just how pretty they all were.

Don't get it wrong, Vampires were supposed to be attractive, it was part of their thing. A magnetic and alluring shift happened to them all when they were turned, but this? This was on another level.

The vague memory of lessons from your old covens compendium on vampiric lore came to mind. It’d stated the first vampire came into existence born by way of an incubus mingling in a maenads rites with a medium. Their resulting child the first vampire.

Who knew how accurate those stories were, the compendium was specific to each coven; an enduring collection of their line of knowledge, but authenticity was always questionable.

Looking at them all as they emerged- really made you believe there was some weighted truth to the legend. Incubus certainly seemed like it was mingled up in them. You’d been gifted by a few incubi once upon a time and the similarities between them and these boys? Striking. Between their movements, their magnetic presences, and the brazen way they gazed at you.

The vampires in Louisiana were all charming, but it was all a subtle compulsion. It didn’t help that they typically had a bad attitude mixed with antiquated style. They just never appealed to you.

This pack, however, seems like they’d had no problem keeping up with pop culture. Embracing it wholeheartedly, one of them looked like he moonlighted in poison for crying out loud. Maybe they were young, but you got a vibe that hinted otherwise. More like they were adaptable.

Trying to keep a straight face, professionalism and all that, was difficult, but doable. At least you thought it was, but once you locked eyes with a pair of soulful hazel- there was no doubt that they all felt the psychic warble you let slip accidentally.

He’d been the elusive watcher this week. There wasn’t a question about it, a perfect face to match his auric self. The breath you’d been holding choked out when he broke into an impish grin followed by what was essentially another playful full-body kiss.

You swore you could hear a purr resound in your mind. The three subordinates chuckled when you drew in a sharp intake.

“Marko.” David's tenor was soft, but firm. Marko? Cute. Without breaking eye contact, his smile widened mischievously while he raised both hands in surrender. The undivided attention was unsettling in all the right ways.

Sparking a heat that undulated throughout you. Tabling that information to the back of your mind, you broke the gaze. Needed to if you were going to have any kind of brain function for conversation.

Turning to the de facto leader you sized him up. Or tried to. Definitely threatening, actively making it hard to read him. On the surface he felt like a cold blade; sharp, decisive, piercing.

Good qualities for a leader you supposed, but like, damn, that didn’t sate your curiosity. If he wasn’t going to work with you then that only left the boring way, “David, I presume?”

He raised a brow with a pleased look, “Good. The little crone knows who matters around here.” Bo-guuus, edgy with an attitude. Those changelings either lied or were talking about someone different because genial? You weren’t seeing it. Aiming an unimpressed look paired with a, “Mmhmm” brought a chuckle of his own.

Waiting for him to speak again seemed like the best option, you weren’t very good at small talk, and Marko was still so very distracting. After David’s chiding, he really hadn’t let up much. He might not be doing that lick thing with the delightful heat, but what he was doing wasn’t far off.

Going out of his way to make sure a large portion of your attention was still focused on him by continually baiting you; almost like energetic petting. If you weren’t trying to have a serious conversation you’d bask in the new attention. You weren’t a cat, but you imagined this is what they must have felt like. Psychic flirting was always fun, but his attention had it quickly becoming your favorite.

With him doing it in front of his pack though? Any sensible person, witch especially should be uncomfortable. Totally pissed if not outraged- it was definitely a claim, unnervingly possessive, and you shouldn’t like the blatant territorial display, but for some reason, it stroked something deep in your harebrain that majorly worked for you.

Before you could drop down that rabbit hole further David brought you back, “You’ve been a busy little witch this past week.” Annoyance fluttered in, what’d he expect? There hadn’t been a night ritualist for over a year. There was a lot of work to do, some things just couldn’t be done during the day.

You shrugged “Ha, massive understatement. New coven, new clients, way too many neglected things to catch up on. Seems like you should thank me for taking over.”

The look he gave you was piercing and indiscernible. You weren’t really sure where you stood with him. You hadn’t done anything to step out of the bounds they’d placed on you, but somehow with the look he was leveling at you begged the question, had you?

Mentally retracing your week yielded nothing. Hadn’t even tried to hex anyone, even that human who’d cut you off on your drive in Wednesday night, now that’d been difficult. Was this why you’d had such heavy surveillance? Not that you’d minded, but here you thought it was just your shining personality.

“Keep it up. The community needs a witch with some spine.” Maybe you’d spoke too soon, he might not be so bad.

“I wasn’t so sure about you. Word on the street and all.” That had you freeze. Not even Marko’s continued attention phased you. There was no way he knew anything. That was impossible. Your new coven didn’t know, your old coven wouldn't dare let anything slip- it wouldn’t just be you who lost face.

There was no way anyone knew anything about you or why you’d moved. It had to be a bluff, a well aimed taunt. It was common knowledge that witches rarely transferred covens, it happened for a multitude of reasons- good, bad, ugly. He was just being a dickhead, a nosy dickhead.

Forcing a calm mask even though you were sure they could all hear your rapid heartbeat, trying not to play into his bait, “Oh? Word on the street? I have a rep already? Bitchin’.”

Anxiety was a mega issue for you, so not having a cow and playing it as chill as you did? A total moment for you. clammy hands, rapid heartbeat, clenched jaw and all. That pulled a laugh out of Marko and the hair band look-alike while David and the clydesdale in the back wore smirks.

“Word is the new witch isn’t from the clique. Never can tell what you little hags are planning, bringing in new blood?” He leaned forward across the counter catching you with his piercing blues, “That has trouble written all over it.”

You were slow to process what he’d actually said, too caught up in how the light glinted off his pretty eyes. There was no denying it, so you didn’t try, “For sure,” but on second thought you didn’t want to make it sound like you were here to start shit, “but change isn’t always bad.”

He tapped the glass of the counter before he pushed off, “We’ll see about that, little hag”. That must have been the signal to leave because he’d started walking towards the door with the silent type in his shadow.

Marko hadn’t moved, hadn’t dropped his attention and you were nervous to return it. Too likely to get caught up in something now that they were all leaving. You liked it, but it was still like mega nerve-racking.

Before you could work up the confidence to engage with whatever that was, the taller blonde slapped his shoulder, “I like this chick! She’s got some spunk!”

He made to push away from the vampire still comfortably leaning against the counter, but something had caught your eye. Without thinking, your hand shot out like a viper to grip his wrist before he could walk any further away, “Wait up!” Marko’s purr, or whatever that buzz he was coating you in suddenly sputtered out.

With everyone’s attention returning, you dropped the skin contact and made your way around the counter. Standing in front of him while quickly giving him a psychic once over. His tallness made it very inconvenient to look for the physical indicator of what you suspected. With a yank to his shoulder you spoke before you really thought how it’d be taken, “Bend down and show me your teeth.”

267 notes · View notes