#or did anyone else take a bit to notice this

[stevenose]

for @micki-smiles - thank you for voting!! 🫶🏻

contains: teasing; flirting; real HANDSY steve

You have to hold in a gasp when you feel Steve’s hand at the hem of your skirt. His fingertips brush against the sensitive skin of your upper thigh, right under your ass. His touch is fleeting, just enough, before he moves his hand back to his side and continues talking to the group before you.

It’s a micro-party, held at a mutual friend’s house. You’ve always been aware of Steve, and he you, but this was a bit uncharted. He never did anything like this before.

“You okay?” he asks, leaning down, his lips grazing your ear.

“Yes,” you breathe. You’re dazed, grip on your red plastic cup about to slip.

His hand finds your lower back now, a finger slipping into your waistband by your spine. “Good,” he whispers, and pulls back.

“Are you okay?” someone else asks. You know you’re visibly flustered and it’s embarrassing.

You nod, taking a deep breath. “Yeah.” Your voice cracks. “I’m fine.”

His hand finds its way back to your legs. Your back is to a wall, and it seems that no one notices. His fingers trail up your thigh until they meet your ass. His fingertips follow the curve of it while your breath shallows. Pretty fingers curl, digging into the flesh, and you have to stifle another gasp.

In your peripheral, you see the corners of Steve’s lips quirking up. The group in front of you disbands, but you don’t know why. You weren’t listening to the conversation.

“I like this skirt,” Steve says softly, looking over at you. He’s smirking. So handsome for an asshole. “Never saw it on you before.”

“It’s new,” you whisper.

He hums. He tugs the hem of it down again. “You better be careful,” he says, leaning in towards you. Your noses touch. “Wouldn’t want anyone to see too much, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You’re hardly speaking.

His hand moves inward, towards the warmth between your thighs, before pulling away. “I’ll make sure you’re covered tonight, ‘kay?”

You nod. “Okay.”

[ashasdiary]

Bodyguard

Pairing: Geto Suguru x reader Synopsis: Geto finds out you’re being harassed at work. CW: harassment, established relationship, protective!geto, angry!geto, Geto beats him up, a little angst, fluff, brief suggestiveness WC: 1.9k A/N: no one look at me I’m trying to cope 😵‍💫

It started very innocently. Just small chats here and there, in the work kitchen, passing by through the hallways, in the elevators. Then the chats became a bit longer. You initially thought your coworker Daniel was just being attentive, asking about you, showing genuine interest in what you had to say. To be sometimes expected from a work colleague. 

But you realised his intentions early on. So you made it a point each time he asked your plans to mention your boyfriend, Geto, just to make sure he was aware that you were not interested. 

That didn’t stop him. 

Every time he passed by your desk, he’d pat your shoulder and mouth a small ‘hi’. Initially, it wasn’t concerning, because it was minor, just him saying hi in greeting. But the more time passed, the longer his touches on your shoulder, and the more agitated you got. 

He’d join you, uninvited, while you had your lunch. Offering him a polite smile, you wouldn’t say anything as he’d sit near to you in the work kitchen. 

“Whatcha got?” He asked once. 

“Just a sandwich,” you reply, mouth full, not caring about manners in that moment. Because he had eyes. Why ask stupid questions? 

“Oh, nice. Healthy,” he nods, opening up his food container, “You always have healthy stuff.”

You blink a few times, thinking what the hell, keeping tabs on my lunch? He begins to eat and you hum, kind of dismissively, “Yeah.”

You continue to eat your sandwich in silence, looking at your phone, hoping he’ll leave you in peace. Ha! Why would he? 

“What did you get up to on the weekend?” He asks and you glance up at him, giving a tight lipped smile. 

“Had a day out with my boyfriend, we did a hike and then saw a new movie…not much else,” you say. 

“Ah, hikes are great. I hope it was a good movie. It’s nice having a companion, but I’m so particular about who I keep around…it’s why I can’t find anyone decent,” he responds, and you chew on your lip, feeling a bit unnerved by the trajectory of the conversation. 

His phone rings then, and you thank the stars for the interruption. You stand up then as he takes it and you say something about your lunch break finishing before you dash out of there. 

Geto had noticed you’d been a bit down recently, but he didn’t want to push you to talk about it because he knew that there wasn’t always a reason for being down. Moods fluctuate, something he could personally understand completely. Instead, he ups his affection to you, making sure you feel loved, and seen, and safe. Which you always do. 

That week, it continued. 

Fucking hell, was he persistent. More touches; the shoulder taps had become shoulder squeezes. More questions. More attention.

At the very least you were thankful you weren’t working in the same team or even in the same department. But still, it was starting to affect you. You’d feel anxious as it approached the time that he’d come into work. You’d feel anxious when you heard his footsteps. 

Your coworker who sat beside you noticed it too. “He’s so weird…what’s his problem?” She comments, then her voice softens when she looks at you being tense, “hey…you okay?”

“Not really…” you whisper to her, voice wavering. 

She looks concerned, “Tell HR. I’ve seen what he’s been doing, every day, it’s creepy.”

“But I don’t want to cause trouble,” you find yourself saying, and you trail off as you hear yourself. It sounds ridiculous and you know it. 

Your colleague says your name, “Come on. It’s not. Do not sacrifice your comfort. Go tell them…or do you want me to?” She asks. 

Deliberating for a moment, you then shake your head and inhale deeply, “I will.”

After having a conversation with HR, it all happens very fast. Within 3 hours, Daniel is being escorted out of the building having been fired. 

You feel sick to your stomach, because you hadn’t wanted to cause such a drastic consequence. But as the day goes on, you are reassured that it was a completely justified decision. 

It’s when you’re on the way home that you get a text from an unknown number, angrily asking what he’d done to deserve that and that you should watch your back. 

When you go home to Geto that day, you walk through the door and burst into tears, all of your built up emotions being let out. He’s quick to envelope you in his arms tightly and hold you against the warmth of his chest. 

“Hey, sweetheart…shh…I’ve got you, it’s okay…come sit down,” he says to you, in a soft, hushed voice as he guides you to the couch. You sit on his lap, face buried in his neck as you sniffle, tears rolling down your cheeks. 

“Tell me what’s going on, honey,” he prompts, rubbing your back in soothing circles, “talk to me.”

So you tell him everything. Every instance, every encounter, every inappropriate conversation. And then the text. You notice that as you’d been explaining, he’d stiffened, his gaze had turned ice cold. 

He utters your name, gently pushing your hair behind your ear as you look at him, “You should have told me the minute this began…” he sighs softly, “Maybe take some time off work. And if you don’t want to do that, I’m going to take you to and from there. Okay? Nothing is going to happen to you, I promise.” 

The conviction in his tone is a safety blanket to you and you bury yourself against him, whispering a thank you and an I love you. 

“I love you too, sweetheart. You’re safe, always,” he kisses your hair and holds you for the rest of the evening. 

You’d debated taking time off, but you knew that would only postpone your fear. So you go to work as usual, but with the safety of Geto’s company. 

He had suggested driving you to and from, but you knew the traffic in the city was awful which would be quite long. So he commutes with you. Four trips he makes each day, just to ensure that you are safe. 

His presence alone was enough but knowing that he’d never let anything happen to you, that he was there only to protect you, makes you feel very much at ease. 

You’re pressed up against each other on the train a couple of weeks later and he grins at you, snaking his arm around your waist. “Up close and personal, huh,” you murmur to him. 

“Not close enough,” he teases you with a wink and you flick his chin with a laugh. 

“Sugu, you might as well just come and work at the same company with all these trips you’re making,” you say as you walk hand in hand from the station to your work building. 

He chuckles, “While that would be fun, working in the same place as you, I think that they might end up firing me too for inappropriate touching,” he jokes and you laugh at this. 

He smiles to himself at the sound of your laugh, happy to see that you’re not feeling so anxious or sensitive anymore and can laugh at jokes about it.

“You’d always want to get me alone,” you tease.

“Oh, yeah. Every chance I get,” he squeezes your hand as you approach the building. 

You head inside together and you let go of his hand, readying your keycard to swipe through the security gate several meters away, and you’re about to bid each other goodbye when you stop in your tracks. Geto looks to you in question and he follows your gaze to where Daniel is stood outside the security gate, waiting. 

He didn’t know what Daniel looked like of course, but he is quick to put two and two together. At the same time, Daniel sees you. You tremble slightly as you see the look on his face as he storms over, somehow not making note of the giant 6’3 man stood beside you. 

Geto quickly approaches, and he grabs Daniel by the collar, lifting him easily off the floor. “You have some nerve coming here again…I ought to teach you a fucking lesson,” Geto seethes. 

Daniel is completely taken aback, turning into a spluttering mess as he grabs onto Geto’s arm that was holding him up, “I— I didn’t do anything! I don’t even know you! Put me down!”

Geto’s brows furrowed deeply, his blood boiling, “You sly piece of shit, you deserve what’s coming,” Geto says through clenched teeth, and throws Daniel across the shiny floor. He slides a few yards before coming to a stop. He curls into a ball as Geto angrily approaches him, crouching down and pulling his head back by his hair. 

“You think this is funny? Showing up to your old workplace just to harass someone again?” Geto raises his voice. 

“N-no, I didn’t—” Daniel quivers, but Geto’s not hearing it. 

“Like hell you didn’t,” Geto bites back, then performs a jujutsu technique that has the man being catapulted against the wall so forcefully that it cracks.  

Daniel is knocked out cold. You cover your mouth in shock before you rush over to Geto’s side and hold onto his arm, “Sugu…”

At the same time, security guards rush over to both Geto and Daniel and police had been called as well. The security guard recognises you but says to Geto, “Sir, police have been called. We ask for your cooperation.”

“You don’t want me to leave the premises?” Geto asks coolly, swiping some sweat off his cheek with his thumb. 

“No, sir,” the security guard gestures for Geto to follow him and waits for him to do so. 

You look at Geto helplessly. “Sugu, I’m sorry—” you begin and he frowns. 

“Why’re you sorry? This isn’t your fault. I acted in your defence. He was clearly coming at you,” he says, his eyes searching yours, placing his hands on your arms and caressing them gently. You relax a little bit. He’s right, of course. 

“They can charge me but if any, it’s likely they’ll be dropped. There’s CCTV here, and the security guards,” he looks over to the security guard stood waiting beside you both and speaks directly to him, “were clearly negligent in carrying out their jobs to allow someone who’d been fired for harassment back into the building again.”

The guard swallows thickly. You try to hide your smile at how Geto’s handling this, it’s admirable to see. 

“There’s no problem for me, I’ll happily cooperate and give my statement to the police. The evidence is right there,” Geto says to you and nods his head to the CCTV cameras overhead. 

“Can I come with you?” You ask, and he outstretches his arm. 

“They’ll probably want a statement from you too. It’s best if you did,” he says and you both walk with the security guard to the side. 

Police arrive, take statements, and evidence of the CCTV. They determine there’s no charges. You head back home with Suguru and take the day off. 

He’d made your favourite meal for lunch, and as you’re curled up together on the couch eating and watching TV, you kiss his cheek. “It’s sweet having you as my bodyguard.”

“I like being it too,” he replies and glances over to you with a tender gaze, feeling content that he’s the one to protect you and keep you safe. 

“Does this mean we can do bodyguard role play in the bedroom?” You say and he coughs, almost choking on his food. 

You laugh quietly and pat his back as he says your name, “Now that, I didn’t expect.”

“Is that a yes?” You grin as he sips on his drink, eyeing you over the rim.

He sets his glass down and smirks, “It certainly is.”

Do not copy or translate my work. © ashasdiary, all rights reserved. Divider by cafekitsune

[porkyratt]

This might be a hot take and I am not trying to bash anyone's hard work/headcanons but I've seen a handful of fics getting characters of Grif and Simmons kinda wrong.(in my opinion)

Grif isn't stupid and Simmons isn't a shy soft guy. I get it, everyone has their own way of seeing characters but sometimes it reads more as really harmful stereotyping/fetishizing more than anything else. Might not be intentional but it makes me worried a bit.

But especially with Simmons I have seen a good amount of fics where he is super shy, he will mummble his words etc. He does have a hard time talking about some stuff. That is a big part of his character yes, But he also will take charge when given the opportunity. He doesn't exactly fear to speak his mind.( honestly this is mostly about baby-fication of Simmons. He gets treated like a teenager a lot sometimes)

I got really used to reading MLM fics where they are equal (especially in the disco elysium fandom) so going back to fics where it feels like they're forced traditional sub/dom(not in a sexual way) energy writing is sticking out to me more. What I personally love about them is that they're so casually together. They're two dudes who just want to exist next to eachother and that's beautiful to me idk. Them being on equal grounds is something that makes it Grimmons to me.

This is obviously not the end of the world, I'm curious if anyone has any input on this though. Maybe I'm being dramatic

(I also did edit this. After reading I realized some of my wording came off as mean and that is not my intension with this post. I have also included slighty more context. The last thing I want is to start an argument or be mean. I'm just rabling about smth I noticed but it might be due to the fact I am reading a lot of fics so I run into a lot of the points im making)

[godsfavdarling]

Why is it so hard?

my masterlist

pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader summary: Spencer has cooked a meal for both of you, but you find yourself unable to take a bite. words: 1,2k warnings: food struggles/eating disorder, please read with care and prioritize your well-being, no y/n a/n: This was a request! I want to mention that I have my own struggles with food, which may have shaped how I wrote this story. Everyone’s experiences are unique, and we all face different challenges and thought processes. I hope this resonates with you somehow, though I understand if it’s not exactly what you were looking for. Thank you for reading, and I’m sending all my love to anyone who may relate to this story in their own way.

Spencer had been so excited to cook for you. After weeks of long days at the BAU and many crazy cases, he finally had a few days off, and when he suggested making a homemade meal for the two of you, you agreed. 

Part of you was excited, hoping this time would feel different. You’d convinced yourself that tonight, it’d be fine.

But now, sitting at his small dining table with the warm light casting a cozy glow over the food he’d prepared, all that optimism is slipping away. 

Your stomach twists as you stare at the plate in front of you, perfectly arranged with a meal Spencer had put so much effort and love into. 

You know it’s probably delicious, and you wish more than anything that you could just eat it without hesitation, without feeling this gnawing discomfort.

You wish you could just smile and thank him, telling him how incredible it all smells, how delicious it looks.

In your mind, you imagine taking that first bite under his soft, expectant gaze, watching his eyes light up with quiet pride. 

You’d close your eyes, savoring each flavor as it fills your mouth, and when you open them again, you’d see his delighted smile. 

You’d tell him how amazing of a cook he is and how perfect tonight feels.

But instead, the words are trapped somewhere deep inside, just out of reach, and the meal sits untouched on your plate. And you couldn’t even lie or pretend if you wanted to. 

Spencer watches you quietly, his own plate barely touched as he picks up on your tension. 

You keep your eyes on your food, not wanting to meet his, a lump forming in your throat as shame starts to bubble up. 

He went through all this effort, made everything look so perfect, and here you are, unable to take a single bite. 

You can’t help but feel, again, that there must be something wrong with you—something that keeps you from just… eating like everyone else.

A soft sigh escapes you as you push the food around on your plate, trying to hide your reluctance. 

But you know he can see it. 

You hate the thought of disappointing him, of wasting the meal he prepared just for you.

So you clear your throat,  plastering on a smile as you search for something—anything—to fill the silence and keep his attention off the plate in front of you.

“So… you wouldn’t believe what happened on the metro today,” you say, leaning forward a bit, hoping to keep his focus on you instead of the meal. “This guy—he looked like he was in a huge rush—was running down the platform, trying to make it before the doors closed. And just as he got to the edge, his phone flew out of his hand. You should’ve seen it, Spence, it went spinning through the air in slow motion.”

Spencer’s brow lifts, his eyes sparking with curiosity as he chuckles. “Did he get his phone back?”

“I actually don’t know. But here’s the crazy part. He didn’t even notice! He was so focused on making it inside that he left his phone lying there on the platform. And people were shouting after him, trying to get his attention as the train pulled away. It was chaos.”

Spencer’s grin widens, completely drawn into your story. “And then?”

“Then this lady picks up his phone and just shakes her head, like she’s seen this happen a hundred times before. She walks over to the nearest bench, sits down, and just waits for the next train like nothing happened.”

Spencer lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s intense,” he says.

You keep adding more details, letting the conversation flow from one story to the next, watching Spencer laugh, his smile widening as he listens. 

With each laugh, the tension in your chest eases a little more, and for a few moments, you almost forget about the untouched plate in front of you. 

Almost.

But then, as your story winds down, there’s a brief pause. You feel his gaze shift, and when you look up, he’s watching you carefully, a softness in his eyes that makes your heart clench.

“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to,” he says, his words tender, free of any judgment. “I didn’t make this to make you uncomfortable. I don’t want you to feel pressured. I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

You feel your face warm as his words sink in,

You glance down at the plate, then back up at him, trying to find the right words. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, your voice barely a whisper. “I know it’s silly. It’s just… sometimes it’s hard.”

“I know it’s not easy for you. I noticed.” 

Of course he did

“And I don’t want you to feel bad about it, okay?”

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it. I know it’s probably really good, and you went through all this effort…”

“Hey,” he interrupts, his hand reaching across the table to rest near yours, close enough that his fingers could brush yours if you needed it. “There’s no need to apologize. It’s okay. I’m not mad or upset okay? We don’t have to make a big deal out of it. I mean it.”

You exhale, feeling some of the weight ease from your shoulders, even if only slightly. You meet his eyes, seeing nothing but kindness and understanding.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “It’s just… hard sometimes,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like, no matter how much I want to, I can’t make it any easier on myself. I hate it all. I wish I could just eat and enjoy it like everybody else. Why is it so hard?”

Spencer listens closely, his gaze softening as he considers your words. “It’s okay,” he says quietly, his voice gentle. 

“You know, there’s a lot of research on why some people find eating more difficult or even distressing. For some, it’s sensory—taste, texture, even certain smells can be overwhelming. For others, it might be about control, or even just... the way their brain is wired.”

He pauses, glancing down at the table thoughtfully before continuing. “Actually, it’s pretty fascinating. The way our brains process food and flavor isn’t just about hunger or taste. It’s tied to so many different things—sensory receptors, past experiences, even emotional responses. So, you’re not alone, and it’s not your fault. It’s just… complicated.”

You watch him as he speaks, his eyes shining with that familiar intensity he gets when he’s deep in his rambling.

He smiles, his voice growing softer. “I know it’s frustrating, and I can’t pretend to understand exactly how it feels for you. But.. I’m here, whenever you want to talk about it—or even when you don’t.” 

He offers a small smile and notices the glint of tears in your eyes, his hand covering yours to squeeze it lightly.

“Hey,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “How about we just… watch a movie?”

You nod, a grateful smile spreading across your face. “I’d like that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

[deas-junk-bin]

Something interesting I've noticed.

All the characters in the Veilguard assume that Spite is a senselessly destructive problem gremlin, and that Lucanis is reining him in and preventing him from causing harm. Lucanis himself is very insistent that this is the case, and many fans are already accepting this idea as fact. But if you pay attention to Spite's behavior, the reverse is actually true!

Since Dragon Age's handling of mages, demons, and spirits has always invited players to use critical thinking and notice where the characters' cultural biases and prejudices don't line up with what's actually happening, I do think it's weird how few people are talking about this. I suppose it might be possible to miss, if you haven't seen the end of Lucanis' storyline yet and aren't paying close attention to Spite. But even before the scene where Spite's intentions are revealed, there are plenty of clues that he isn't as much of a danger as Lucanis fears.

Once you do reach that scene, it's pretty clearly revealed that Spite has been trying to keep Lucanis' self-destructive behavior in check all along. His efforts were dismissed as troublemaking by the team, but he's actually trying to look after Lucanis, in his weird demon-y way. However, even before his true goal is revealed, Spite's behavior is always consistent with that goal, not with the generic malevolence that Lucanis and some of the other companions ascribe to him. He typically isn't hostile towards anyone Lucanis isn't, with only one major exception. Spite is a bit more emotionally reactive and vindictive than Lucanis, for sure. Lucanis comparing him to a child throwing a tantrum certainly seems to ring true. But he doesn't do pointlessly evil things for no reason.

(That one exception was obviously unusual, too. That dude did something very blatantly rude, which provoked Spite. It was genuine douchebag behavior, and he had bad vibes and needed to get his ass kicked anyway. Spite's violent response was likely an overreaction, based on the information he had at the time, but he was still reacting to someone else's actions, not just randomly turning hostile.)

Of course, you could argue that Spite is acting out of self-interest, since everything that happens to Lucanis also happens to him. However, practically speaking, I don't think that matters very much. Their priorities align a lot, way more than Lucanis realizes they do. Lucanis and Spite share a common interest in survival, something Lucanis himself will point out shortly after you recruit him, and they grow to become a true team with shared goals by the end of their storyline. Under such circumstances, it seems a little pointless to try to distinguish whether Spite is being selfish or genuinely cares for Lucanis. Both amount to the same thing in the end.

In all three previous Dragon Age games, we hear Thedosians assume demons always want indiscriminate violence and can't be reasoned with or appeased, and in all three previous Dragon Age games, we repeatedly see this assumption proven wrong. It's at best a flawed guideline based on edge cases, or at worst, a hateful stereotype. Lucanis claims Spite can't be negotiated with, that "talk doesn't work on Spite" because of his fundamental nature. But by the end of the storyline, talking to Spite and reaching a verbal agreement is actually the only thing that successfully resolves Lucanis' conflict with him!

I don't think it's a stretch to suggest that Lucanis is simply wrong about how demons work. He's ashamed, scared, and traumatized by his experience in the Ossuary, which makes him prone to to intrusive ruminations about potential worst-case scenarios. And since he's not a mage, he is, through no fault of his own, practically guaranteed to be ignorant on this topic. Even many mages don't understand demons very well. It takes a specialist in spirit magic to explain certain things, as we saw in Inquisition with Cole and Solas. Lucanis is perfectly poised to have basically zero factual information about demons, but a ton of cultural and personal reasons to vilify his new possessed self. Considering this context, it really seems odd that fans are interpreting Lucanis' statements about Spite as unbiased narrative fact.

Then again, this is the same fandom where a lot of people apparently still think Fenris' mansion formerly belonged to Danarius. Fenris mistakenly thought it did in Act I, but he later explicitly corrects his mistake aloud! (As Fenris explains, Danarius was only staying there as a guest. The house actually belonged to a merchant who was an acquaintance of his.) So maybe I'm just overly optimistic about how much detail is going to stick for people. These games have a lot going on in them, after all, so I guess it's inevitable for people to miss some things.

[hellsitedotcom]

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*·˚ FIRST KISS HEADCANONS : PART ONE *·˚

ft. Aventurine, Moze.

My brain doesn't work properly, which means I ain't happy with anything I write when it comes to prompts/longer drabbles, so here's another round of Headcanons 'cause, uhhh, I had a random thought. (Unfortunately cursed to have those) EDIT: This...escalated a tiiiiiny bit, buuuut (as much as I hate my writing) I don't rlly mind.

*·˚ warnings/info: well, there's obviously going to be mentions of kissing; mentions of alcohol/drinking (Aventurine); Sunday's escalated so much, I had to make it a separate post lol. *·˚ english isn't my native language!

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⭒˚｡⋆ Aventurine ⭒˚｡⋆

⇢ I'll be frank: It probably happened while you were both drinking, just ''unwinding'' and ending up having a rather good time. You were sat at a bar way longer than you should've - the employees really just wanted to get home, but you two just...weren't leaving.

⇢ You were sat further away, obscured by room dividers, only your voices audible to anyone else. Aventurine had been teasing you since you agreed to go drink something with him, and now you were both at a point at which he felt like...taking risks.

⇢ He had asked you for a simple game of poker, winner gets granted a wish - but the loser will only find out what the winner wants after the game; were you in, or were you out? And you, slightly drunk, agreed after only a few seconds. What could possibly go wrong?

⇢ And he won - of course he did. What else did you expect? But you were laughing, joking how you had nearly beat him; still in a good mood, you waited for him to tell you his wish - his ''demand''; and he did, your eyes widening for mere seconds, before you granted it.

''Royal Flush,'' Aventurine triumphantly laughed, displaying the cards on the table between you, ''I win, sunshine.'' You just groaned, though you didn't hide the amusement in your expression, ''Oh, you definitely rigged that. There's no way, come on.'' ''Well, at least I almost got you,'' you added more quietly, chuckling while he collected all the cards you had used. ''I simply don't lose,'' he countered, smirking at you as he leaned closer, a motion you followed curiously, ''I thought you would've noticed by now.'' You merely scoffed, rolling your eyes without hiding your smile, ''Sure, sure, Mr. Gambler.'' ''You just got lucky,'' you hummed in a teasing manner, leaning further across the table, ''So, what's your wish?'' Aventurine held your gaze, unwavering, and even in the dim lighting of the bar, you could tell that he was thinking. A part of you wanted to regret agreeing to this, but the other part - the louder part - only grew more intrigued. For a moment, his eyes dropped to your lips - so quickly that you thought you had imagined it - before his lips parted, your eyes widening the slightest bit at his words, ''How about a kiss?'' You could feel your face heat up, a wave of different emotions momentarily taking over your expression before you collected yourself again. ''Just a kiss?'' you repeated, making sure you had heard him right. ''Just a kiss,'' Aventurine confirmed, slightly tilting his head, ''Only if you're comfortable, that is.'' Silence settled after that, your mind still processing his wish. Despite how lost in your thoughts you were, you could notice Aventurine grow...unsure? No, that wasn't really it... You were taking too long, and the man was beginning to wonder if you would back out. And just as he was about to repeat himself, making sure you knew that you didn't have to kiss him if you didn't want to, you crossed the space between the two of you, your lips crashing against his. You weren't even thinking, merely acting on instinct...on a feeling deep inside you, an urge you had been fighting for months. The second your lips had touched his, all your restrain had vanished, and Aventurine didn't seem to be feeling any different as he reciprocated your kiss, a hand coming up to rest on your neck, pulling you even closer. Neither of you could get enough, your hands resting on the table between, but all good things have to come to an end, don't they? As you tried moving even closer, breathless from the things he was doing to you, a loud buzzing noise interrupted the two of you, making you pull apart. ''The IPC...'' Aventurine groaned, visibly annoyed as he stared at his phone screen. He had to take the call, you both knew it. And, before the man could decide if he was willing to take another risk by pressing on decline, the bar staff came up to you, informing you that it was time to leave for you anyway...

⇢ You didn't sleep much that night, or the nights that followed, your mind too busy replaying that kiss over and over again. The next time you saw Aventurine again, neither of you mentioned the night at the bar, though from the way he looked at you alone, you knew you weren't the only one unable to forget it.

⭒˚｡⋆ Moze ⭒˚｡⋆

⇢ This came to me in a prophetic dream (listening to music & daydreaming), and I am a firm believer that your first kiss happened...on accident, almost. In a situation that...how did it even come to that?

⇢ You were sat beside him, hiding in the ''shadows'' away from everyone else while Moze was patrolling the area. There...wasn't really a need to do it, but it was Moze, so you didn't really question it. And while he was taking all of this seriously, you were just...laying in the sunlight, having a wonderful time.

⇢ At one point, you had just started talking, asking brief questions or sharing thoughts with him, which he - though somewhat reluctantly - replied to. Eventually, you'd even gotten him to learn over to you, and as you held his gaze in that moment, it just...came over you.

⇢ Maybe it was the fact that you were having a good day, the sunlight making you feel so alive and full of energy. Or, maybe it simply was the man's captivating presence, making you feel like you were admiring a painting. Regardless of the reason, the urge to learn in had taken over.

''I mean, I guess I just don't understand it,'' you rambled, emphasizing your confusion with your hands, ''Why make everything so much more complicated than it has to be, you know? Artisans can be a really odd bunch.'' You were lying on your back, staring up at the sunny sky as waterfall after waterfall of thoughts fell from your lips, when Moze suddenly leaned over, allowing his arm to rest beside your head. ''You talk too much,'' he huffed expressionlessly, making you fall silent as you dragged your eyes up to meet his gaze. ''Maybe you just don't talk enough,'' you quipped back, your lips twitching in amusement, ''Besides, if it bothered you, you wouldn't have stuck around me this long. We both know that.'' The man just grunted, focusing back on the crowd underneath you, ''Just try to be more quiet. I'm not helping you if we get spotted.'' ''Of course,'' you hummed, not believing a word he was saying, earning you another discontent grunt from him. Your smile just grew at that, eyes still glued to the man standing beside you. ''Just admit it, big guy,'' you teased, slightly tilting your head to get a better look at him, ''You enjoy my company.'' That made Moze turn back again, violet eyes boring into yours as he leaned over once again, making a swarm of butterflies awaken in your stomach, ''Is that so?'' His face was mostly obscured by shadows, hidden by the hood he always wore while you laid in the sun, yet her gentle warmth was entirely forgotten as you held the man's gaze, ''Tell me I'm wrong?'' Moze was quiet, just watching you wordlessly. You couldn't tell what he was thinking, but you realized the longer you stared at him, the less you cared about his answer to your counter. You were too busy getting lost in a daydream, drowning in his eyes, when a sudden urge came over you. What if you just-? Your inner voice didn't even need to finish the question, your body moving on its own as you propped yourself up, not even giving the man any time to react as you pressed your lips against his. Moze seemed to freeze under your touch, unmoving at first, until you felt his hand rest against your chin, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. His patrol all but forgotten, the man's lips began moving against yours until you pulled away to catch your breathe, your heart racing. ''I-'' You wanted to say something, but your mind, despite the hurricane of thoughts tormenting it, couldn't form a coherent sentence, so you just continued staring at him, eyes searching his expression for anything - any sign that this meant something to him. But you never got that answer as the man took a step back, letting go of you, Moze's expression as blank as a canvas. He was still looking at you, watching as your previously cheery expression began to falter, yet he remained quiet as you struggled to find the right words.

⇢ You didn't get any reaction out of Moze that day, nor did you ever calm down enough to actually say something to him in that moment. Eventually, Moze merely continued his patrol, telling you he needed to move to the next location before disappearing without waiting for a reply.

⇢ Since then, you've been...well, on one hand you've been trying to avoid him, but on the other hand, you still hoped you would catch a glimpse of him regardless of where you went. And, while you thought he probably never thought about the moment you shared, Moze felt the exact same way as you.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

[weneepie]

mixed feelings w/ bruce wayne rules | m.list

note. hiii i'm back (who knows for how long lmao) but i wanted to write a fake dating au with bruce so here we go! feel free to request, i'll try to do them as soon as possible <3

How difficult it was to be the official girlfriend of no one else than Bruce Wayne himself. It was even more since you weren’t his real girlfriend but only a cover for him to always have someone to bring during those never ending galas. It wasn’t an easy life ; people were always asking questions about your relationship, about an intimacy you didn’t share with him at all. 

Why would you be doing this? Because Bruce was paying you well. More than well actually, it was more than you could ever gain with a classic full-time job. There was no way you would let go of this opportunity just because you were tired of those fake asses everywhere. You were stronger than that, especially for so much money. 

So here you were, talking with some women at one of those parties where he always brought you to. You could sense the jealousy and tension in their tone as they spoke to you. After all, you were supposedly dating the heir of Gotham, the most powerful man in this sick city. You could understand their behavior in a way, you would have probably not be better than them. 

Until you heard a voice you couldn’t recognize. You had come to enough parties to know almost everyone by now, but this one? You couldn’t tell. When you turned around, your eyes laid on a charismatic man, with a charming smile. His blond soft locks were pushed back, giving him a clean look. Behind those blue eyes, you could feel a man that used to have his way with everyone ; you could recognize them so easily. 

“Milady,” he took your hand in his, bringing it closer to his lip so he could leave a gentle kiss on the back of it, against the dark glove that was covering your delicate hand. You were a bit surprised, because no one ever dared touching you like this before. You were here with Bruce Wayne after all, nobody wanted this man against them. 

“It’s an honor to be finally meeting the woman I have heard so much about.” His voice was smooth, too much for it to be without any second thought behind. But all you did was to smile gently at him, your soft gaze laying on his face. You had to be correct, polite ; it was the most important thing, as Bruce always said. 

“And you are?” You asked without a harsh tone, just wanting to know who the man in front of you was. You were curious, you had to admit it. You weren’t used to this kind of behavior at all. And this is how you ended up spending some time with this man, without your supposed boyfriend noticing anything. 

Until he did. And oh God, the man felt something ignite inside his veins. When his eyes laid on your figure, so close to this guy, all smiling and laughing like you rarely did with him, it didn’t feel right, not to him. You should be like this with him, not anyone else. 

You were about to say something when you felt a hand resting against your hip. It didn’t take you long to recognize his touch ; those hands could be to one man alone. You looked at the man with your softest smile, the one you had so much practiced. But he wasn't looking at you. Oh no. All his attention was fixed on the blondie in front of you. 

“Bruce Wayne! What a pleasure.” He offered his hand to Bruce, and you could feel his fingers slightly tensing around your hip. He shook the man’s hand, but it was pure politeness. He had an image to protect, but it was obvious that if it was only him, he would already have hit the guy right in the face for acting so casually with you. 

You didn’t have time to talk much more with the man, because your ‘boyfriend’ decided it was enough for the night, and that you should both be going by now. You were in his expensive car as he drove you back to your apartment. The mood was… awful. Something felt so off, and you couldn’t understand what. 

“What’s wrong with you?” You asked him, glancing at his figure in the driver’s seat. He frowned a little at his words, just enough for you to notice it. You sighed ; it was really feeling like talking to a child who doesn’t have the toy he wanted. “I did as you told me to, I tried to sympathize.” 

A bitter chuckle left his lips at his words, and this time it was your turn to frown. You didn’t like that, when he was acting like it was your fault when you clearly didn’t do anything wrong. “Speak already!” You snapped at him and he suddenly stopped the car, letting a light gasp leaving your lips. You looked back at him, eyes widened. 

“Are you mad?” You almost yelled at him, and this time he was looking right into your eyes. “You had fun with this stupid guy, uh? Was it so great?” Reality finally hit you. He was jealous. Bruce Wayne, the cold and indifferent heir of Gotham, was jealous of some random guy you spent the night with. You couldn’t believe it. 

“Seriously? What are you scared of, that he paid me enough to leave? I won't-” You couldn’t finish your sentence, as Bruce reached your face with his hand to hold your chin between his fingers. He was calm, too calm. “I don’t care about how he could pay you. It’s not about money.”

Not about money? With him? Something was clearly wrong. “It’s about you. You shouldn’t have eyes for anyone else other than me.” He let go of your chin, putting his hand back on the steering wheel, focusing on the road again. 

It was difficult to follow a man who had such mixed feelings, so tortured in his mind. You simply glanced at him, before you looked through the window, waiting for the car to finally arrive at your place. It was not like you could do anything about this anyway. 

Time would tell how things will turn out, but no one other than Bruce could change how it was.

thank you for reading!

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 22 (Human Alastor x Reader)

Chapter Trigger Warnings: UwU Fluff, Angst, implied sexual assault

Prev Masterlist AO3 KoFi

The basket clattered to the ground, spilling containers and napkins. Glass shattered as the cups hit the ground, but you hardly noticed it. Alastor’s foot caught in the basket as he stepped forward, trying to save you from crashing into the front of his car as an uncharacteristic curse dropped from his lips. 

It didn’t do him any good, only crushing the basket as he himself stumbled. The cool steel of the car bit into your back. Pain ripped through your healing ribs as you gasped. The pain faded into the background as Alastor caught himself just a moment before his body crashed against yours. 

His hands landed on either side of you, braced against the hood of the car. You could just feel his chest brush against yours as you took gasping breaths, more out of shock than anything else. 

He was so close now. You could feel him. God help you, you could smell him. Musk and pine with a touch of cigarette smoke. The smell along with his warmth made your head spin. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, not moving away. 

“My ankle twisted was all,” you whispered, eyes darting between his, then down at his lips as his tongue darted out, wetting them. “I just stepped wrong.” 

“I’m glad,” Alastor said, lifting a hand to brush stray hair behind your ear. “It’d kill me if you came to any real harm with me.” 

Alastor waited, watching as your eyes roamed his face. His heart beat in his chest as fire felt like it burned through his blood, threatening to eat away at the resolve he maintained ever so carefully. 

He leaned forward and you tilted your face up, eyes wide, looking so much like a doe caught in headlights. Tempting, god above, you were teaching him what temptation truly meant. If this is what those women felt as they chased after him, desperate for as little as a look, he understood it now. 

A deep sigh ripped from his chest as he rested his forehead against yours, taking in the warmth of your skin and the way you trembled ever so slightly, trapped between him and the car. He should let you up, should give you space to breathe, but it was taking everything in him not to take what distance you had from you. 

He wouldn’t. God, how he wanted to, but he wouldn’t. You had your choices taken from you again and again. He had watched from a tree, fucking helpless as the man you married invaded the sanctity of your body against your wishes. 

Had you ever kissed a man willingly? Even once?

Was there a time when you longed for lips against yours? Was it ever good for you? You had told him that there hadn’t been anyone before your husband. Had you ever longed for his touch at one point? His lips? 

Selfishly, Alastor hoped not. 

What would it feel like to kiss someone he desired? How he wanted to taste your kiss, but you failed to move. He needed distance before he lost his mind, before curiosity burned the last of his resolve. 

Distance. He needed to give you space. Slowly, he did just that, pulling back. As he did so, he noticed your hand resting against his chest. Had it always been there? He didn’t know. He had been so absorbed in the way your eyes darted around his face that it very well could have been. 

You could feel the way his heart beat under your hand. His open jacket covered some of your fingers. Having your hand under his jacket, even just partially, felt far more intimate than the kisses he would place to your temple or the way his hand would linger, holding yours. 

They were not kisses, you told yourself. Yes, they were, your heart screamed back. You didn’t know which was true.

“Why did you pull away?” you asked the question in your heart before your mind gathered control of your lips. 

“You’re married,” he said softly.

“Oh,” you said over him, looking away, shame burning in you as your hand slipped from his chest. “I’m sorry, I-”

His hand wrapped around yours, holding the palm of your hand flush against his heart, ensuring you had no choice but to feel how rapidly it was beating against his chest. 

“I don’t care about that. I only mean to say it should be your choice.” Alastor said, eyes locked on you as he hooked your chin with a finger, pulling your face back to his, ensuring you saw him as he spoke. “I will not be just another man taking from you, forcing you.”

Your choice.

What a strange concept. Tears burned in your eyes as you tried to put your thoughts in order. You took too long, and he was pulling away again, a guarded smile across his lips.

You acted before you could think about it anymore. You only got one life to live. The bible had taught you that lusting after someone that was not your marriage mate was as sinful as the act of adultery itself. In your heart, you know you had already paved your road to hell. 

The fabric of his shirt bunched under your hand as your fingers balled into a fist, grabbing ahold of him as you threw your other arm around his neck. You didn’t know what you were doing, never had you initiated a kiss before, but you’d seen it in films and from couples that actually cared for eachother. 

You pulled yourself up off the car, or maybe you were pulling him down to you. You didn’t know for sure. Then his lips were against yours. His hand, which had left your chin when you moved, hovered in the air for a moment before resting against your neck lightly. 

Would he push you away?

Fingers curled around your neck, weaving through the hair at the nape as he leaned into you. He drug his hand from the hood of his car, wrapping his fingers around your hip as he held you in place. 

Sanity clawed back into your mind as you pulled away, blinking your eyes open as you looked up at him. What would he do? What would he say? You pulled your lip between your teeth as you waited. 

He had said it was your choice and impulsive though it may have been; you had made your choice. 

Alastor’s hands were long, strong, yet elegant. His thumb caressed your jaw and then applied pressure, just under the bone, to encourage you to tilt your head up a little more. 

Then his lips were on yours. You could feel the way he sighed into the kiss, his chest moving with it as the breath washed over your face. His hand wrapped around your lower back, pulling you tighter to him. Your hand ran up his chest, fingers dancing over the collar of his shirt, taking in the soft feeling of his neck.

His hand on your lower back ran up, holding you closer. It seemed with every exhale of air; he pulled you closer as his lips moved against yours, pulling and pushing. Each time his lips left yours for a gasping breath, he was back again.

As you pulled air into your lungs, his kiss pinched your lower lip softly between his lips. Your head spun. Never had you dreamed it could feel so good to simply be kissed. His hair was as soft as you dreamed as your hand slipped along his neck.

Your thumb brushed against his jaw and your head swam at the feeling of a patch of stubble, ever so small and slight. A missed spot from his morning shave, just under his jaw. A speck of imperfection, hardly noticeable unless you ran the pad of your thumb over it. 

Your lips closed around his, returning to the kiss as you tried to better slot your lips together, trying to correct the misalignment. Any thoughts you may have held onto as he showed you what it felt like to be kissed was lost as something warm and wet darted out between his lips. 

You were not sure if he was trying to lick his lips or yours, but the way he felt had you gasping, begging for air. It was intoxicating, more so than any wine you’d drank in your life as you tasted him as his tongue softly swept into your mouth. 

His kiss wasn’t greedy. Nothing about it hurt. Nothing about it was a battle. It was soft, sweet. You were gasping as his tongue withdrew, leaving you to chase it. You flexed your fingers, scratching his scalp lightly in the process as he continued to pull back. 

Your name was a whisper on his lips, his voice ever so thick and naked as he said, “I’ve got to get you back.” 

“I don’t want to go back,” you whispered back. “I want to stay with you.” 

“We must be careful, ma cherie.” Alastor whispered, leaning in and placing a soft, chaste kiss against your lips before stepping back, putting distance between your bodies. 

You softly touched your lips as you stood in the kitchen, the sink filling with hot water. Laurence hadn’t been terribly impressed with dinner, but the cleaning had earned you mercy for it. 

It felt like you were suffocating, waiting for the sound of his office door closing behind him. Alastor had said he would leave you a note, and you just needed to sneak out to get it. 

Warm hands wrapped around your waist, pulling your back to a too wide chest. Bile rose in your throat as you felt Laurence’s hands smoothe around your front. 

Lips that disgusted you brushed against the top of your head in a vile mockery of the lips you couldn’t stop thinking about. 

“Laurence, honey?” You whispered, frozen otherwise in place. 

“I’ve got a business trip tomorrow,” he said, holding you. “It was sprung on me. That’s why I was so stressed this morning.” 

“That’s alright,” you said though you were less and less sure that it was as you spent more and more time with Alastor. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, baby.” 

“I know,” you said, guilt and doubt clawing into you. Your husband was here, arms around you, and you kept thinking about another man. Why couldn’t you feel the way you did for Alastor for your husband? 

“The tip will have me gone overnight again,” Laurence said in your ear. 

“Tomorrow night?” You asked, trying to not sound hopeful.

“Tomorrow night.” Laurence agreed, “I’m going to go upstairs and bathe. Be ready for bed when I’m done.” 

“Yes, Laurence,” you said, tears welling in your clenched eyes as you willed them not to fall. It would be worse for you if you cried, it always was. If you took it with a smile, it wasn’t as bad. Sometimes though, it felt like Laurence’s goal was simply to make you cry so he could be angry about it. 

You looked up from the dishes in the sink as you listened to your husband walk toward the stairs, eyes training on the apple tree in the distance. You couldn’t see it, not really with the darkness of night. It felt like Alastor was out there, looking back at you. He promised more that you couldn’t reach out for. Alastor was something you wanted so badly and yet, as long as you were married, you could never have him. 

There was rat poison under the sink, tucked behind bottles of vinegar and cleaning solutions. You put it there yourself, back in the fall. Tears slipped down your face as you questioned how much it would take to be free of the man you called your husband. 

Then your eyes rose a little more while the sound of Laurence’s weight creaked on the stairs. As Laurence turned on the water, running the bath, your eyes locked on a flash of light. It was little more than a spark coming from the darkness around the apple tree. 

You couldn’t kill your husband, Alastor wouldn’t want anything to do with you if you did. A good man like Alastor would never want a woman who killed another, a woman who committed such an ultimate sin. He needed a strong, infallible woman who would help him push forward.

You wouldn’t deserve a moment of his time if you did something as monstrous as murder. Wiping tears you hadn’t noticed falling from your face, you dried your hands on your house dress and walked through the kitchen on the toes of your shoes. Each step was careful and slow, ensuring that the heels didn’t click against the floors as you walked toward the back door. 

Slowly, you opened the door and slipped outside. The sound of crickets and cool night are enveloped you as you glanced up, expecting to see your husband in the bedroom window waiting to catch you. 

He wasn’t. Your bedroom was dimly lit by the gaslights in the hall. You were in the clear. Walking quickly turned into running as you crossed the back garden. It was dark, and you nearly tripped over your own feet and then again on twigs.

It was selfish, a fleeting hope that wormed itself into your heart, but you hoped he was still there. You wanted to see him again, to feel his arms around you again. Even for just a moment, you wanted to feel his kiss again. 

He was gone when you reached the tree. Disappointed huffs of breath puffed between your lips as you stuffed the fleeting heartbreak down. There wasn’t time to be disappointed. He had been there. You had seen the light from a match being struck. 

Reaching blindly into the hole, you found it. There was a notebook and sticking out from it, a torn-out page. Grabbing the page, you unfolded it, heart in your throat as you struggled to find a ray of moonlight bright enough to read by.

“My Darling,” Alastor’s neat penmanship started. “I enjoyed our lunch and dearly hope that you can say the same. It pains me so to return you to that house, knowing what you endure at the hands of another. I’ll be counting down the moments until I may see you again. Would it be selfish of me to check back tonight for a response? Perhaps, though, I must confess I will before I return home for the night.

Until then, A” 

You held the note to your chest, heart beating fast. Next to the notebook in the hole was a lighter to burn the letters, but you couldn’t stomach the thought. Instead, you folded the paper and tucked it into your apron. It was a risk you couldn’t help taking. 

It was dark and you could only hope your penmanship would please him as much as his did you. It pained you that you had no time to sprawl a lovely message to match his. 

“I don’t have long,” you started, crouched next to the tree as you braced the notebook on your knee. “He’s going out-of-town tomorrow for work. He’ll be gone overnight. I want to see you, if that’s alright. I dearly wish to see you again.” You signed the note with your initial, just as he did and folded it, tucking it along with the notebook and pen into the hole.

Would he have been by already before returning home for the night? You didn’t know. You hoped he would be by again, even in this late hour. It was selfish. He needed rest too, but you hoped that flash of light wasn’t him saying goodbye. 

For a moment you felt the need to snatch the paper up and scrawl a declaration of your feelings across the page. Leave it to speak everything you were to afraid to say, too ashamed to say but instead you turned away. 

You’d been out for far too long already. You needed to get back. Laurence would be out of the bath and looking for you soon. Based on how he held you, you doubted he would tolerate your presence being absent from the bedchamber. 

“I’m sorry,” Laurence said, running his hands over your arms, bodies lit by nothing but the moonlight through the window. That too was quickly fading as clouds moved in. 

“You needn’t be.” Your eyes traveled, looking everywhere but at your husband. 

“I’ve been working so much we’ve not been able to make it to the cinema much lately. Even our lunches have fallen off.” His lips moved against your neck as you tried to stand as still as you could. 

“You’ve been working hard,” you whispered. “I don’t hold it against you.” 

“You don’t seem to appreciate how hard I’m working,” Laurence’s voice turned sharp. What you said was wrong. You didn’t know how or what the right thing was, but you had said the wrong thing. 

“Of course I do,” you forced yourself to turn and face him, though you couldn’t make yourself reach out for him like you knew he wanted. 

“Then fucking act like it.” Laurence’s mouth crashed against yours in a hard kiss that seemed to be a mockery of what you had learned a kiss could be. “Icy bitch.” He said as he tore your nightgown down your body. 

It was near the middle of the night as Alastor crept through the small forest, note in his pocket. The cloud cover was far too thick for him to have a hope of reading it, but that was alright. 

It was a note from you. That’s all that mattered. At least, he hoped it was. He knew it wasn’t the note he left, written after he had delivered you to your back door. 

Once he was safely through the trees, he sat on the first park bench he found, tucked under the warm glow of the streetlamp. Oh, how his heart pounded and that feeling in his gut bloomed as he took in your slanting letters, messy from speed and poor writing position. 

Tomorrow. 

He could see you again so soon. He’d have to plan something. Would he take you out for another evening on the town? Perhaps not Mimzy’s. The memory of Laurence there may be too fresh still. 

The next town over? No, he didn’t want to waste so much time driving when he could be with you in a more intentional sense. His home was the only logical decision. He’d have to make something for dinner, make it worth the night in. That would be fine, large home and middle class upbringing aside, you seemed content with the simpler things in life. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

Next?

[anachronismstellar]

SQH x Wine Peak lord

I would imagine SQH would teach the Wine Peak Lord modern drinking games and it goes from there. (IDK if it will go like the SVSSS extra if you know what I mean.)

HISHSDAUFHUSDHDF not only did SQH taught a modern drinking game, UNO is now canon in the SVSSS lol

AND FUCK YEA BODY SHOTS LET'S GO

A Peak Lady this time! :D Her lovely name was given by @busysavingtheuniverse, thank you so much and I hope you enjoy my wine aunty!!

Omg I'm so sorry it took me this long but *waves at the past weeks*

But to make it better this is ahahahah 13 pages long on my docs. :D

Why I am going a little insane ty for asking

BTW, this one has mild explicit content AND it has two adults getting reaaally drunk before having sex. Everything is consensual, but if that makes you icky, maybe skip this one

Now, on with the fic!

--------

The room was filled with the scent of incense and tobacco, the lights bright just enough to create an intimate atmosphere. Four people gathered around a low table, the clacking of ivory pieces mixed with their low voices.

And the wine, of course, flowing like a river, making laughter bubble free. They probably shouldn't drink so much, their week packed with meetings and trainings, but if their dear Mu Qingfang himself was indulging, who were they to say no to a bit of fun?

The stones were given to each player, some of them being exchanged back and forth, the match starting with their host setting down the first piece.

And as soon as the game began, so did the gossip.

"Has anyone heard from their disciples yet? Wei-shixiong?" Mu Qingfang asked as he poured wine for all of them while waiting for his turn in the game.

"Not me," he replied as he discarded his stone, cursing right after, trying to take it back, only to get a tap on the wrist by Qi Qingqi sitting on his right.

"Pong. Don't cheat." Qi Qingqi said as she moved her pieces at a speed that would leave anyone dizzy, already displaying a group of three identical stones, her eyes focused on the game, shoulders tense.

"I heard nothing from him as well," Mu Qingfang added along with his own discarded stone, moving way slower than his shijie on his left. "But I don't think he noticed the rumors yet."

"I don't wanna add to the fire," Zhang Qingyan started as she tapped her nails on her pieces, holding her pipe between her teeth to move her own blocks before continuing. "But I heard some An Ding disciples talking about Liu-shidi being the last victim."

"Really?" Mu Qingfang asked, genuinely surprised. "I thought he was scared of Liu-Shixiong?"

"Oh he is!" Wei Qingwei said a bit too excited for someone losing their third round or so. "But I heard that girl, what's her name? The An Ding Head Disciple? Qi-shimei, do you know who I am talking about?"

"Ye Ling."

"That's the one," Wei Qingwei threw another piece at the discarded pile, then sipped his drink. "She said Liu-shidi scared the soul out of Shang-shidi's body, and Shang-shidi grabbed him and threw Liu-shidi on the ground."

"And that would do it, wouldn’t it? Liu-shidi is so odd…" Zhang Qingyan took another smoke from her pipe, then offered it to Qi Qingqi, who just refused with a shake of her head. She had lost the three last matches, and that mixed up with how much wine they had already...

Zhang Qingyan moved a little bit to the side, just in case.

"Who is missing then?"

"Almost half of the peaks, I believe."

"Do you think he's gonna sleep with all the lords?"

"A bit difficult, I mean, Gao-shidi has eyes only for his talismans. And Qi-shijie-" Mu Qingfang said as he took the pipe Qi Qingqi rejected.

"I won't touch men, not even if there's no one else in the world," she said as she put down her stone, glaring at Wei Qingwei.

"Don't look at us like that." Wei Qingwei gave her a wink, laughing at her face of disgust. "You haven't got the full Shang Qinghua experience!"

"It baffles me how he got himself into the bed of so many." She pretended to move her pieces around, just like Zhang Qingyan pretended not to see her take a piece from the discarded pile without the others noticing. "I tried to ask him where he bought his ink, you know the shimmery one? I couldn't open my mouth before he ran away like a scared rabbit."

"And can you blame Shang-Shixiong?" Mu Qingfang chuckled as he put his stone down, a light brush on his cheeks even though he had just a few cups. "Qingqi-shijie talking to a man of her own will is not something common to see. He probably thought you're going to ask for his liver."

"Hunf! I didn't need anything from him anyway." She flipped her hair back, as if she hadn't just confessed wanting to ask Shang-Shixiong a question. "My girls were more than able to gather all the information I needed to buy the ink."

"What I find really intriguing is that so far it has been all peak lords and no lady," Zhang Qingyan said as she poured another cup for Qi Qingqi and then herself, sighing at the taste of plum and spice. "Is he even interested in women?"

"Zhang-shimei, not you too," Qingqiu shook her head in dismay. "You are not considering-"

"The boys keep talking nonstop about him. And as Mu-Shixiong doesn't tell me anything-"

"It's doctor and patient confidentiality!"

"-I'm curious, that's all."

The entire table got dangerously quiet before exploding with noise.

"No, no, no, absolutely not, I have my money on Wu Qingfang being the next one!"

"Please don't indulge this nonsense, they are already insufferable as they are-"

"You should call him for the next game." Mu Qingfang took a sip of his wine, the red on his cheeks spreading down his neck. "He's been dealing with a lot lately, I bet he would enjoy the distraction."

She turned to look at him, eyebrows pulled up in surprise as she slowly let go of her smoke.

"Mu-Shixiong really thinks so?" She tapped her ashes in an empty bowl next to her chair, ignoring Qi-Shijie and Wei-shixiong bickering to focus on her dear doctor. "You-" she paused, glancing at the two other cultivators, certifying they were distracted before taking his hand and gently squeezing it. "You know him better than any of us..." She paused again, their eyes meeting, a heartbeat passing before he gave her a soft smile, glasses a little crooked.

"I know it's been a while since he had good wine." Mu Qingfang squeezed her hand back with a discreet shake of his head. "And if there's anyone I trust to show him a good time would be Zhang-shimei."

She nodded slowly as she clicked her cup against his before taking her sip, the sweetness of the wine tingling on her tongue, making her sigh.

"Besides," Mu Qingfang continued, taking his last piece from the face-down pile. "Shang Qinghua is not that bad. The secret is to hand in his paperwork on time and not ask for any last-minute favors. Then he doesn't care about the rest."

"Hah!" Wei Qingwei exclaimed as he waved one of his pieces at Mu Qingfang's direction, showing its symbol for anyone to see. "It also helps that you like sucking his-"

Smack!

The sound of Qi Qingqi slamming both her hands against the wooden table was loud enough to make them all stop and stare at her bright red face.

"Can we talk about anything else that's not Shang-shidi- Shang- the A-An Ding Peak Lord love life?" And at each stutter, her grip on the table got stronger, to the point of her knuckles going white. "Honestly, you are all worse than my teenage girls!"

They looked at each other before lowering their heads with soft mumbles of "Sorry Shimei" and "Sorry Qi-Shijie." Zhang Qingyan felt bad for her poor Shijie, Wei-Shixiong must have already talked her ear off about Shang-Shixiong if she got to the point of exploding like that.

They went back to focusing on the game, their silence lasting for three more rounds before Wei Qingwei opened his mouth and-

"But how long do you think it will take until he notices his disciples bragging about him fucking Liu-shidi?"

Qi Qingqi grabbed the closer bottle she could reach and took a big swing while Zhang Qingyan patted her shoulder, holding back her laughter.

-------

Shang-Shixiong and Zhang Qingyan had a very... Feeble relationship.

They were both close friends to Mu Qingfang, but they had never actually talked anything substantial outside of small talk.

If anyone asked Zhang Qingyan why, she would say they just hadn't much in common. She liked her wine and spending days and days in her peak, experimenting with all types of tinctures and salts, while he would never stop going on and on about paperwork and numbers, topics she wanted to avoid like demons after she closed her office doors.

She knew he was a good man, Mu-Shixiong wasn't one to praise freely. She just had been under the impression of Shang-Shixiong being a busy bee that cared only for his work, with no time to let his hair down. Literally.

Then came the rumors.

First was a joke that she caught among her disciples, then a bet here and there. Upon a bit of a digging, she found out a very interesting talk among the disciples of all peaks. She didn't believe it at first, and who would?

But then Wei Qingwei told his own story, and added to what she knew Mu-Shixiong and Shang-Shixiong would get up to...

One couldn't ignore all the evidence.

She got curious, of course she did. Did she believe that her invitation for a game of Mahjong would be accepted? Honestly, no.

Was she disappointed when instead of a polite decline she received a confirmation of his presence at their next gathering?

Absolutely not.

"This one would like to apologize to Shang-Shixiong for the absence of the other guests," she said as soon as they sat down on the low table, the set of Mahjong organized over it, ready for a game. "Mu-Shixiong had to cover his head disciple's shift, and Wei-Shixiong is lost in his forge, he said he was about to finish his last masterpiece and couldn't come."

"You mean his masterpiece of this month, right?" He took his wine cup from her hands with a small nod, waiting for her to pour her own drink before taking a sip. "Hoping he doesn't blow up another forge."

"Let's hope not, or he won't escape Qi-shijie's fury this time."

The name made Shang Qinghua tense, a weak laugh escaping his throat while he looked around, as if Qi QIngqi would jump from the curtains at any moment.

"Speaking of her, you said she was invited too...?"

"Oh, she's invited, but with Qi-shijie is always a wild guess,"

They left their talk trickle down as they both sipped their wine. When the silence kept going, Zhang Qingyan put her cup down to get her pipe. If she was going to host, she would have a good smoke.

"Do you want some?" She offered the tobacco. "I also have another wine, if Shixiong prefers something a bit stronger."

"This wine is perfect, thank you," he said as he rushed to take another sip, nodding his head. "But- uh. I wouldn't mind a smoke, actually."

He took his own pipe out of his robes, filling his pipe with fresh tobacco, shoulders dropping as smoke left his lips.

Deciding not to let the conversation die a horrible death, Zhang Qingyan poured more wine to them, hoping for it to loosen up Shang-Shixiong's tongue.

She wanted at least some gossip to tell Wei-Shixiong!

"I'm sad that I've invited Shang-Shixiong all this way for a match and we won't be able to play." Zhang Qingyan said after taking another sip of wine before starting the task of putting the Mahjong pieces away.

He quickly started helping her to put all the pieces in the silk lined box, picking up one or other to admire the hand work. "We could play something else, if you would like," he suggested when they finished putting everything away.

"Oh? What do you suggest?"

He patted his robes until he found a qiankun bag, taking a bundle of paper from it, setting on the top of the table. "Have you ever played Yi?"

She put the box aside, reaching for the papers, letting out a surprised "Huh" when she touched it, not finding it as flexible as she was expecting. And the colors! There were the ones with numbers, but also many drawings, some of them so detailed one could stare at them for hours.

"You've made these?"

"Oh no, no, I'm not an artist. But I know a lady that does some commission work, so all I had to do was describe the cards for her to make."

"They are beautiful..." she whispered while admiring a red phoenix delicately painted to look as if it was curling around the number nine. "How do you play it?"

He delicately took the cards from her hands, setting one of each type on the table, explaining one by one along with the rules of the game. And during the entire time she couldn't help but feel impressed, her polite smile slowly becoming sincere the more he talked. And she could see that Shang-Shixiong was opening up too, his own lips curling up in a smile, eyes crinkling with joy every time she asked a smart question.

"And there are many ways you could bend the rules, some people back in my town would play it as a drinking game."

"A drinking game?" Zhang Qingyan immediately perked up, eyes glinting with mischief. "Would Shang-Shixiong want to try going against me? Really?"

He squinted his eyes at her, and she could see him biting the inside of his cheek, as if considering his changes.

"Yes, let's make it a drinking game."

Oh poor dear, he had no idea, had he?

It wasn't his fault, really. Zhang Qingyan wasn't the type to brag, and again, they hadn't spent enough time together for him to know what a terrible mistake he had just made. And before he could go back on his offer she brought a cheaper wine, pouring them both a cup full to the brim, pulling her sleeves up so they wouldn't get in the way of her handling the cards.

Shang Qinghua shuffled, cutting the deck in half and then shuffling again, giving each of them seven cards, picking one from the top of the remaining, a beautiful blue bird with the number 6 next to it settling the first color of their game.

And so it started. 

"Zhang-shimei is a fast learner," he downed his wine in one swallow, without blinking at the strong taste. She could see he wasn't expecting her to get the rules so fast, their first round ending with Zhang Qingyan's victory. "Maybe we should add more drinking rules."

"Shixiong is too kind," she batted her eyelashes at him. "But if you think you can keep up with this one, we could add a cup each time one has to buy two cards or more."

"Deal," he agreed with a smile that was too sharp and too dangerous, a glint in his eyes that made her giggle with anticipation. It was like she could hear Mu-Shixiong's voice laughing with her, poking at her ribs while saying proudly. "Told you he's not bad."

…She could also hear Wei-Shixiong too, a whistle followed by "Careful, Shimei~ you gonna fall for it~"

"I'm not falling for it," she thought as she shook her head while giving all the cards for Shang Qinghua to shuffle again, firmly ignoring the way her heart picked up pace when his warm hands touched hers.

They played another round, and then another, tricking each other as much as the cards themselves tricked them, drying one bottle then two, then four. At some point Shang-Shixiong had let his hair down, and Zhang Qingyan had lost her outer robe, both stacking cards as fast as they could just to see the other fumble, smoke and alcohol making the room spin softly around them.

"I didn't know Shimei was such a good drinker," Shang Qinghua set his card down, laughing as Zhang Qingyan cursed like a demon, picking up two cards before drinking her wine. "I should have proposed that we drank each time one has to buy a card instead of two or more."

"Careful, Shixiong, one could think you were trying to seduce poor little me," she replied with a sweet smile, while curling her hair on her finger.

"Oh shimei, if I were really trying to seduce you, I would suggest body shots," he laughed, then drinking his cup after drawing a card.

"What are body shots?" she couldn't help but ask, glaring at the bright green dragon in the middle of the table, her cards dancing in front of her. She had the card to change colors for a while now, but she could also make him draw four more cards.

Hmmm choices choices...

"Oh, uh," his hesitation made her raise her glance at his red face, surprised at how he had gone from relaxed and cheekey to embarassed in less than seconds. "It's- It's something from my town? But, ah, is a bit-"

"Shixiong," she set her cards turned down at the table, putting her elbows on top of it so she could rest her chin on her hands. "Is it a lewd game?!"

"Oh Heavens," he hid his face between his hands, groaning. "I should not have mentioned it, oh no, this is dangerous-"

"Now I'm even more intrigued," she leaned forward, head slightly tilted down as she looked up at him. "Shixiong wouldn't leave me curious, would he?"

She didn't think it was possible for him to become more red, but at this point he was about to let smoke leak through his ears. He coughed, recomposing himself only to lose it all over again after glancing at her neckline, mumbling a word she couldn't understand.

"I- I could show you?" his voice went up at the end as if he himself was doubting his abilities. But with a deep breath he took the wine bottle and drank a good half of it, setting the porcelain on the table with a sharp nod. "I will show you. But you have to promise not to be angry."

She laughed out of pure surprise, agreeing not to hit or harm him in any way. And the more Shang-Shixiong explained what he was going to do, the more she started questioning herself on why she had never seen him in one of Wei-Shixiong wild parties, or how the quiet peak lord had knowledge of such games.

And that's how she ended up with a cup of wine nested between her robes and her chest, and Shang-Shixiong standing right in front of her, brown eyes blown wide as he held her by her waist. They both moved slowly as if the air had turned into molasses, unsure of where the lines were drawn, Shang Qinghua's heated breath sending shivers down her spine.

It was mesmerizing to watch as Shang Qinghua bit the porcelain and threw his head back, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Clear liquid trickled down his chin, making everything messy, and probably it was not as graceful as he wanted it to be, both already drunk as they were. But then he went and licked the cup clean and-

He raised his eyes at her, and it was impossible for her not to hold his face, sinking her hands into his hair. She guided him into a biting kiss, both of them moaning, as his hands slid up and down her body, touching her everywhere as she did her best to get rid of his collared shirt, pulling him even closer by the back of his neck.

If the room had felt hot before, now it was boiling, her red robes hitting the floor right after his leather bracers, her dark lip tint smeared over his mouth and cheek.

Everything tasted salty and sweet, the haze of the wine making her entire skin tingle as he pushed her slowly until he was lying on the wooden floor. She felt as if she were floating under the brushes of his fingertips as he left her chest completely exposed to his gaze, tracing a swirling pattern all the way to her belly.

"There's another way to do a body shot," he said, and the way his voice went deeper with lust, oh Heavens, she might never recover. All of Mu-Shixiong's wildest stories weren’t able to prepare her for the vision that was Shang Qinghua completely disheveled, hair dripping down his shoulders, strong muscles peeking from his half opened shirt. "Shimei would like to learn it?"

She kept nodding while he took the bottle from the table, gasping when he pulled the cork with his teeth. "This might tickle," was the only warning he gave her before pouring wine in her bellybutton. She whined, nails scratching his arms with thin lines of red as he breathed over the cold liquid before sucking. And he drank it all up to the last drop, his tongue dancing on her skin, setting it her on fire, turning her whine into full moans as his mouth went lower and lower and-

"S-Shixiong!" She cried while grasping his hair tight, her back bending until it wasn't touching the floor for a second.

The slurping sound was obscene, it was divine, it was driving her into madness. She couldn't stop making noise, pulling her legs up until her knees were touching his head, begging for more, begging for mercy, begging and begging-

"I must say..." He wiped his chin with the back of his hand, pressing a soft kiss on the side of her knee. "This was much better than any body shot."

She kissed the smugness off his face, doing her best to reverse their positions, biting as she noticed Shang Qinghua was letting her move him around, allowing her to sit on his lap.

He was about to find out two could play that game.

"My turn," she said as she grabbed the bottle, pouring it all over his chest.

----------

She took her time getting dressed, feeling relaxed like she hadn’t in a good while, body sore all in the right places. Her guest had already left for his own peak, but not before making sure she had a good breakfast and some water, hangover tincture ready by her bed. 

And as soon as she could, she set foot to Mu-Shixiong’s peak, asking the first discipline that passed by if the doctor was in his office, not surprised at all by the affirmative answer.

"Mu Qingfang," she didn't slam the door open because that would be beneath her, but her entrance was dramatic anyway, robes fluttering as she rushed to get closer to him, crossing his office in a few steps. 

"What?" he asked as he paused by his examination table, his magnifying glasses perched up on his nose. And it was a testimony of their long friendship that she didn’t even blink at the sight of him bent over what seemed to be a tentacled creature; a scare thin knife in one hand, a pair of tweezers in the other.

“You were right, I was wrong.”

“Well, that’s a first coming from you. What was I right about?”

She took him by his wrist after he set all his instruments aside, making him sit before going through his shelves to get the good wine. Yes, she was still hungover, but she was in the mood for a celebration.

That and the fact that she would collect a big bag later from her disciples was also very nice, but not the point.

“Shang-Shixiong came by yesterday.”

“Oh?” and that was what made him shift his entire focus towards her, fingers intertwined on the top of his desk. “And how was it? Did you guys play Mahjong?” and then he dared to wiggle his eyebrows at her, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Stop it, I just told you that you were right," she poured him the wine, waiting for him to sip first before tasting it as well. “And I have to admit, I didn't know fingers could move like that. And don't tell Qi-shijie but- his tongue?"

"I know," Mu Qingfang let out a dreamy sign.

"And how long can he hold his breath? I mean-”

"I know," he sighed again, a silly smile on his face. Before, when she was the one on the other side listening to him sing Shang-Shixiong's praises, she would roll her eyes fondly, saying that he was a man in love.

Now? She understood. She completely understood..

The entire time Shang-Shixiong had been the most polite, making sure she was comfortable, taking what he wanted but not taking it for granted. He asked permission in the sweetest ways, teasing her when she failed to use words. And at the end of it all, he had taken time to massage her sore thighs, kissing her feet, treating her like an empress.

It made her heart race but she wasn't a romantic woman. She liked to have fun but relationships? Hah! In a world controlled by men, to become someone's wife would be the same as giving away her power and titles.

Mu Qingfang, on the other hand...

"Are you... Are you alright with all of this? I know how deeply you feel about Shang-Shixiong." She took his hand between hers in a similar gesture all those days ago, searching in his eyes any sign of pain. "Just say the word, and I go after him to give a strong talk."

He laughed, a genuine belly laugh that made her relax her shoulders, the band around her heart releasing a bit.

"This one thanks his Shimei, but she doesn't need to worry. My relationship with Shang-Shixiong is not like that. We love each other, but I know he wasn't meant to have only one lover."

"That's a way to say it," she tsked as she patted his hand again, letting it go to pick on the sleeves of her robes, still a bit out of it from the previous night. "The man is turning the Sect into his personal harem… And I don't think he knows it."

"He has all of us wrapped around his fingers, doesn't he?" And then it was his turn to take her hand, checking her pulse and Qi levels out of habit. "Now, what else did you do last night?"

"Shixiong!"

"What? Is nothing I haven’t seen before, at least from his part. And I’ve told you worse and you know it."

She groaned, caught by his sound argument. She hid her face between her hands, feeling her ears burning up, face almost scarlet as her robes.

“Well?”

She peeked at him between her fingers, pouting. But when he just crossed his arms she knew she would have no escape. "Fine. But first-" she took his cup of wine, drinking it up in a gulp, the burning on her throat matching the burning of her face.

She started talking.

--------

The plan for this was:

They played mahjong cards

They got drunk

Sqh: uhh body shots is uhh a game but is not appropriate to play with decent company Zqy: good think I'm far from decent then ;)

BODY SHOTS

Uhhhhh, as spicy as we can get

And my brain couldn't think of any creative name for their UNO version so I went with the number one in Mandarin aaaaaa

Holy shit y'all I can't believe we are 7/12 already?!?!! sdhfuishdf Send help aaaaaaaaa

aaand next on the line is Beast Peak Lady, Wu Qingfang!

here is the masterpost of all the other achievements

thank you again for this ask and for giving it a read!!! :D

Beast Peak here we gooooo~

[nonbinary-potatoes]

Prompt: Amortentia 08/11/12 @rosekillermicrofic

Word count: 666

Potions class was a drag. It was too early on a Monday morning to be labouring around the potions lab and following complex instructions to make a ridiculous potion and its antidote.

Evan was working with Barty, like usual - they always worked together in any pair activity. They'd just become even more insufferable since staring N.E.W.T.S, and since getting together but that was besides the point. Slughorn lumbered into the room and charmed his chalk to begin scribbling on the blackboard while he babbled nonsense about spare copies of the textbook being on the shelf at the back.

"Today we are working on potion antidotes, the first half of the lesson is theory and then you'll get the chance to brew the antidote for amortentia and test it on mice" Slughorn droned on, opening his own copy of the text book and writing notes for the class to copy and simply going on and on about ingredients and measurements.

Barty, who was sat on the stool beside Evan, had also seemed to have had enough of the monotone drone that was escaping Slughorn - he'd written over a foot of parchment on antidotes already and slid it over for Evan to copy while he attempted to initiate a game of footsies. Evan was shorthanding the notes, making bullet points and the occasional badly scrawled diagram while Barty tapped his foot against his ankle. Evan kicked him in the shin.

After an eternity of theory, Slughorn pottered off into his personal storeroom and returned with a large silver cauldron filled with a pearlescent white liquid. Barty leaned over and whispered, "It kinda looks like spunk," giggling away to himself, Evan suppressed his laughter badly before muttering back.

"Its his proof that he isn't getting down with Minnie"

Evan snickered a bit more while Slughorn directed the class to gather around the potion, groaning about being forced to walk to the front of the class Evan reluctantly walked the few paces there with Barty at his heels. The closer he got the potion, the more he noticed the way the steam spiralled away from it and left a potent smell in the air.

"Can anyone here tell me what this potion is?" Slughorn droned, and of course, Barty rose his hand. "Mr Crouch" Slughorn visibly deflated slightly - not many teachers appreciated that Barty didn't even seem to need their guidance to get all Os in his classes.

"Its amortentia, characters by its pearly white colour, spiralling steam and multi faceted scent which changes based on the individuals preferences" Barty answered, a small grin on his lips as Slughorn awarded him house points for his knowledge. It only took Slughorn looking away for a few moments to check his class notes for Barty to slip some of the potion into a vial he had in his pocket - Evan didn't question the presence of the empty vial in his robes, he was used to Barty being weird.

Barty leaned close. "Smells like you," he whispered, winking and jabbing his tongue out playfully. Evan rolled his eyes and took a deeper breath of the air around him, taking in how it smelt. A few things he could pick up were distinctly Barty: green apple sweets, that dusty smell of books from the restricted section, and burnt sugar. But there was also the scent of his sisters tangerine handcream that she nevwr went without, and Regulus when he'd just been swimming in the sea because he couldn't stop smiling when they were at the beach, apple crumble from the great hall because that was his favourite. Evan could've sworn he could even smell his dorm room - a place that always felt more like home than anywhere else.

The potion really did smell like love. Romantic, platonic, familiar, and even objective. It was almost beckoning Evan to stick his head in the cauldron and drink the lot, just to feel that warmth and joy fill his lungs and seep into his veins.

[aayakashii]

I always considered fiction my main way of escapism from my own troubles and the world's troubles. After yesterday, I feel like we all need a little bit of escapism and comfort, and I did the only thing I can offer, which is to write. I hope this can bring a little bit of comfort to anyone who's feeling depressed or scared. I hope my blog can be a little safe space if you need to escape. Please take care of yourselves and ily <3

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, actually a lot of comfort, Luca helps reader cope with their feelings

Frostheim always made you feel inadequate. Small. Wrong. Not enough. Your blood wasn't blue and your voice didn't have the sound of centuries of generational wealth, unlike all of its students. Thus, you had no place in speaking up, or expressing your discomfort. Much less saying no.

Which was why you found yourself stuffed inside itchy, uncomfortable clothes that had been bought with Kamurai money – another reason why you couldn't run away from that place – nursing a glass of champagne that you would, most probably, not drink.

Frostheim's balls were a whole different torture on its own.

It's not surprising that the rich would pride themselves in following obscure little etiquette rules that made them feel like they were better than everyone else. It was fine, really. They could choke on their diamonds and coins and silver cutlery for all you'd care.

It's the fact that you had to endure them that truly abhorred you. Endure the waltzes, and the fancy canapes, and the constant flood of drinks, and the stares and the whispers and the stares and the whispers.

The stares and the whispers.

You knew how much people loved to gossip in that godforsaken dorm, but you hoped your professional (and almost friendly) relationship with both the Captain and Vice-Captain would keep them at bay, at least in front of you.

But you forgot that rich people have no respect for those they deem less important than them.

So you were standing on your own, in the corner of the giant ballroom, as you counted how many people would pass by, stare you down and snicker.

Your record for the previous ball was a little over 20 people. This time, you were already on 23.

What a lovely setting.

All you wanted to do was run, go to the campus’ store and beg Benkei to give you a little discount on a bulk of instant noodles and cheap wine. You refused to eat their expensive food as much as you refused to get drunk in front of them.

That was your plan, until the loudspeakers, carefully placed in every corner of the giant room, began playing a gentle tune that reverberated deep inside your bones, and caused you pain you weren't quite expecting.

At least not at that moment.

Much to your dismay, your eyes began to sting as the first words of the oh-so familiar song reached your ears and your grip on the glass tightened instinctively.

It was such an old piece. A cheesy, melancholic little tune released back in your early teens. Back when your biggest worry were your grades and being noticed by your cute classmate.

You downed the champagne in one go, trying to force the lump on your throat to disappear. Breathing became a little bit harder as you felt your chest squeeze with painful nostalgia and you stumbled towards one of the many balconies of the vast building.

You knew they would most always be empty due to the harsh winter weather right outside its glass doors, but you didn't mind. You needed space. Air. And if you were going to ruin your makeup, you wanted to do it on your own.

The singer's voice was slightly muffled, but you could still hear her. The lyrics lamented a wasted love, but all you could think of were the memories associated with the song.

You remembered carrying your childhood dog in your arms as you danced to it in your old bedroom, thinking about fairytale romance and the bright future ahead of you.

You remembered crying to the sound of it after your first heartbreak and the taste of salt on your tongue while your parents drove you to the beach, the song playing softly in the car's speakers.

You remembered sleeping soundly in a friend's room during a sleepover, the song playing time and time again after you all forgot to turn off the computer and the old music player.

You remembered your past life, seeming so far away from you despite you still being so young.

White, glittery flakes barely fell despite the biting cold that enveloped Frostheim like a snow globe. You shivered constantly, but were focused on how strongly you were biting your bottom lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. Your hands gripped the balcony's railing tightly, as you tried to ground yourself.

You missed the sound of the door opening in your intense focus, only snapping out of your daze once you felt a warm coat being draped over your shoulders.

“You shouldn't be outside without a coat. You could catch a cold, or worse.”

Warm breath tickled your cheek and you turned around, only to face two bright violet orbs that widened as soon as you showed your tear-stricken face.

“What happened?” Luca placed his hands on your shoulder, squeezing them lightly, voice frantic. “Are you okay? Did someone say something to you? Did you get hurt?”

You sniffled, quickly shaking your head in order to stop the barrage of questions. You enveloped yourself with his coat a bit tighter, finally realizing how cold you felt. The scent of bergamot on his clothes managed to ground you better than your own nails ever could.

“No, I'm fine. Nothing happened.” You murmured, looking down, a bit ashamed that your breakdown just had a witness.

“Something must have happened. You're crying. If you're distressed, you can tell me.”

You stared at Luca's worried expression for a second before sighing. He walked to your side, leaning onto the balcony's railing like you were just a few moments before.

“It's… nothing important, really. It's just a song that was played there.” you murmured.

“A song?”

“Yeah, I… it's a song I used to listen to when I was younger. It made me remember, you know? Stuff. My life out of here.”

Luca's worried expression morphed into one of sympathy. His lips pursed as he nodded, understanding what you meant without needing other words.

“You must be missing a lot of people.” He said quietly as you settled yourself beside him, looking at the winter wonderland that were Frostheim's gardens.

“Haha, yeah…” You sighed, tired. “A lot of people I didn't get to say goodbye to, nor explain anything. People that probably miss me too. My pets as well. Friends. I had a lot out there. It wasn't much, but it was mine.”

Your voice became strained as your eyes watered once more. You cleared your throat, trying once again to push down that lump. You might have ruined your makeup, but you didn't want to cry even more in front of the boy – you didn't want to feel like you were victimizing yourself, even if deep down you knew you were anything but guilty of your situation.

Luca placed his hand on your head, his touch heavy and warm despite the ambient. His violet eyes looked at you with a swirl of empathy and pain.

“I understand you.” He said, swallowing hard. “It's jarring. The sudden changes, the fear of the unknown and what the future holds. I miss my family too.”

“Right… you came from another country.” You felt dumb for a moment. For venting your anguish onto someone that was living something so similar to you. And in Luca's case, he was all alone in a foreign place.

You suddenly felt small.

“Yes. And it's hard sometimes. Most times, actually.” He chewed on his bottom lip before giving you a small smile. “But I try to keep my mind set on something so I won't get lost in my emotions. Nor in my grief.”

“Your brother…”

He nodded.

“I set my mind into finding a way to get him back. And I won't back down from this until I've done all I can, until I have him back with our family. But also…” His eyes flickered towards yours, scanning your face.

“What?”

“I do have another goal to keep me afloat. Something else I fight for, so I won't give up despite how hard it all is.”

You tilt your head in curiosity. Luca places his gloved hand onto yours, the warmth seeping into your skin as he squeezes you tightly and his eyes burn with determination.

“I also want to find a way to cure you of your curse. To send you back to those people you love and miss. I want to help you get your future back.”

You couldn't help the way your eyes welled up once again, this time out of gratitude for the boy that stood right beside you.

You knew how Luca had to consciously choose to fight against the odds time and time again, despite how others didn't understand his drive and even deemed him weird or inconvenient. You knew how he worked so hard to one day achieve his goals and to have him so openly offer his hand to help you achieve yours warmed your heart.

“Luca…” You muttered, feeling the tears freely run down your cheeks.

“You won't be lost if we're like this.” He raised the hand that was intertwined with yours. You nodded, drying your eyes with the flimsy sleeve of your clothes.

“I'll help you find your brother too.” You announced, as determined as him, through a stuffy nose and dry mouth.

“Thank you.” He beamed at you, his smile blindingly bright. “And when you feel like this again, when you're lost in your own grief… I hope you know you can count on me. As much as I will count on you when I need your help. Okay?”

“Okay.” You nodded. “Let's just ask Tohma to delete that song from his playlist, please.” You added and Luca laughed in agreement.

He pulled you towards the glass doors, leading you back into the warmth of the ballroom.

Before he opened the doors, he looked at you one more time.

“Let's help each other stay afloat?” He asked, smiling gently.

You smiled back.

“Let's. Thank you, Luca.”

“It's what I'm here for.”

He opened the doors and ushered you inside, shielding you from the cold outside.

[johnslittlespoon]

So, I've reread TAS about 6 times, maybe. With every read through, the story somehow gets better. Anyway, I gotta know: when Gale chooses the horror movie before their first kiss, did he do it with the intention of scaring John into his arms? I remember that cliché from media growing up. The guy choosing the scary movie so that he can wrap his arms around the pretty girl.

You write Gale really well, and he's doing the whole "we're taking this at your pace" thing. So I want to know if the scary movie was a calculated decision.

Also, thank you SO MUCH for writing this story; it is my current obsession.

okay gonna get into some TAS gale pov asks bc i have a few >:) but SIX TIMES???? i will literally never ever be able to wrap my head around anyone rereading my stuff, it’s so mind boggling and it makes me a little (a lot) teary wtf :’)) <33 that’s actually insane LMAO thank u this is so so sweet 😭💗 ok buckle in bc i had a lot to say oops

tbh i definitely had that cliche in mind while writing it, like as soon as i decided they’d be watching a horror movie, i knew they’d have the cliche ‘hold me i’m scared’ moment, because it would be a good way to ease into the first kiss. however i don’t think it was fully intentional on gale’s end, because really, i think gale would’ve been happy to sit through like a three hour documentary if that’s what john had wanted lol.

so i don’t think he was swaying john one way or another, but he definitely had zero complaints about having an excuse to hold john when he got scared ;) and obv at that point, gale’s not dumb (and john is not subtle lmfao), so gale was probably 99.9% certain john had feelings for him, and he was giving john every opportunity to do something about that, since gale was so stubborn about giving john space to figure things out for himself and make the first move. :)

another rereader i cryyyy <333 thank you, would also run thru a brick wall for u 😭💖 YES gale’s pov very much interests me, i’ve got a whole section for it in what i call my TAS masterdoc lmfaoo. i have a stupid amount of oneshot ideas now in his/other character’s povs that i’d love to get to at some point!

but also hey ouch thanks for hurting my heart <3 😭 i do feel like there were probably a few “oh no” moments for gale after meeting john, like the classic ‘i’m fucked’ realizations, and i think seeing him smile properly for the first time would be one of those. john’s so caught up in his own head half the time that he probably didn’t notice the way gale stopped breathing the first time he was on the receiving end of his sunshine smile :’)

i genuinely think gale’s internal monologue during that moment would just be ‘fuckfuckfuckfuck’ because really, what else can he do but fall head over heels? i’m sooo excited to dig into gale’s pov eventually, to get into how much he wrestled with himself and how he’d told himself never again after losing johnny, and then in walks this gangly, sweet, loud–mouthed college kid, and gale’s never been so happy to have his life turned upside down.

(john and gale actually do have a little bit of a conversation about this in ch11 because i couldn’t resist, but until that’s up, i leave you with the assurance that gale was smitten from day one and just trying to repress it for a multitude of reasons, but then the incident happened where gale saved him from the blind date, and it was all over from that moment on. the urge to protect john and to keep a smile on his face hasn’t left gale since that moment <3)

LOLL. definitely an admonishing “gaaaaale” moment. 

i’ve had so many questions in AO3 comments asking if i’ll write gale’s pov of the conversation he has with marge, and i 100% want to, it’s the first gale pov oneshot (aside from the smut i posted lol) i’m planning on writing for this fic. i’ll try to answer some of those other questions here just to keep them in one place:

i think marge definitely had her suspicions about gale’s feelings for john — she knows gale too well to not know when something’s up, but she also knows that gale comes to her about things on his own time, that she just has to be patient, it’s how he’s always been since they were kids. but there’s no way she wasn’t squinting at gale when she found out john had spent the weekend (multiple times) at his house.

the first time is one thing, because when gale explains that john had gotten wayyy too drunk and seemingly had some situation he didn’t want to go home to, she’d understand gale letting him crash at his. she sees how gale is with john at the beach after that, and it probably gets the wheels turning in her head, but she also knows gale to have a big heart and to be prone to taking strays in, so it could just be written off.

when she finds out that john’s been staying at gale’s every weekend after the incident with his mom, at the very least she had to have asked him who takes the couch just to watch gale squirm, which then confirmed her suspicions lol. after that it’s only a matter of time before gale spills it all to her, and her reaction will eventually be detailed in one of those gale pov oneshots :-) 

[erissdoesart]

For comments left, bits are delivered! Look under the cut, since it's nearly 500 words :3

The air outside of Ponk’s tent was tenfold easier to breathe, now that Wilbur came outside. He closed his eyes for a mere second before he picked up his pace. He had to get back to his own before anyone would really notice that he decided on a ‘stroll’. 

Honestly, he wasn't sure if that was just sheer incompetence or the book's plot desperately wanting to fix itself. Why else would sneaking off be so easy? Wilbur didn't believe Philza or Technoblade allowed fools in their ranks. Especially since he stirred trouble once. But maybe it was less what they allowed and more of guards opinion on Soot. Who would want to believe that such a bastard is smart enough to evade them, the prestigious guards?

Still. Bizarre. 

Wilbur looked around but didn’t spot anyone loitering around his tent. That solved one of his problems.

With a relief, he ducked inside.

That relief quickly morphed into stone cold dread, when he noticed who was waiting for him inside.

Dream’s eerie mask swiveled towards Wilbur. “Just the man I was looking for. How you’ve been, Soot?”

Wilbur forced himself to enter the tent further. Even with how spacious noble tents were, he felt claustrophobia nip at his ankles. Dream was way too close. Close enough that Wilbur was forced to brush past him as he walked towards the bed and the table. The brunet tried to not show any unease as he began unfastening the cape from his shoulders.

“Not bad,” he hummed. “I think the fresh air is good for me.”

Dream hissed. Wilbur looked back at him, over the shoulder, and raised an eyebrow. The sound wasn’t right. It was too… human. Hm. Well, it was certainly pissed, and that’s all Wilbur ought to focus on.

“Cut the crap Soot. The recipes. You had them,” Dream growled out.

Wilbur hummed again as he dropped the cape on top of his bed. It was slightly chilly in the tent but nothing too awful. He would need to cover himself pretty well with the blankets, maybe even with the cape but he should be pretty comfortable at night.

“I did yes, what of it?” Wilbur asked with a painfully fake blase tone.

He started taking off his gloves as well, when Dream’s patience seemingly snapped. It was barely a second but the mad man managed to grab the front of Wilbur’s coat and yank him close to the smiling mask. Wilbur could see the toxic green eyes, usually hidden beyond.

He could feel the dagger now resting on his throat.

My friend wrote a fic with great worldbuilding, vamp Techno centric and there is pathetic Wilbur scenes, just for me.

If per chance, there was a frown more comments under that fic... I could be convinced to post a snippet from the new isekai chapter 👀

[the-implications]

i feel like SUCH an idiot how did i JUST realize the meaning of this lyric from feast or famine??

"It puts the toy into the plastic

It bags it up with gift receipt

I'll never, ever dare return it

But you bet the price I pay will be discreet"

its literally just saying that they want a gift receipt not in case of a return, but because gift receipts don't display the PRICE...

[asurrogateblog]

The Syd Poll

the topic of this poll is one that is frequently avoided in the pink floyd fandom, but inevitably one we all consider – our individual views on what we think caused syd's psychological struggles (and by extension, led to his departure from the band). I think that – at least in this neighborhood of tumblr – this is a conversation we are capable of having in a way that is civil, nuanced, and at least minimally disrespectful to syd.

So, to help facilitate this, here are some ground rules:

let's all assume we have a mutual understanding of the complexities of this. syd could never actually be reduced down to a poll, and all of our viewpoints are limited in various ways

the poll options just serve as just a conversation starter, and responses are not necessarily a statement of absolute beliefs

feel free to discuss as much or as little of your own perspective as you feel comfortable sharing.

in the case that debates break out, please try to assume good intent – and also demonstrate it (unless, for instance, someone is being blatantly insulting beyond a misunderstanding that needs correcting)

please do NOT vote if you are not actually a pink floyd fan with at least basic knowledge about what we're talking about here.

The options I've included below are not meant to be exhaustive, they are simply the "theories" that I have seen most commonly circulated. I have also decided not to include combinations. I'm fairly sure we'd all agree multiple factors were involved. Rather than make the poll too complicated, I ask you to instead select the one that you think is the "most" important to your viewpoint, and clarify further in your tags/comments as you wish.

so. here we go.

READ BEFORE VOTING ^^^^

(note of correction: "late-onset schizophrenia" should just be "schizophrenia". the typical timeline for onset of symptoms is late adolescence/early adulthood, so syd would've been well within that period at the time)

[non-un-topo]

At the crossroads between wondering if it's worth it to basically completely rewrite all my WIPs or just take a break from writing for the rest of the summer