#pardon my flail

[after-perfect]

Holy shit, Covers From Away my sudden and new beloved.

[nightingalescall]

God's Perfect Lamb

Kingdom of Ebreau:

Prologue(you are here)|part 1|part 2

"OH MY GOD!!!!!"

You screamed as you free fell from the sky. The wind whistled pass you, whipping your hair and slapping your cheeks until they stung. You flailed about, thrashing your arms and legs in the air, desperately hoping to slow your descend into inevitable doom.

This day could not get any weirder. You thought the day when you got transmigrated into this world took first place in that department but fate took that as a challenge and proceeded to completely and utterly prove you wrong. The day you got here, at least you were safely lying in an open field on the outskirts of the city, unlike now where you were falling to your death from the sky.

You had endured a great amount of hardship during your stay in this world. You know all those stories about someone getting transmigrated into a parallel world as a noble or wealthy merchant or maybe even a royal? Well, you didn't get that privilege. You weren't placed into the body of a princess, a duchess, a countess or.....anybody, to be honest. You were just you. Plain old (y/n). So the idea living a life of luxury and comfort was thrown straight out the window at that revelation. You had nothing with you. No money, no property, no status. You had to start from the ground up if you have wanted to survive in this new world.

But that wasn't the biggest problem. By "nothing", that includes having no form of identification. You're not sure if it's just a subject of it never being brought up in those novels or if identification just wasn't a thing in those world, but in this one, it was a serious issue.

Having neither a place to stay nor enough money to buy one, you were forced onto the streets until you had the finances to own one. So it wasn't unexpected when the authorities took notice of you and brought you to their headquarters to give you necessary aid. It was all going well until they found out they had absolutely no record on you in their database. That's when they became hostile and grilled you to no end.

You couldn't just say you were from another universe and you had no information to based any lies on so many of their question were met with a silent stare or a soft "um".

In the end, they decided to label you a person of interest and should be kept under surveillance since they had no dirt on you to convict or pardon any crimes you may have potentially committed (even though you didn't). You were both relieved and surprised at the conclusion they came to since even you, yourself were convinced they were going to throw you in jail.

With no charges pressed on you, you were free to go. But where though? You were still homeless, jobless and penniless. Pitying you, they ended up giving you the help they initially planned on giving. They gave you a job.

And that's how you ended up as their errand girl. Any trivial or simple matters such as relaying messages to guards, sending documents to scribes and then retrieving them, delivering packages to and from the headquarters etc etc. It was an easy job so the low pay wasn't a surprise. It was barely enough for the small house you rented a few blocks away from headquarters. However, you were given food and allowed to eat with the guards at headquarters everyday as long as you remained their errand girl so that saves you the money and worry of getting enough to eat. It was a win-win situation for both parties. You get a job and the guards can always keep on eye on you. Thus, even with little to no money to your name, you settled into your new life in this world.

It's been more than a year since your transmigration and to be honest..... You were sick of this place. Remember the aforementioned win-win situation? Yeah, that was only in the beginning. As time went on and your suspicion has pretty much been cleared up, you were still stuck with doing this minimum wage job (if that was even a concept in this world). Just because you were getting by with this job doesn't mean you were happy with it. You only had enough for daily necessities. It's already been a long time since you've arrived here and you had not once enjoyed any type of indulgence in that time gap. Just work, work, work. Those damned guards keep saying you still need to be under surveillance but you knew well that they were just trying to keep you around to do their bidding. Honestly, what kind of guard lets a potential fugitive into their room to get something for them? You knew they trusted you. That's why they wanted you to stay as their little helper.

So here you are now. In the middle of the night, on your way back to headquarters after helping deliver a package to the biggest temple in the country, the Temple of Sonnet. This world, or at least Ebreau in particular, was a country of strong faith. They are a religious country where every citizen worshiped Calerus. Though his title may vary from person to person, it’s always some form of wealth and gold so most people call him the God of Prosperity.

With religion being such as important part of the kingdom, it wasn't surprising when you found out the temple worked in close relation with the imperial palace. The Royal family of Ebreau collaborated with the Temple of Sonnet in both political and cultural aspect. Organising nationwide celebrations, meeting with diplomats from afar, anything that are related to the affairs of the country, chances are both parties are involved. Basically, you mess with the temple, you mess with the Royal family. So definitely not someplace you like hanging about at, lest you want to accidentally offend someone and get a ticket straight to getting-your-head-chopped-off town.

The cold breeze of the night sent shivers down your spine as it blew into your thin clothing. You rubbed your hands together, desperately trying to warm them up but to no avail. You scurried through the courtyard quickly, making your way back to the entrance of the temple. It was relatively silent, saved for your footsteps and the distant sound of flowing water from a fountain somewhere.

Thankfully, the walk was a short one. Reaching the opened gate of the entrance, you walked past the two statues of Calerus at each side of the gate and out back onto the familiar cobble walkway. You snuck a few glances at the white statues of the god of this kingdom as you passed by.

Even in the dim moonlight, you could see the white marble eyes of the statue staring down at you, its mouth curved downward as both hands were outstretched to the side with white round discs made to look like gold coins pouring out of its hands and onto the base of the statue.

This was how the people of Ebreau depicted their God. Sharp eyes casted downwards, overseeing and observing their every move, his hands overflowing with gold, symbolising his absolute authority over the wealth in the land.

You stood, staring at the statue as you were reminded of the saying of the people.

Calerus, the prosperous.

Calerus, the strategist.

Calerus, the omnipresent.

Calerus, the all knowing.

Calerus, the god of Ebreau.

"All is within his hand. Follow his plan and golden rain shall pour at your journey's end."

...

"Tch."

You clicked your tongue as you turned away abruptly from the statue and continued on your way back. A look of disdain plastered on your face as you marched off from the temple.

The more you thought about how worshiped Calerus was and how many praises the people sang for him, the more angry you got. You weren't jealous. No, you weren't some narcissist with a god complex who wanted this sort of treatment. Of course not. What you were pissed about was how Ebreauans talk about how everything in life was Calerus' work. His plan, so to speak that allowed you to prosper and succeed. They claim that all challenges are obstacles on a path towards prosperity that Calerus has specifically chosen for someone.

"Everything has a purpose and meaning."

Well, personally, you though it was pretty nonsense.

If this god of theirs was so smart and crafty, if everything truly happened according to his plan then why the heck were you here? Why were you here in this fantasty world? What purpose did He bring you here for? And why has that "purpose" not shown itself even after you've been thrown here for almost 2 years?!?!

In your mind, Calerus is nothing but a liar and a fraud. Where's the prosperity He promised? What did He have planned? Did He even have anything planned??

You were angry and with good reasons. The people you've met here have been telling you that Calerus has something planned for you even if you're not from Ebreau since day one. They assured you that He will look over you, even if you're not a follower. Yet, you've been met with nothing but problems and hardships during your stay here. And worse, you don't see it ever becoming better.

"What a scam."

You mumbled under your breath and scoffed.

"Ugh..Huh?"

You groaned softly as you suddenly felt lightheaded. You legs got weak and you began to wobble, stumbling forward a few steps. You pressed your hand to you head, applying pressure to both of your temples. Nausea seizes your body as you gagged.

"Huhg..!"

The world spun around you and the ground below your feet felt like it disappeared as you lost your footing. You fell forward and braced for impact.

But it never came.

...?

You slowly regain control as the short-lived dizziness subsides. The disorientation passes and you now realised the odd position you're in. You're...Floating? Your face was hovering several inches away from the ground despite your hands not supporting your upper body. And when did the streets of Ebreau get so....White and fluffy? In fact, they looked like cloud-

"Heretic."

A deep voice suddenly rumbled in your ears and your head shot up. A man with shoulder length grey hair stood before you, his golden eyes piercing into your soul as he spoke with authority. He donned black robes that exposed only his left arm and part of his chest. Golden streaks also lined themselves along the right sleeves and tails of the robe. He seemed.... Ethereal. Godly even.

Wait....Godly?

"C-calerus?”

You stuttered in fear and disbelief.

“One did not expect to be recognised by thou so quickly. Peculiar for a non believer."

Calerus suddenly lifted his right hand and flicked two of his fingers upwards. That's when you felt a force tugged you up from behind and you hung in midair in front of the god.

"Uwah!" You yelped at the sudden yank. Before you could even recompose yourself, Calerus continued speaking again.

"And to not posses any ounce of humility. Calling one by mine name. Who does thou think thou art?"

You felt a force wrap itself around your neck before squeezing. You gasped and grasped at the invisible force, desperate for it to let go or at least loosen. You choked.

"cough! Stop! P-cough!"

You pleaded as you gasped for air.

"Why would one do that?"

You continued to cough as the force squeezed tighter. You were gonna die. Oh god, you were gonna die. In panic, you blurted out whatever came to mind.

"Because, cough, you still, gasp, owe me!!"

The grip around your neck disappeared and you fell onto the soft ground (if it even was ground). You gasped and coughed. Your lungs greedily sucking in air now that your airways were opened again. That relief was short-lived however as the next moment, you felt a hand grabbed onto your jaw and forced your gaze up.

Calerus stared coldly into your eyes as he spoke.

"Elaborate."

You panicked. You just said that on a whim. Surely, you weren't actually going to ask for compensation from a god....right? There was no way you were going to pull though with what you just said.

The fire inside Calerus' golden eyes told you to do so otherwise, though. You swallowed before slowly speaking.

"You....You brought me here. Why? Why separate me from my family? Why separate me from my friends?"

Calerus raised an eyebrow.

"Bring thou here? To punish thee, of course. Thou spoke ill of mine name."

You shook your head.

"No. I meant, bring me to this world. To Ebreau. What reason do you have?"

Calerus fell silent. He seemed to be lost in thought. You waited agonisingly long before he spoke.

"So it is thou. Thou art the otherworldly traveler, yes?"

Otherworldly? Yes. Traveler? No. Kidnapping victim would be more accurate. Though, you simply nod at his question. It was close enough, you suppose.

He released you jaw and backed away. His gaze blank and devoid of emotion as he raised his hand again. You felt a soft tug this time and you were gently helped up onto your feet.

?

It..Worked?

Calerus sighed before saying,"It would indeed seem one has forgotten about thy needs after thou came to mine kingdom."

Your eyes widen in surprise at his confession

"One will give thee the compensation thou deserves."

"Wait, really?" You couldn't hold back your astonishment.

Calerus stayed quiet as you asked and you felt cold sweat rolled down your face, thinking your question may have angered him.

His gaze went down onto the ground for a brief moment before flicking back up to you.

"Yes. However, know that one was not the being that brought thee to this land."

You tilted your head. "You're not?"

"No. One merely accepted thy visit to mine kingdom."

"Then...Who did?" You asked, the words rolling off your tongue slowly

"Mine....Equal. A ruler of another land far from mine."

Your head was spinning from this revelation. Some other god brought you here? Why? And why let you stay under another god's rule? Before you could ask, Calerus had began to speak again.

"One is not enlightened with the reason why thou has been brought here but one admits fault for neglecting thee after accepting thee as one's own. As such..."

Calerus stepped forward, his steps firm and steady. He raised his right hand to his mouth before biting his index finger. A small wound appeared on his skin and you saw golden blood begin to seep out from the opening. He stretched out his right arm as he made his way towards you.

"W-what are you doing?" You fumbled over your words as you backed away in horror, clutching your hands over your chest.

But Calerus was faster.

In the blink of an eye, he was already in front of you, finger pressing on your forehead. You felt the warm liquid dripping down your forehead as your eyes opened wide in fear, terrified at what he was going to do to you.

He began to chant.

"Might of the northern spirit, wisdom of the southern dragon, divinity of the elements of the east and west, hear one."

You wanted to pull away from his hand but be it fear or some other unknown force, you couldn't as you stayed rooted in place, breathing heavily from anxiety. If the god before you noticed your petrified state, he surely paid it no mind as he continued.

"Let the earth know that the power of gold shall have a vessel to call its own. Let the people rejoice for a vassal of Calerus, the Prosperous Lord shall walk among them. May the world celebrate the birth of mine lamb."

His finger left your forehead for a split second before it came back, colliding with your forehead as he flicked his finger against it. A surge of power shot into your head from his fingertip and spread throughout your body. The sheer magnitude of the force made you almost black out as your vision clouded with dark spots. As if you also suddenly got punched, you were propelled backwards, stumbling and struggling to catch yourself.

You felt yourself stepping on air and lost your balance, falling backwards. The ground(clouds?) had disappeared behind you, opening a small hole that let you fall through. You reached out your hand in a desperate attempt to hold onto something but to no avail.

You fell. Down and down until you could see that the "ground" you were standing on was indeed clouds in the sky. The sky. Calerus peeked his head over the edge, observing you as you fell with the same stoic look on his face. Just before he went out of hearing range, you heard him speak.

"One will be in touch."

He disappeared from view.

Now, back to the present, you were falling to your death, screaming and crying as you begged Calerus for mercy. Where's the compensation?! Was everything just now a trick?! Did you get scammed again?!

Tears rolled out of your eyes and flew into the air as you cried in fear, leaving behind trails of water droplets following your descend.

You sobbed as realisation kicked in that nobody was going to save you, as hopelessness consumed you to the point of not being able to think anymore.

The ground got closer and closer as the seconds ticked by. You closed your eyes which were still overflowing with tears, submitting to your faith and praying the impact will immediately kill you so you won't have to suffer in pain.

Goodbye.

"Ugh!"

You groaned as the impact came. Your back collided with the ground and you were....OK? You were in some pain but nothing too bad. In fact, the pain was already passing now.

Slowly, you opened your eyes and blinked away the tears still trapped inside. It was daytime already. How much time has passed? You looked around and saw petals of different hues falling down before landing on the dirt beside you. Above you, a tree with yellow leaves swayed gently, its branches lightly bouncing up and down while its yellow leaves, detached from their place on the branch, fell softly down and landed on your face. It seemed you fell through the tree just now. That would explain the tears on the hem of your sleeves.

Aurum trees?

Propping yourself up into a sitting position, you stared up as you wondered. While not rare or particularly hard to care for, aurum trees are only planted within temples of Ebreau due its yellow leaves. They are the only type of trees in Ebreau that grew leaves of that shade of yellow. A yellow similar to gold while not being being fully golden coloured. The colour yellow symbolises wealth in Ebreau and thus, indirectly their god, Calerus. They are a symbol of the divine hence why aurum trees are only grown in temples.

Then, that raises the question. Why were you at a temple?

You lowered your gaze from the tree and you nearly gasped from the scene in front of you. You were sitting in the middle of a flowerbed that consisted of various types of flowers with different hues for each one. Not far from you, rows of nuns and monks knelt in an orderly matter, faces all shocked and astonished. Some had their hands clasped together while some were covering their, what you assume to be, gaping mouths. Hushed whispers erupted as they stared and observed you. You even made eye contact with some of the nuns and monks in which all turned away immediately with flushed cheeks.

What's going on? Did you intrude on something? Oh no....

Before your thoughts could spiral any further, a tall shadow suddenly loomed over you. Your head snapped upwards as you met eyes with the figure, a man dressed in white robes with golden embellishments around the collar and hem of the sleeves. His eyes were purple, like amethysts. Under the sunlight, his long blonde hair seemed glossy, shiny even as it draped over his shoulders while he towered over you. Despite his intimidating stance, a soft smile was present on his face as the tails of his eyes curved upwards slightly, giving the impression of a kind and good hearted soul.

The man knelt down, his sleeves fluttering gently due to the breeze. That's when you got a better look at his face. He looked familiar...

It wasn't until that soft and silky voice of his poured out of his mouth when you realised who he was.

"Hello, Messiah. We've been expecting your arrival." He placed his hand on his chest and bowed his head at you. "I am Saint Zephyr Venrose. Representing the temple of Sonnet, the esteemed imperial family and the whole of Ebreau, I humbly welcome you." He lifted his head and smiled. Your breath got caught in your throat as he confirmed your suspicions.

Zephyr Venrose. One of the few saints in all of Ebreau and head of the temple of Sonnet. Closely associated with the royals of the kingdom and is a man of power within the boarders of Ebreau. He often gives speeches given his position as head of the biggest temple in the country during festive events. That's where you've heard his voice the couple of times you were passing by or, if you were in a good mood, listening to him talk. You've never been able to get a good look at his face since you were always pushed back by the crowd so you didn't recognise him at first glance. However, now with his face inches away from yours, you could see every last detail of his features and you must admit, you understood why the folks liked him so much.

Zephyr must surely be blessed in his appearance.

You froze in place as you stared in surprise at him, wondering why he was talking to you and processing his words.

Did he just call you Messiah?

Zephyr noticed your silence and your staring. He adverted his eyes as his gaze dropped down towards the ground while he smiled to himself.

?

You tilted your head to the side in confusion at the sight.

Zephyr coughed lightly before his arms reached towards you. You gasped as he suddenly picked you up bridal style from the flowerbed. Not used to being held like this, you gripped onto his robe for support. Your face contorted in worry and anxiety as you looked at the ground, afraid of being dropped.

Zephyr, of course, took notice of your panic and in response, tightened his grip on you, pulling you closer to him. As you felt his fingers pressing into your skin more tightly, you looked up at him, surprised he realised your concerns so quickly.

He smiled warmly at you as he leaned down, closing the gap between your faces even more. His blonde hair brushing and tickling your face as he whispered into your ear. "Don't be afraid, Miss Messiah. I will never let you fall." His hot breath hit your earlobe and you felt your heart skipped a beat. He pulled away before walking with you in his arms towards the rows of nuns and monks.

"Rejoice, my brothers and sisters for our Savior has come. Our God has delivered us our salvation. May glory be with his name for all eternity."

Zephyr announced loudly and his words were met with echoes of response from the other devotees.

"May he reign supreme!"

Your head felt like it was going to explode with all this information. Was this....Was this the compensation Calerus meant? To be his hands and eyes as you walk along the common folks? To be loved and praised like how he is? To be worshiped? You felt dizzy from being bombarded by this revelation.

You looked back up at Zephyr, hoping he could shed some more light on this predicament you found yourself in. However, you swallowed your words the moment you looked into his purple irises.

Zephyr was known for his gentle and endearing nature. Some say he's the embodiment of kindness. He's the type of person people can't help but be drawn towards due to the sense of security he gives and the tranquil aura he possesses. That was your initial impression of him too.

But looking at him now, you wondered if you were wrong.

With the closeness between you two, you could see the the subtle shade of pink on his cheeks and the flushing redness at the tip of his ears. His breathing fanned your face and you noticed how quick and shallow his breaths were. His fingers went from pressing firmly into your skin to digging themselves into your thighs and waist. Then, if you looked hard enough, you could see him swallowing occasionally.

And last but not least, you couldn't help but notice his eyes that had always been filled with warmth and tenderness seemed....

Crazed.

~✟~

A prologue/world building chapter for my future yandere stories taking place in this universe. If you spot any mistakes, please do point them out so I can correct them and give everyone the best reading experience! Especially with Calerus' old English(?) part, I'm still not sure when to use thee and when to use thou. I only did some basic research on Google.(T_T)

[hipsdofangirl]

and when i’m back in chicago..

seokmin x reader

summary: what it could have been

genre: meet-cute, idol au, kind of melancholic ending

notes: reader and dk are iphone users, reader is a svt fan and has anxiety lol

a/n 1: DAWG IM BAWLING RN I WAS 30 FT AWAY FROM HIM AT THE BEAN GETTING INTO MY UBER AND I MISSED HIM GRRRRAAAHHH MY FCKING ULTIMATE BIAS so this is me coping and telling my experience with what i wish could have been 🙄

wc: 1.4K

not proofread

1:58 pm CST

“oh my god! the bean is not under any construction anymore!” you point out, able to discern the article text under the glaring sun.

your friend nods, tired from the lack of food and wandering around in clothes not accustomed for the 60 degree temperature. you still were high on energy, the city and sunny autumn weather fueling your excitement; along with the anxiety fueling your flight response.

you sling your phone in your pant pocket as your other palm sweats against your sling bag—one you’ve been gripping ever since you entered the large city in fear of being pickpocketed. you pick up your pace absentmindedly as your friend trudges behind you.

you glance back at them. “since it’s a major tourist spot, no doubt they will have food.”

you could imagine a cartoon-ish sigh of relief exude from them as their own pace slightly picks up.

the gardens slowly wade behind you as you trudge through them, searching for any sign of a enormous metal bean. sweat glues your shirt to your back as your fingers trail against the leather portion of your bag.

after walking on a curved path beside the pavilion, your eyes blank out on the promised free bean. you've seen it before—a long time ago—but your friend has never seen the iconic tourist attraction.

although some conditions weren’t in your favor, you hoped they could at least enjoy seeing some things not everyone gets to. their immediate attention goes to the overpriced food trucks right beside it; however, knowing that both of you haven’t ate in 6 hours means money didn’t mean a thing.

they pat your shoulder. “i’m going to get a hot dog and a water, you want anything?” you shake your head, too entranced with the surroundings of everyone interacting.

“i’m fine—thank you though. i’ll be on the bench over there,” you reply wistfully.

your friend pretends to understand and strolls quickly to the nearest truck. in the meantime, you stand alone on the burning concrete sidewalk, enjoying the scenery.

the air seemed fresh next to the gardens, with the trees colliding alongside the massive skyscrapers, reaching to the clouds past the sky.

“ah—pardon me?” a man under a black hoodie jump-scares you, face flinching in response; your hands absentmindedly clasps your belongings.

you take a brief look at the tall tan man as he himself jumps a bit at your own response.

you chuckle before a light laugh escapes. “sorry! you scared me—is there anything i can help you with?”

he pauses. you discern his previously concerned eyes—the only part of his face you can see—as they focus on the ground before darting back up to meet yours once again. his eyes disappear behind a crinkle, forming smiles of their own you imagine.

he waves his hands, phone in one. “no no! i am sorry,” you can hear an accent, “i took picture of you—“

your brows furrow, lips pursing; he catches on immediately.

“oh um—“ he mutters something in another language which you can recognize as korean, “you looked really pretty.” your face turns hard pink and you hope he only believes it’s from the heat. “and the sun looked pretty and i had to take a photo, but i want your…support for it?”

it was obvious he wasn’t even sure of himself; the hands flailing from you to the sun and back to you says it all. you slowly nod, trying to understand his words. you glance to his eyes, searching for any soul behind them; that soul digs into your own for something sincere that you can’t quite place yet.

the world just seems to encapsulate you two as you can hear light scratching of his fingernails against his phone case, tugging your attention away to the new source. you can feel his gaze linger on your skin before he follows your gaze.

he almost yelps, “oh! here!” he scrambles to open his phone. as easy as it was to open a previously opened app, you linger yourself on his hands, seemingly red and scratchy.

you don’t even notice people briskly walking past you, staring in your direction; you don’t even notice another man, yet older and in all black clothing, walk over to the backside of the man you are talking to.

his phone is brazenly shoved into your face, forcing you to realize how close he has gotten to your right side. you could feel his quick breathing and additional warmth radiating from him; you wonder if you seemed to be the creep between the both of you. the blush returns as you force yourself to stand still. you look down to what he is showing you.

it’s a picture of you. where you were standing. he was right. the afternoon sun glow shined beside you onto the camera perfectly. the trees colliding alongside the massive skyscrapers, reaching to the clouds past the sky.

you swallow, noting your dry mouth. “wow—that’s. that’s really good.”

“right?” he isn’t looking at the photo anymore. he is slightly bending down, so you are able to meet his eyes as equals. he suddenly cuddles into his black jacket a bit more. “you like?”

you swallow again, “mhm! it’s amazing. candids really are something.” you mentally hit yourself with the stupidest remark.

he chuckles. “give me your phone.” your eyes widen. he chuckles again a bit louder but only audible to yourselves. “so you have the photo?”

your mouth opens and his eyes close in cheer. you fiddle through your pant’s side pocket to fish out your phone. once it resides in your palm and faces him for the next set of instructions, he tugs down the top and presses on the bluetooth icon.

you glance over at him as he adjusts his settings—confirming your suspicion that he did speak korean. he then lightly tugs your wrist, facing your phone towards him. he presses the phones together and you observe as the picture airdrops to your phone.

“oh my god..” you whisper. he chuckles, breath hitting your cheeks somehow through his mask. “i didn’t know it could do that—airdrop can be tricky for me.”

he hums in response. he glances briefly at the corners of your cheeks. “only for us.”

you look back up at him with a smile. “oh for sure! thank you so much!”

he waves and nods his head. “have a good day.”

the man behind him tugs his sweatshirt and they begin to quickly stroll away. not before he glances back at you and waves shyly.

you then look around yourself, noticing some girls were angling their phones at you.

“so what was happening over here?” you friend saunters over to you, hot dog in hand and two waters tucked into her side.

you let out a breathy chuckle out of disbelief. “some dude just took a gorgeous candid of me and sent it to me.”

your friend nods and smiles. “good for you! no doubt he liked you.” she hands you the extra water bottle.

“h-huh?” you stutter, eyes widen.

your friend chuckles. “your expressions are so funny sometimes.” they pat your back as you aggressively twist off the cap. you tilt your head back and chug part of the water. they pat your back again. “slow down, you don’t want to throw that up later because i am not cleaning that up.”

you nod, this time slowly swirling the cap around the grooves of the plastic bottle.

“now let me order that uber and you show me that so-called amazing photo.”

9:59 pm CST

“—NICE!” the fifth time the song rings out never gets old. as much as your bones are exhausted, you are determined to keep up.

getting to the venue was a hectic experience, but stepping to your almost-floor seats was a whole separate experience itself. the arena was smaller than expected, but the seats were in perfect view of the extended stage, especially during the encore.

a quick snap of your phone catches the image of that same man you met the previous day.

you didn’t register what completely happened till you arrived at your hotel room, until your friend showed you a specific member’s instagram story. the road signs may have looked familiar in the background, but you hit yourself mentally for recognizing the tan man.

now, in the concert hall, he never looked over in your direction; instead, he waved to the 200s and to the people on the floor, yet you still took his photo.

even if he never notices you or remembers you, you’re content with the thought of him doing something he loves and you being part of a fleeting moment only through his eyes.

.

.

“candids really are something.”

tags: @jcxbliss

a/n 2: did i almost cry writing this ending? yes. did i cry when i barely missed him irl? yes. did i sit down just now and write everything in one sitting? yes. did i cry happy tears at the revelation that i briefly passed him? yes. god i love him so much—

thank you for making it here! have a good day and night 🫶

[nejiverse]

HOPELESSLY IN LOVE

Tanjiro Kamado

In which Tanjiro comes back from his battle in the swordsmith’s village. Fem! Hashira! Reader

cw: kissing, tanjiro is so so in love

1.08k words

"Pardon my asking but this is the sixth time you've sighed since we left the village. Is something the matter?", the female Kakushi asked a she tugged on the carriage.

Tanjiro was brought out of his thoughts by the woman's voice and he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly at the fact that she was able to count the amount of times he has sighed.

"It's nothing really...Y/n's gonna kill me when she sees all these bandages", he sulked. He tried to make it so he'd come with minimal wounds and bandages but clearly the demons he was fighting had other plans.

"Ah i've heard a lot about Y/n-san but have never gotten the luxury of meeting her", she responded. "I take it you two are close?".

Tanjiro stiffened and let his hands fall onto his lap in tight fists. "Yeah!", he exclaimed, a light shade of pink creeping onto his cheeks uninvited. "S-she's my girlfriend", he stammered.

They only recently put a label on their relationship and Tanjiro was still very flustered when referring to Y/n as his girlfriend. Everyone found it very endearing though.

"Oh wow I would've never guessed", she chuckled.

Tanjiro smiled serenely and before he knew it, his head was filled with thoughts of her. Her voice that spoke affirmations to him, her hands that always cradled his head when he was upset, her face that if he were to begin telling of her angelic features he would never stop.

"No one would. She's way out of my league", he lightly chuckled.

"Ah! I didn't mean it like that! Y/n-san just doesn't strike me as the romantic type".

Tanjiro's laugh grew louder. "She's really good at pretending, that's why".

Like the time he knew she was feeling sick but she constantly denied it saying she was perfectly fine and went on a mission anyway which ended up with Tanjiro carrying her all the way back. Or the other time she pretended she was fine the minute after a battle when really there was a gaping wound in her stomach.

It was her specialty to say the least.

"But even so I like to believe I survived this battle because of this", he held up his wrist which had a ribbon tied around it that was the same pattern as Y/n's kimono.

Tanjiro shook his wrist around in the air comically. "Are you..looking?", he cocked his to the side cutely. He was still blindfolded so he couldn't see.

The Kakushi woman laughed at his antics. "Yes I am".

He put his wrist down and fiddled with the ribbon. "She gave it to me so I wouldn't miss her but I like to believe it's a goodluck charm more than anything".

He couldn't wait to see her again.

After a while— a long while in Tanjiro's opinion— they arrived at the butterfly mansion.

"Thank you for bringing me back", Tanjiro thanked the Kakushi lady as his blindfold was taken off.

"You're very welcome", she bowed...except she was in front of him.

Tanjiro was curious as to who exactly took off his blindfold for him, and before he could even attempt to turn around, he felt a head rest on his shoulder and two arms wrap around his torso.

He could recognise those hands anywhere.

"Welcome back!", she exclaimed.

Tanjiro gasped lightly, feeling tears prick his eyes but but he pursed his quivering lips to stop them from getting any further.

He placed his hand over her own. "I missed you Y/n..", there was sadness laced in his voice, the happy kind. "So much".

Out of nowhere, Tanjiro grabbed the back of his head with his two hands when he felt Y/n hit him on the head. He turned around to her with a frown on his face.

"But you're an idiot! A stupid idiot! You promised to come home unscathed!", she spoke while flailing her hands around. "And you are very much scathed!!".

"But Y/nn! I said I couldn't keep that promise!".

She inspected the bandages on his chest and around his body. "You look like a mummy", she huffed.

Tanjiro chuckled. "But you know what came back unscathed?", he lifted up his wrist to reveal the ribbon that was perfectly in tact.

Y/n's eyes widened as she felt quite flustered. She couldn't believe he actually kept the piece of fabric safe the whole time he was fighting. It made her happy.

"But why?".

"Hm?".

"It's just a ribbon".

Tanjiro tilted his head with a hum as if the answer to her question was the most obvious thing ever. "Because you gave it to me Y/n".

As if he couldn’t get her any more worked up, Y/n averted her gaze everywhere but Tanjiro. Suddenly the blue sky that’s always been blue was looking very blue today.

She must get her revenge. Since he got her so flustered, it was her mission to return the favour.

She closed what little distance was between them and wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing her lips against his own. Y/n’s eyes were closed but Tanjiro’s were wide open in surprise.

The kiss was long and relentless. She held his body close and used one of her hands to guide Tanjiro’s own to her waist before bringing her hand back around his neck again. He was always very awkward with his hands whenever they kissed.

Tanjiro closed his eyes and savoured the taste and feeling of Y/n’s lips. If words couldn’t suffice, her kiss could. A kiss that said ‘I missed you’, that’s how Tanjiro interpreted it.

Y/n moved her lips from Tanjiro’s to get some air into her lungs but also to get a glimpse of Tanjiro’s flushed face.

He was always so adorable with his half-lidded eyes and pink cheeks whenever they kissed.

Tanjiro hid his face in her shoulder and hugged her tightly around her waist, as if she’d disappear any second now.

She placed a kiss on his head and they both walked back into the butterfly mansion.

“Time for you to rest mister”.

masterlist :)

a/n: tanjiro was absolutely adorable in the last episode I couldn’t help myself

[izzabela]

Hello!! I saw this post on Instagram with a quote that says "How do I politely ask you to pin me against the wall and make out with me?" and my brain went to Tomas on how he would react if his girlfriend/wife would do that to him? 😂

If you want to include the other two brothers in different scenarios that would be funny as well, but I definitely thought of Smoke ☺️

Asking Nicely - Tomas x fem!reader

in which you fluster Tomas after a strange request

a/n: i feel like Tomas gets overshadowed by his brothers, so let's keep the focus on our favorite european boy 🙂‍↕️🫶🏼

ship[s]: Tomas x fem!reader

warning(s): fluff, peaceful lin kuei bi han, suggestive ending

[i honestly still can't believe that Bi Han pulled the "you're adopted" card on the poor man 😭]

=====================

"How do I politely ask you to pin me against a wall and make out with me?"

Tomas would:

- "I beg your finest pardon?" he asks

- you shrug

- he's red

- so red that it could rival the color of freshly spilt blood

- you just repeat yourself again, and Tomas flails his arms around to try and get you to hush

- "(y/n), please!" he begs, "What if my brothers hear of this?"

- you shrug again, playing and teasing at him as you hear foot steps round the corner

- it's spring in Harumi's compound, and Kuai Liang invited Bi Han to spend some time together

- just the bros, if you will

- Tomas pleas with you with his huge puppy eyes, down on his knees, begging

- at this point, he doesn't give a damn what his brothers think

- you giggle and wait for the moment his brothers come through

- comedically, and perfectly timed, his brothers turn the corner to this sight as you repeat yourself

- "How can I politely ask you to pin me against a wall and make out with me?"

- Kuai Liang and Bi Han freeze, looking at the poor man and his predicament

- "Are we interrupting, brother?" Kuai Liang asks with a twinge of worry

- you wave and smile, and Bi Han takes his blood brother's shoulder

- they step backwards quietly, careful to not alert Tomas they witnessed a petty lover's quarrel

- Tomas, though, already knew, to which he stood up and took you up and over his shoulder

- you're wiggling in his grasp, but he spanks you gently and tuts

- "Since you asked so nicely..." he drawls out darkly

- hooo boy, you got yourself into some deep shit (not that you minded, he could get real deep with ya)

- you two would reach your shared room, and he'd close the door, take you down his shoulder, and do exactly as you asked him

- one hand would pin both your arms over your head, while the other one was against the wall

- he'd used one of his legs to spread your legs apart, his knee driving gently into your sensitive clit

- you're begging, "more... Tomas, please!"

- Tomas shakes his head, using his free hand to tilt your chin to his

- "what happened to asking nicely?"

=====================

very easy finish

got another free day, btw this part of california i'm in is so nice and breezy, i'm gonna miss it leaving

thank you guys for reading, and i'll see y'all in the next fic!

[gbearyacorn]

I Turned The Corner 🔞

(A companion to Black Coffee)

Summary :

The Radio Demon enjoys his life for the most part. He’s set up shop at Princess Morningstar’s pet project, the Hazbin Hotel (Haha! He named it), and has been enjoying watching the residents flail about in search of connection. Unfortunately one day, Angel Dust brings a certain picture show to ‘show and tell’ and well..

Chapter 1: Wherein the Radio Demon Acquires a Kink

If you haven’t read Black Coffee yet, you should be fine- you may just miss out on some context and it’s from the reader’s perspective instead of Al’s. So this idea is what made me start writing Black Coffee. Like, what if Alastor watched consensual torture porn? I think he’d be like hey can I get in on that? Well, minus the porn part.

“Ah, my good fellow! A fine evening, isn’t it?” The Radio Demon was accustomed to the shaking terror he induced, and it never failed to make the sinister smile that adorned his face spread wider. The large rhinoceros trembled as he stuttered out a greeting, and Alastor bent in front of the display with a hum.

“Tell me, do you happen to have any venison in today? I just love the flavor!”

“Y-yes sir! I just received a fresh shipment this morning! What cut and weight would you like?”

The laughter and track that burst forth only served to scare the butcher even more. “I’ll take it all, my friend. No need to worry about cut,” he clarified, and the rhino’s face lit up. “Yes sir! I have two unprocessed bucks, if that works for you.”

Alastor’s crimson eyes narrowed in delight- his favorite! He heard the squeak the butcher let out and fixed his face to be more pleasant. It wouldn’t do to terrify his source of meat. “Splendid! I’ll take them!”

He snapped the carcasses into his stasis dimension and handed over his money before bidding the butcher a pleasant evening. As he turned he noticed a small demon opening the door and he reached for the handle to hold it open for her.

“Excuse me, my dear,” he spoke, grinning down at the canine. Definitely not his favorite species- but a favorite to collect the skulls and pelts of. What surprised him though was her reaction, or lack thereof to be more specific. Oh sure, her eyes widened in recognition, but she smiled back at him! Oh, that little pup wouldn’t be smiling so sweetly at him if she knew what he did to demons like her.

“Pardon me, sir. Have a lovely evening.”

Well, canine or not, at least the pretty dear had manners- he supposed he could spare this one. Besides, the little demon was obviously of fairer means. She wasn’t to his tastes.

“And to you, my dear,” he replied before walking out, his steps giddy in anticipation of the lovely dinner and breakfast he would have.

———————-

———————

“Fine! I guess I’ll just have ta fuck the information outta ya!”

“Do your worst… Daddy.”

Ugh, it would seem that wretched spider was deeply misunderstanding the assignment of ‘show and tell’. Alastor’s smile faltered as he waited for the adult picture show to finish or be turned off before walking into the lobby. He stayed in the hallway and listened gleefully to Husker list off everyone’s personal faults until Angel’s baiting flirt set the feline off.

Alastor decided it was safe to enter to enjoy the unfolding drama and seated himself across from Nifty, who looked far too entertained by the picture box. ‘Just don’t look, at least the speaker is turned off.’

His thoughts were interrupted by an aggravated, but excited Angel Dust waving a disc in his face. Holding a gloved hand up to get the spider to back away, his head cocked in confusion.

“I bet this one’s right up your alley, Smiles!” Angel winked playfully and Alastor had to fight to keep his smile on. The thought of enjoying anything produced by the spider was laughable, but not something he would entertain.

“My friend, I can assure you that if it involves… human interest, that I have no interest in viewing-“

Angel had already inserted the disc, and the video began playing. Ears pinning down in disgust, Alastor looked away as his eyes narrowed. He hated his wishes being ignored, especially when it came to such intimate matters. For something that everyone else seemed to hold so sacred, they sure were eager to thrust it onto others.

“You once said that you would do anything to fulfill my desires… Is… that still true?”

An ear twitched and swiveled to the picture box as his curiosity got the better of him. He knew that voice from somewhere, but who was it?

“Of course babydoll. What, you want me to kill someone for you?” Huh, now if murder is the theme, that he could get behind! The feminine voice giggled and as his eyes locked on the screen, his features froze.

“As much as I love to see your bloodlust, darling, I was thinking maybe…” The demon he saw at the butcher shop a few weeks ago was playing shy with the spider, pressing her fangs into her finger as she blushed and looked away. Alastor cocked his head, raising an eyebrow in question at Angel and the spider waved for him to just keep watching as he went to sit down. Rolling his eyes, Alastor turned back to the screen.

“What’s your desire, sweetheart?” Angel asked his costar, and Alastor had to admit he was impressed with the spider’s acting skills. If he’d not known better, he would think Angel was genuinely in love with the woman. ‘She certainly is a lovely creature.’ The thought surprised him slightly- it was rare that he considered people beautiful, and even then it was in the way one would consider a work of art beautiful. He had never been interested in holding another in the way people so often wanted to be held. He’d stopped with that farce once he’d landed in Hell.

“W-Will you flay me?” The woman scrunched her eyes closed in embarrassment, a cute blush flaring against her cheeks. Okay, so not murder, but color Alastor officially interested. An audible crack sounded as his head turned to look at Angel behind him.

“Is this one of Valentino’s funny ideas?” There was a burning pain in his gut as he did his best to remain chipper. There was no way this actress was filming something like this willingly.

The sound of Angel’s laughter filled the lobby, and Alastor felt a chill run down his spine. “No way! Even Val is scared of Vixen!” The spider devolved into a fit of laughter, confusing the radio demon even further as he turned back to watch the scene play out.

“Vixy, wha- what are you saying? I can’t skin you; I could never hurt you!” Angel cupped her face and pet her hair gently as she looked down ashamed.

“I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to upset you. I… I was just thinking out lou-“ Angel crashed his lips against his costar (Vixen? Vixy? One of those) and rolled his hips against her in a way that had Alastor cringing before he spoke.

“If that’s what you really want, you have to tell me why,” Angel growled his line and the actress moaned out her response as if it were her deepest yearning. “I want to see you wear my pelt,” that sweet voice sent his blood to rushing as he stared intently at the demure actress. A vixen, that’s what she was.

“The thought of you surrounded in my fur… It makes me want to pull you so deep inside me you never leave.” Oh, sweet Satan that sounded just delicious coming from those luscious obsidian lips.

An uncomfortable warmth bloomed in his lap, and Alastor clenched his hand over his cane, crimson gaze narrowing at the screen as the scene played on. This was something he’d not felt since his human life, and even then he’d never felt such an urge in response to erotic pictures or shows. It was simply biology- a filthy need to be quickly taken care of and forgotten. Even his rut season was just a foul mood. This… this was new. He didn’t know what to do with this information, filing the thought away for later examination.

“Fuuuck… Well, when you put it that way, how can I deny you?” Alastor had to agree with Angel’s line, crossing his legs as he did his best to relax his posture and leaned on his knuckles.

“Uhhhh, Angel? Are we watching a snuff film?” Vaggie asked as she held Charlie.

“Of course not! Snuff films are all about unwilling murder victims. Vixy came to me wanting her pelt removed.” Angel grinned slyly, and Alastor heard Vaggie groan out in frustration. His attention was focused solely on the dancing vixen as she gave the camera a strip show. Her blood red tail swished with her large hips, her hands trailing up her curves to lift and flair out her long white hair. He was transfixed.

He didn’t know when Angel left, or when Charlie followed- his eyes never left the bloody scene playing on the picture box. The little vixen had transformed into an actual fox, and was sitting still, completely conscious and focused on Angel as he cut into her flesh; slowly but surely, he pulled the lovely pelt from her muscles. Her screams were genuine and primal, obviously painful. So why did she ask for this? It certainly didn’t seem pleasurable to her. And why film it? Well, that question was answered easily enough- for profit, of course!

His day flashed by as he considered his reaction to the picture show. Would he watch it again to see if he could replicate the feelings it elicited? Did he want to feel that way again?

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Alastor picked up his pace as he ran through his bayou dimension, tackling the earth buck he’d spirited away and sank his fangs into the flesh. He couldn’t get that little vixen out of his head- the sweet way she asked to be flayed alive and her moaned out reasoning, the eerie music of her animal screams.

He shredded his meal as he consumed the deer, blood spraying across his suit- no matter, he was very good at cleaning up after himself. When finished with his food, that hunger still nagged at him, and he slammed his fist into any tree he could find. Why did that wretched spider have to show him that stupid picture show? Why did he decide to watch it? He could’ve just shadowed out, walked away, destroyed that damnable box!

He hadn’t wanted to though. And damn it all, he actually wanted to watch it again! Even better, he wanted to offer that lovely creature that starred in it a deal to be her butcher- what he would give to rip that lovely fur from her as she screamed for him.

Wait… what would she want if he offered such a deal? What if she wanted romantic or sexual intimacy in exchange? Money, he could do, a few souls perhaps, but that? He knew he was considered attractive to the local cannibettes, and he was more than confident in his ability to satisfy, but just the thought of having to have relations just to be able to rip off some flesh… Well, he supposed that deal would be equally painful for each party. ‘You know you want to rip her apart in more ways than one,’ his shadow chittered at him, wicked grin spread wide.

What was it, exactly, that he wanted? He may have felt a fleeting desire, but what would he feel when face to face with the vixen once again? ‘Especially after seeing every delectable part of her body.’ Ugh, best not to think of that- she was probably used to rabid fans gandering at her.

He needed to kill something. He needed to rip flesh apart and crush bones. With a roaring bellow, his claws slashed at the bark of a felled tree as his form began to grow and contort. He needed to release this energy, and there were only so many animals that fell through his earth traps. If it weren’t for the constraints of his soul contract, he’d have no problem finding wretched souls to slaughter.

Alastor stalked toward another felled tree, his sinister aura darkening the environment around him. Wrapping large hands around the trunk, he snarled and crushed every piece until nothing remained but dust.

He just needed patience. With time, he would forget about the god-forsaken picture show. It was times like this he wished he felt the need to sleep. As the hours passed, the eldritch horror stalked through the shadows of his bayou in search of more prey. For the night is long and filled with terrors, and this terror was fucking hungry.

[britt-kageryuu]

Donnie is streaming, using a model dressed in cozy clothes. Shelldon is 'sleeping' on a charging pad next to him. Donnie is playing a modded minecraft type game.

Donnie: We do actually have a Minecraft modded server, but I wanted to test out a couple games to see if they're any good.

Donnie is working on a mob trap, not fully paying attention. There is a faint shuffling sound coming through the mic that he can't hear. He does notice some mobs coming towards him though.

Donnie: Now to test how well I set this.. SHRIEK!!!

There is a loud crashing sound with faint laughter. Donnies model is flailing, then it gains an very angry face, and a Loud Hisssss can be heard, followed by more screaming.

Donnie: Get Back Here!!!

The model leaves the screen, and faint sounds of fighting can be heard just barely picked up by the mic. Shelldon wakes up looking confused until he gets a message, and chat is very confused for multiple reasons, but mainly the loud Hiss.

A number of minutes later Donnie reappears.

Donnie: Pardon my sudden disappearance, B decided to he wanted to no longer be alive.

Shelldon: Don't worry Dudes, they're both okay, Red stopped them from committing fratricide.

Donnie: B is very lucky I'm not aloud to go all out in real life, but he will face my wrath the next time we play multiplayer together.

The chat never gets their questions about the Hissing answered, and are left to be confused for the rest of the stream.

Masterpost

[smolgloves]

A Lesson in Nature

Summary: Freya gets in touch with nature with the help of a beefy druid

Tw: mentions of animal abuse and a vore mention I guess?

“I said stay back!” Freya fired a pebble towards the large owlbear cub, causing it to jump back. Yet he still kept his hungry gaze on her, along with Scratch who wagged his tail. Freya cursed herself for deciding to stay away from the camp while that party was going on, the idea of being around all those drunken tieflings and druids while they celebrate victory over the goblin camp made her uneasy, so she opted to sitting just outside of camp despite Tav's reluctance. It seemed more peaceful than being stuffed in someone's tent but Freya didn't think about the wandering beasts that took interest in her. Gods, she took on redcaps, but can't seem to thwart off two stray animals?

Thick fingers quickly wrapped around the borrower, pulling her away from the beasts. The trip may have been disorienting, but Freya was grateful to be manhandled for once. Wanting to properly thank her savior, Freya sat up from the rugged hands that cupped her to meet their gaze. Words immediately fell short when she met the eyes of that older elf they saved from the goblins. She knew very little about him, other than his name was Halsin and he was supposed to be the druid that could have healed everyone of the illithid parasite, but that plan fell through. From what she heard, he had a lead and would be traveling with them. Which is why they were briefly introduced earlier, however Freya fucked up the first impressions by blurting out: “I've never seen an elf so large before!” He seemed to take it well, but after that, Freya avoided him.

“Pardon me for grabbing you without your permission first, but it seemed you needed a hand.” He spoke in a soft tone.

“I… uh, yes.” She stammered out. “Th-thank you.”

“You're Freya, right?”

She gave him a nod.

His lips curled in a soft smile. “I'm surprised to see you further away from the camp, from what I heard, you would have enjoyed this kind of evening.”

Freya raised an eyebrow, someone was tipping off the newest member of her drinking habits and she wasn't fond of that. She'll have to get to the bottom of that later. “I'd rather keep my distance from the gaggle of drunk giants stumbling about tonight.”

That got a chuckle out of Halsin. “I can't say I blame you, some have gotten rather rowdy during this night of celebration.” He glanced over to the owlbear cub to give him a pat on the head. “I'd say your company thought the same.”

“Well I'd prefer it if they wandered back!” She folded her arms across her chest, her eyes peered over the edge of his hand and glared at the beasts. “I warned Tav about the cub.”

The druid only smiled as he scratched the cub's ears, soft chirps rumbled out its beak. For a moment, Freya could say the beast looked cute, but she knew the dangers these animals posed to borrowers. She was not going to let her guard down while these two lurked around camp. “You have every right to be wary of such creatures, they can be quite fierce, especially to borrowers.”

“Glad we're in agreement.”

“But perhaps I could help you connect with nature despite your trepidation.” His eyebrow raised in anticipation.

Pursing her lips, Freya glanced from Halsin to the animals. They were rather docile now that he was nearby. “If you weren't a druid, I'd say no without a second thought.”

His hearty chuckle rumbled through the borrower. “Then I am glad the Oak Father has blessed me enough to help you.”

Adjusting his hold on her, Halsin lowered his hand closer to the ground. The curious eyes of the beasts met Freya's and she felt her skin crawl. Scratch took a step closer, sniffing the edge of Halsin's hand, deep inhales sending small gusts of wind to blow around her blonde locks. Despite how tense she was, Scratch pressed forward, letting his wet nose press into the side of her face, instantly reminding her of how they first met.

“Nope!” Freya squealed out, flailing back in haste attempts to escape; Halsin quickly pulled her away before she could accidentally kick Scratch. “I'm not doing this anymore!”

“I feel I should have prepared you better for how dogs typically try to get to know someone.” His free hand reached out where Scratch took a few hefty sniffs before giving a slobbery lick that made Freya shutter. “Dogs typically sniff as a way of greeting.”

“Can't you tell him to greet some other way?”

His smile softened at the borrower's frustration. “Perhaps, but that would be going against his very nature. I can tell how much he wants to get to know you, maybe you could initiate a greeting and he'll follow your lead?”

Freya took a moment to stare at Scratch, his tail swayed as he waited for her lead. She had seen many dogs in her life, yet few stood as patiently as he did for a borrower. She hesitantly reached forward as far as her arms could reach. It seemed that Scratch understood the gesture as he inched closer, a little more cautiously this time. His nose brushed up against her palm, leaving Freya frozen as he took short yet quick sniffs of her. A smile crept up on her lips, perhaps if she weren't a borrower, Freya would have been a dog lover. Those sweet eyes just begged for pets from the tiny woman and Freya couldn't say no. She leaned a little closer and scratched the top of his nose, feeling the scruffy white fur.

“See?” Halsin's voice beamed with joy from overhead. “Not so terrifying now.”

“I think I get why so many large ones keep them as pets.” Pride swelled up in Freya, how many borrowers could say they learned animal handling from a druid? Her eyes drifted towards the owlbear cub. While bigger than Scratch, he looked more timid. “Let me try with him now!”

Halsin shared in Freya's eagerness, and leveled her to the owlbear. His eyes widened at the sight of her. With a smile, Freya leaned in to pet his beak, but when she got close, the cub thrusted forward to peck her. Like with Scratch, Freya scrambled back as Halsin pulled her away; only this time, she did accidentally kick the owlbear's beak. He let out a shriek and turned away, scampering off into the night.

“Oh no, I didn't mean to do that.”

“It's alright.” Halsin said in a soothing voice. “Being captured by goblins has left the cub more cautious of others. It will take time for him to come around.”

“I suppose you two have more in common than I.” Freya pointed out.

“True.” Halsin lifted Freya up to eye level with her. “Perhaps another day, he will come around to you as well.”

His proud smile was reminiscent of how Freya's father looked at her when he was teaching her how to be a proper borrower. It had been so long since she had that look shot at her, she almost forgot the swelling joy she got from it. “I'd be happy to try again… so long as you're around.” She let out a chuckle. “I don't want to get eaten by the cub, or any other stray Tav picks up.”

Halsin's breathy laugh cut through the air, filling Freya with an ease she didn't think she could have around this mountain of a man. “I would be more than happy to aid you on your animal handling skills in the near future.”

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day Twenty-Six - Prompt: Clean. @rosekiller-microfic

March Daily Series - 724 words

TW: Drunken nonsense

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Evan had to admit, Lily Evans was impressive. So impressive that he was considering stealing her from his sister. If only Pandora wasn’t threatening to garrote him in his sleep, he could finally find happiness.

“Be reasonable! If I marry Lily and take her name,” he insisted, patting Lily’s shoulder, “then I will be Evan Evans! We will have an amicable divorce and she can take your name!”

Pandora glared at him over her fourth martini. “Paws off my girlfriend!”

“Hold on, Lily Rosier has a nice ring to it,” Lily mused, her cheeks flushed.

They were potentially five rounds in actually, if he was counting glasses correctly. Evan couldn’t keep track. His mind was adrift in an ocean of whiskey sours.

“See? Lily is on my side!”

Pandora downed the rest of her drink, then hiccuped loudly as she pointed it at Evan. “Pardon me. You do not need to be involved! I can give her my name and you can go hump a log.”

“Hump a log?” Lily giggled.

“Then how do I become Evan Evans? You’re crushing my dreams, Panda!”

“Wait, you call her ‘Panda’ too? I thought that was Regulus’s thing?”

Evan scoffed, “No, no. He says it all sweet and gentle-like. Endearing? Is that it?”

Pandora nodded as she handed him another whiskey from the server. “Yes, endearing. You say it as a prerogative. No, that’s wrong.”

“Pejorative?” Lily guessed.

“That’s the cunt!” Evan cheered, clinking their glasses together. “It’s naughty!”

Pandora snorted martini out of her nose, then yelped at the burn of alcohol in her sinuses. It was shaping up to be a brilliant evening all around. He needed this more than he realised.

“Well, if I’m marrying Pandora for a last name upgrade,” Lily said, holding up a hand to stall his protest, “I think you should do the same for Barty. Poor bloke is carrying around ‘Crouch’ of all names. Seems a bit unfair.”

Evan’s mouth dropped open, but not a single word escaped it. The last thing he’d expected was for Lily to name drop Barty into this conversation. Perhaps, she wasn’t as impressive as he’d first thought.

Pandora choked on an olive and promptly coughed it up in her hand. “What?! Are you drunk?”

Lily glanced between them, then frowned at her empty glass. “Oh, yes. That’s possible.”

“Evan needs a clean slate. He’s staying away from that pickle,” Pandora insisted.

“Prick?” Evan suggested, brows knit together.

“Hard pass.”

Lily burst out laughing and covered her face with her hands. “I cannot breathe! You two are hilarious together.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Pandora teased, kissing her cheek. “Anywaffles, as I was saying.”

“Anywaffles?” Lily choked. She clung to the table’s edge in an attempt to stay on her stool as she swayed.

Pandora rolled her eyes affectionately and patted Lily’s cheek. “My darling, you are too easily amused. To my point, what was my point?”

“Barty.”

“Right, him. No Barty. Pick someone else, anyone else.”

Evan stared at his whiskey pensively. He wasn’t ready to concede defeat just yet, but it did feel rather inevitable. Perhaps, Barty knew it as well.

“What if I don’t want anyone else?” he said quietly. It was meant to be an internal thought, but it slipped free.

Pandora stared at him incredulously, then slapped the table. Several glasses clinked together. “He cheated! And lied!”

“That doesn’t mean he’s scum! People can change!”

Before his sister sniped back, Lily leaned over and kissed her. Pandora flailed, then flung herself into Lily’s lap. They both tumbled to the floor of the pub in a heap of loose limbs and giggles.

“Tease!” Pandora said, swatting Lily playfully.

“You’re so sweet! How can I resist?”

Evan watched the couple’s banter wistfully. He’d had nights like this with Barty. Nights when they’d laughed until they couldn’t breathe. Other nights, they’d stay up until dawn talking about everything and nothing.

He propped his chin in his hand and swirled the gold liquid in his glass. Barty made every night they were together feel special. Like he said, he tried with Evan. That was more than anyone else had.

What if he has changed? What if I was right?

Wales. That was the exception that proved the rule.

Or, it was proof that Barty was a better person when they were together. Perhaps, I am too.

Next Part>>>

[fizzigigsimmer]

WIP tag game

Rules: you will be given a word. share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

The word that @robthegoodfellow tagged me in is... Sleep. I tell you right now, this was surprisingly difficult. You would have thought that I knew in advance and did everything in my power not to start sentences with e's or l's. 😀 But we got there.

Unamed Harringrove Ballet Au

Six-year-old Billy Hargrove watches his father’s beat up truck turn out of their driveway and disappear down the street with an exuberant grin. He had thought his dad would never leave – even though Neil was supposed to have a shift at the factory that morning...

Limited or not, Billy is serious about practice. So serious that he’s still at it two hours later, shuffling his feet to the beat in tandem with the two dancing figures on screen – jumping up with his leg twisted behind his body as he turns and lands. Awkwardly. He sucks in an aggravated breath through his teeth as he wobbles, arms flailing like fire hoses. It’s not anywhere as cool or as coordinated as Baryshnikov...

To B With Love

“Everyone push on the count of three.” Jane urged, biting back a giggle and Will nodded. 

“Quick! Before he’s turned into johnny cakes. One-two-three!” 

The three of them dug their toes into the ground and heaved with all of their might to role the pregnant ewe back onto her feet, just in time for Dustin to come running into their cluster for cover. Big Blue, the lead ram (who was at least shoulder high and had four horns atop its head) knocked into one of the fleeing ewes; thankfully seeming to lose interest in chasing Dustin as the animal climbed back onto his feet...

Even Mr. Clarke, who had encouraged their interest in understanding natural miracles and had loaned them many scientific publications, had just stared at Dustin perplexed when he had tried to explain his theory. But Mr. Clarke hadn’t told Dustin he was being a goose either, or accused him of having too much imagination. Instead, he’d given them a book called Jane Eyre to read because he thought they’d like it. 

“It deals quite a bit with ghosts, and the oftentimes quite human explanations for them.” He’d said with a wink and cheery smile. Max quite liked Mr. Clarke, and the book was turning out to be really good too. Far better than any of the short stories and sermons Ms. Klupp had them reading for class....

While You Were Sleeping

“Pardon me. Sorry.” Steve’s alpha had said politely, like some rich guy in a rom-com with like six degrees, through perfectly white teeth and plump gorgeous lips. To make matters worse, his eyes were blue, and for the first time in his life Steve understood all that shit in the novels about gazes holding hidden depths and secret longings. It was easy in an instant to imagine that the gorgeous stranger he’d just bumped into was as lost in the world as he was, without meaning or purpose. One that he’d obviously find in Steve’s bed, when they fucked the ever living shit out of each other. 

At least, that’s how it would have gone in one of Robin’s books.

Thanks for the tag lovely! I am 1000% sure you have all already been tagged but maybe tag me on your post so I can read your snippits. But no pressure... The word is Book! @dragonflylady77 @adelacreations @a-redharlequin @bigdumbbambieyes @ihni, @chrisbitchtree @medusapelagia @intothedysphoria

[nattikay]

Okay but Jake being embarrassed about Neytiri bragging about being Toruk Makto because he feels unworthy for the reasons you stated is pique Jeytiri. Like she sees the best in him and he wants to do her right despite his flaws 😭

yuusssssss

y'know, they don't really go into it much in the main movies themselves, but in the extra material like comics etc. it's shown that Jake actually has a lot of insecurities about his status. He never wanted to be leader, it was just kinda foisted upon him by circumstance, dude's got no clue what he's doing half the time and is just kinda flailing doing his best and hoping things work out.

From Tsu'tey's death scene in the extended edition:

From The Next Shadow comics (pardon the wild visuals in these ones, Jake's in the middle of a poison-induced fever dream whoop):

and

and

From The High Ground comics:

Toruk Makto and olo'eyktan were not titles Jake sought out, they're just things he kinda wound up with through crazy circumstances and boy howdy does he feel unworthy of it. He does his best to work with what he's given but struggles a lot.

Buuuuuut yes, lucky for him Neytiri is very proud of her mate. Some people criticize Jeytiri in A1 for being too "shallow" or not "justified" enough narratively but like...for one thing, those two spent three months in near-constant close proximity, that is plenty of alone-together time to fall in love simply by becoming very familiar with each other...and I think one major but oft-overlooked aspect of Jake and Neytiri's relationship is that, in the end, they chose each other.

We of course have them say it to each other in the well-known Tree of Voices scene, and additionally in the deleted scenes we also have this little exchange between Neytiri and Mo'at after Neytiri announces that she and Jake have become mates:

Neytiri really do be like "yeah he's an idiot but he's my idiot, I chose him and he chose me and gosh dangit I am so proud of him!!"

and y'know what I just think that's really neat ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[spell-cleaver]

Portrait of an Empire

Angstober

Day 29: Get Out

Vader was still in the medbay. Luke had visited him—Sheev could hardly have refused without drawing suspicion—and returned sombre. Vader was awake after his dip in the bacta, Sheev knew, so what had they spoken of? What had Vader told Luke about how Vader received those injuries?

If he told Luke anything, he would tell him the whole truth. Vader was not a good enough liar to dole it out piecemeal, and everyone knew it.

Did Luke know that Sheev was the one who had nearly killed his father? He must. No one else would have that power.

But did Luke know why they had had that fight? Did Luke know that Sheev had nearly killed him?

Sheev knocked on the door to Luke’s bedroom. Luke definitely knew it was him. They could sense each other in the Force like two powerful smells that mingled unpleasantly. But there was a long hesitation before—

“Alright. Come in.”

Sheev came in, leaning on his cane. Luke was seated on the sofa of his living quarters, staring out the window at the sky. In the distance, speeders zoomed past. His gaze tracked them idly, like a tooka who wasn’t really paying attention.

“Did you see your father?” he asked.

“Why did he try to kill you?”

Luke turned to face him directly as he asked the question, not giving Sheev the chance to avoid eye contact.

Sheev had to laugh—at the boldness, and at Vader’s stupidity. “He told you it happened but not the cause?”

“He didn’t tell me anything. He pretended to be asleep the whole time. I think he thinks he failed. And apparently he did, if you’re still alive. You’ve confirmed that’s what he tried to do.”

He had, hadn’t he? He was losing track. He was on the back foot.

“How did you deduce—”

“You’re the only one who knows how to spit karking lightning,” Luke spat. “Answer my question. Why did he try to kill you?”

Sheev could avoid the question. He could refuse to answer it. But Luke knew too much, now. How much longer could they evade the topic? Would they be able to bury it? Vader was an attack dog, but Luke was a dog in his own way, too. He never stopped digging.

It was a gamble. But the best way to manipulate him was… Sheev needed to—he wanted to—

“Because I tried to kill you,” he said.

Luke’s face froze in a controlled mask of dislike. He tilted his head slightly, away from Sheev; that was the only concession he gave. “What?” was all he could say.

“I was the one who ordered you assassinated. Your father finally found conclusive evidence.”

Luke was breathing hard. His hand flexed on his cane. He glanced down at it, and his expression hardened.

Sheev expected him to implode. Vader always did. Luke was emotional, foolish, driven—his father’s son in many ways.

But not all.

His breathing accelerated, heavy and rasping. His every muscle froze. But he did not break Sheev’s gaze.

“Why?”

That was the most obvious question to ask. It was the one Sheev could not answer. He flailed, groping around for words. He was fluent in multiple languages but he could not handle this.

“You were a weakness,” he said. “The Sith do not tolerate weakness.”

“Get out.”

Sheev raised one of his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

“Get out. Get out of my room. Get out of my life.”

Sheev said stiffly, “I am your grandfather.”

“If you don’t want to be,” Luke snarled, “you don’t have to.”

It was a humiliating indignation that seized him, then. Sheev glared at his grandson. “How dare you say that?”

“You tried to kill me!”

“I have not tried to kill you since!”

Luke stared at him. “Is that the best you can do?”

It was too much. The horrible emotions swirling in him, staring that boy down. The hunted, haunted look in Luke’s eyes. Sheev turned and left.

He did not flee. Sith did not flee.

It was a calculated gamble. Luke was always difficult to manipulate. But it would pay off.

Later, he found him gone.

[jeannereames]

How do you anticipate Alexandros’s and Hephaistion’s respective ways of dealing with each other in their “moments” to change over the course of your series? I think you pretty clearly established in your books that Hephaistion has to learn to carefully navigate Alexandros’s outbursts and spontaneous tendencies.

On the flip side, I wonder how Alexandros learns how to deal when Hep is angry or upset. Do you think it being more so along the lines of him expecting Hep to suck it up and deal, basically? Or would he take a different route? I just find the way you portrayed their dynamic in the series very intriguing and nuanced, and I'm curious to see how it might evolve as the characters age.

What an interesting question! And I’m delighted that you thought their interaction properly nuanced. One of my own personal criteria for judging a book is the presence of layered and complex characters, so I struggle to put them on the page in my own work. (Also, sorry for the delay.)

Among the key elements of the first two books is how much the characters change. It covers seven critical years as they turn from boys into young men. Hence the whole “coming-of-age” thing. Ha.

Because they’re teenagers, they’re inclined to drama, especially in the first book where little things can set them off—but it happens early in book II as well. Hephaistion flails and causes a scene just because Alexandros is busy so often and he, Hephaistion, is insecure. His behavior is silly (and Alexandros calls him on it), but the emotions that drive it are very real. That’s always the struggle, when writing teens. They just haven’t lived long enough for much perspective, so everything’s a crisis. Emotions are BIG, driven by wildly pumping hormones and all those extra neurons in the front of the cerebrum. Yet the author must take seriously whatever tempest in a teapot has them riled up, in order to portray it fairly (for them), even while keeping a bit of distance to signal to the reader that yes, it really is overblown.

By the duology’s end, Alexandros has just turned 20 and Hephaistion 22½; they’ve been friends seven years, and lovers for five. By now, they have history. Yet both are emotional people, even if they display it differently. Hephaistion might seem phlegmatic but is far from it. Erigyios is phlegmatic. Hephaistion is a churning volcano under a calm surface. Alexandros, by contrast, wears his heart on his sleeve. So, they’ll continue to kick up dusk occasionally with each other, but increasingly for real reasons, not manufactured ones driven by insecurity.

Take their fracture over the fact Alexandros didn’t tell Hephaistion about Amyntor’s illness. They learn, thereby, that some things can be forgiven only by a choice. Hephaistion’s flouncing over Alexandros “ignoring” him at the beginning of book 2 should be seen in stark contrast to the very real rage he feels when he learns Alexandros concealed his father’s cancer. Yes, Alexandros did so because Amyntor asked, and yes, Alexandros convinced himself it was out of fear for Hephaistion’s safety. But he does finally recognize, and admit to himself, that wasn’t the real reason. He did a truly selfish thing by keeping Hephaistion with him. Hephaistion’s reaction in each instance is meant to bookend the novel. In the first case, he storms back home. In the second, despite his fury, he doesn’t leave Alexandros. And Alexandros accepts Philip’s pardon not just because he knows he’d better, but also because Hephaistion needs to go back. It’s a maturing moment for Alexandros to fully recognize how much he hurt his friend. He can’t fix it. He can only beg for forgiveness. Hephaistion won’t get back those final months with Amyntor. He can only choose to forgive.

So, the sequence is (to my mind) incredibly important to how they’re learning to be Real with each other. And it lays out how they’ll continue to interact going forward.

Alexandros will still screw up sometimes, in part because he’s king and was raised to assume people will subject themselves to him, as well as because his successes convince him the gods are on his side. But it was always Hephaistion’s refusal to kowtow that made him attractive to Alexandros. Ergo, he must make room for that in their relationship. It’s what makes Hephaistion unique.

In book one, after their physical fight over a different dust-up, Alexandros thinks to himself that the fact Hephaistion was willing to hit a prince had earned him the right to hold one. Alexandros must allow for Hephaistion’s autonomy, which means he must apologize (honestly) now and then. It’s what keeps him human, and grounded. And why Hephaistion continues to enjoy such absolute trust. He expects Alexandros to acknowledge when he screws up, and so Alexandros can trust that Hephaistion will always tell him the truth. Because Hephaistion loves him that much.

[okay-j-hannah]

All Bruised Up

Moon Knight : Fic

Steven Grant x Reader

Word Count: 1343

Warnings: throwing some punches and accidentally getting hurt 🙃

Request: “I have a request 😗 I love your writing so much! Can you please write Steven Grant having a girlfriend who is a good fighter and is trying to teach him so he can defend himself when she's not around?” Anon

A/N: You teach Steven a few things about self defense

The gym was small and outfitted with a fighting ring and heavy hanging sandbags. (Y/N) swung between the ropes, landing on the ground and picking at the tape binding her hands and wrists.

She loved it, punching it out with red knuckles and a sweat stained top. The strained muscles and the clear head – fighting was her therapy.

And now she stood with hands on her hips, chewing the inside of her cheek.

There standing next to the ring was Steven with a terribly sheepish look on his face. There was a ruddy purple bruise growing beneath one eye and a split in his lip.

He waved, “Hey.”

“Again?” She shook her head, “You can’t tell me it was just a little skirmish this time.”

“Some lads were having a go,” he said quietly, “They were going to ruin an afterlife exhibit – nearly used a shabti of Seti to bash a head in.”

(Y/N) went to him, kissing his unbruised cheek and running a few fingers across his lip. “And you didn’t think to call security?”

He shrugged, picking at his fingers, “I thought I could handle it.” He hissed as she prodded his split lip.

She sighed, giving him an endearing look, “I suppose you did save some silly old statue.”

“A shabti’s function happens to be very important to one’s journey in…”

“Steven,” she said, “I ought to teach you a thing or two about defending yourself.” She resecured the tape around her hands, “So I can stop fretting whenever I’m not with you.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, hiding the irony. They hadn’t reached the point in their relationship where she knew about Marc and Jake yet. If she knew two first class fighters were also a part of his body then she wouldn’t be so worried.

He would’ve come out of the museum brawl with worse injuries if Marc hadn’t fronted mid swing.

“I don’t know,” he said, self-conscious, “I’m not one to throw punches.” Except when armored with Khonshu’s snazzy white suit.

“I’ll just give you a few pointers,” (Y/N) smiled, gesturing for him to follow her into the ring, “Come on.”

Steven looked around uncomfortably, making sure they were alone in the gym before struggling through the ropes. He flopped onto the pad and scrambled to his feet, “Right then. What’s the first step?”

He held up his fists, flailing them around as he bounced on his toes.

(Y/N) smiled, approaching him, “First off, make sure you hold your thumb here or you’re going to break it.” She watched his eyes widen, “And keep your fists closer to your face, that way you can protect it from an incoming punch.”

He nodded, “Right, yeah – thanks.” He held his fists eyelevel and crouched in a fighter position.

“Good, now take a swing.”

“Beg your pardon?” he straightened out, lowering his hands.

“Take a swing at me,” she got in her own fighter position, “And don’t lower your fists, it leaves you vulnerable.”

Steven gave a side smile, saving his split lip, “I’m not going to hit you.”

“I know you won’t,” she circled him, “I’ll stop you before you do.”

He stumbled, “Let’s use one of those sandbags ins- WOAH!” He ducked as (Y/N) swung her fist at his head. “What are you doing?”

“Nice reflexes,” she said, “Now get defensive and look for an opportunity to strike.”

“(Y/N), I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she said easily, “Watch my body language.”

He reluctantly lifted his fists, monitoring her arms, “I’m not going to swing.”

She aimed for his shoulder to avoid hurting his face more, and this time she met her mark. “You’re distracted.”

He hissed, grabbing his arm, “Ow! What did you hit me for?”

“You didn’t dodge like before,” she circled him, “Come on, try to hit me.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Steven…”

He shook his head, “Sorry, love.”

She sighed, “Alright, let me show you a combo move.” She stood beside him, demonstrating the three step move, “Right, left, duck.”

“Right, left, duck,” he repeated under his breath, mirroring her actions. They swung right then left then ducked.

“Good, now faster – take a short breath with each swing.”

They practiced the maneuver a few times until Steven had a pleased smile on his face, “I think I’m doing it.”

“Yeah you are,” she replied proudly, “Now I’ll act as the attacker.” She lifted her tapped and padded hands, “Right, left, duck.”

Steven went slow, matching his fist to the palm of her hand, ducking when she threw her arm above his head. “Again,” she said.

The more they practiced the faster the movements became until the blows to (Y/N)’s palm stung, and Steven could feel her arm clip the top of his head with the speed she threw her attack.

“Okay, let’s move to right, left, dodge. I’m going to aim for your face, and you’ll have to move to the side to miss it.”

Steven nodded, rolling up his sleeves. It was getting stifling hot. “Take your best shot, darling.”

She smiled, breathing heavy and practicing punches with him. He was getting ambitious, perhaps a bit overconfident in how he managed to follow every combo she threw at him. If he was being honest he knew it was muscle memory from Khonshu’s suit.

His curls were falling into his line of vision, bouncing along with his steps, “I’ve got ya right where I want ya.”

(Y/N) clenched her jaw, feeling inclined to knock him down. And with a hungry smile she aimed an unpracticed fist to his stomach. He blocked it with his forearm with a look of mingled shock.

(Y/N) was surprised too, looking between his wrist and his eyes before delivering another attack. Steven threw his arm up to block the next jab, grabbing her other wrist with his hand.

“What are you doing?”

She gawked, “How are you doing that?” She pulled from his grasp, “We haven’t practiced that.”

“Good reflexes, like you said,” he said with a shrug. But he checked internally to see if someone was trying to take control of his limbs.

(Y/N) gave a disbelieving laugh, ready to test the theory with another incoming attack. It was a short lived flurry of limbs, fists aimed for chest, head, and stomach. Steven dodged each of them, only ever redirecting her hands as she pushed him back. The look on his face was hilarious, all wide eyes and spluttered noises.

That was until he finally made an attack in return. His fist made contact with her jaw.

“Oh my god,” he cried, throwing his hands over his mouth.

(Y/N) took a step back, rubbing at the side of her jaw, “Nice punch,” she said rather excitedly.

“God forgive me,” he said, running to her side, “Are you alright?” His hands were latched onto her face, turning it this way and that, “I didn’t mean to do that, honest.”

“I believe you,” she said, a laugh about to touch her lips, “It happens – I wanted you to take a swing – I was asking for it.”

He grimaced, “I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m telling you it’s alright,” she put her arms around his shoulders, “I’m rather impressed. I had no idea you had a talent.”

He kept his eyes on the spot he hit, “It was just survival instincts. I got lucky.”

“It must’ve been those instincts that saved you at the museum,” she smiled but saw the frown on his face, his eyes trained on her jawline. “Hey,” she said, “You didn’t hurt me, Steven.”

He had that sheepish look on his face again, “Maybe I’ll just never leave your side and then you can protect me instead of teaching me all this silly stuff.”

“Self defense isn’t silly stuff.”

“Please?”

She smiled, “Alright. Let’s go home hotshot.” She started to peel off the tape around her hands, “We’ll look like quite the pair, all bruised up.”

“I do believe this calls for tea, ice, and cuddles.”

~~~

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[overwatchfics]

hello! can i request genji nsfw hcs ?

Genji NSFW HCs

A/N: I'm not duper great with male smut so heads up. It used to be restricted on my rules but I'm giving it a try. (Also I'm having SUCH a hard time imagining Genji naked and I'm cracking up so pardon if this isn't good I'm just laughing my ass off thinking mercy gave him a fully weaponed robo-schnitzel please excuse me my 5 year old potty mouth is coming out lmfao)

Talk about a real smooth talker Genji is pretty damn good at it.

You're pretty convinced he talked your pants off in the first place

Genji is very big into foreplay, and in particular loves to give oral.

He feels that his face is once if the few parts of him that has the capability to actually feel you

So Genji will glady put hit tongue to use, in a way that has you twitching everytime he runs across your clit.

He'll only add his fingers if you ask, he's insecure about using them since they can't feel anything and he fears it will take you away from the experience.

Oh how wrong he was.

Especially figuring out THAT HE CAN MAKE THEM VIBRATE ON COMMAND.

I hope you have crutches Anon because you're not going to be able to walk to walk the next day.

With vibration to use you'll be flailing helplessly on the bed, clothing the sheets or his head riding him like no tomorrow

Speaking of riding, Genji's favorite position is cowgirl

This way you can lean over him and plant your hands on his chest, this makes him melt, he'll lean up and hold you there with him.

He's very big into body worship and praise

Leaves kisses all over your body and if you do the same you can here whirring of the machinery in his body (like the purring of a cat)

Aside from that I feel that Genji is pretty vanilla, but he's such a wholesome robot boy.

Blackwatch Genji though? Whole other story I'll get to that another day.

[livesincerely]

take a shot (but how’s your aim?) ch. 8 - interlude: recalibrating

Also on Ao3. Chapter seven here.

00000

“And you’re sure you’re okay with this?” Jack asks for what feels like the hundredth time, the shadows cast by the setting sun emphasizing the worried furrow between his brows. “You jus’ say the word and I’ll tell Racer to kick rocks—“

“Jack,” Maggie sighs, stopping him before he can get worked up again. “It’s fine. I’m sure it’ll all be fine.”

As if sensing her nerves, Jack wraps a protective arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer as they continue making their way downtown. “If he tries anything stupid, if he steps a toe outta line, I swear I’ll—“

“You said he wanted to apologize,” Maggie reminds him.

“That's what he said,” he confirms with a frown.

“Then I’m sure it will be fine,” Maggie says, trying for optimism despite the flutter in her stomach. “Where did you say that we’re meeting him?”

“You know Irving Hall?” Jack asks. “Ms. Medda, the lady that owns it, lets me use it sometimes. Figured it was a little more private than Jacobi’s or the Square. She said it’s fine as long as we’re out by 8.” A sudden scowl. “Racer better not be late or I’m gonna—“

“Can we talk about something else, please?” Maggie blurts, and Jack falls abruptly silent. “How was your day?”

Jack’s eyes turn stormy. “It was fine.”

“Have things gotten any better?” she presses tentatively. “Or are they still giving you a hard time?”

An unhappy shrug. “Could've been better. Could’ve been worse.”

“Well, maybe this is a sign that things are starting to improve,” she suggests. “At least one of your friends is making an effort to fix things, right?”

“Yeah,” Jack mutters. He doesn’t look the least bit convinced, which doesn’t exactly instill her with confidence. “Right.”

All too soon, they arrive outside the theater. Maggie can’t help another swell of anxiety, smoothing her hands over the pleats of her skirt.

Jack’s keen gaze catches her fidgeting: his expression softens and he lets out a long breath, a warm hand landing high on her back.

“Hey,” he says gently. “It’s all gonna be okay. I know he ain’t made a great first impression—god knows he deserves a few smacks upside the head—but Racetrack ain’t a bad sort. Me an’ him… we’re havin’ our own issues that ain’t got nothin’ ta do wit’cha.”

“You keep saying that,” Maggie notices. “And I know I shouldn’t care so much about what one person thinks of me, but he’s one of your closest friends, Jack. One of your brothers. I don’t want him to hate me.”

“Racetrack don’t hate you,” Jack says, and on this point, at least, he seems sure. “He ain’t hardly even met you. Don’t let him make ya nervous.”

“I just don’t know what to expect,” Maggie admits. “I only really know him through what you’ve told me, and you’ve been so angry with him—“

“Like I said, we got our own issues to sort out,” Jack assures her wryly. “I’m mad at him, he’s pissed at me, an’ that ain’t lookin’ like it’s gonna change any time soon. But, even when he’s bein’ a—pardon my French—a complete asshole, Racer ain’t never been mean. You shouldn’t’ve gotten dragged into the middle of our shit: I know it, an’ he knows it too. It’s all gonna be fine.”

Maggie takes a steadying breath. “It’s all going to be fine,” she repeats.

“Atta girl,” Jack says, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Chin up, ya hear? And, hey, if things end up goin’ south, I’ll shave off his eyebrows while he sleeps,” he offers, a spark of humor tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So you can keep that in your back pocket, too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says, returning his grin with a smile of her own.

“We can head inside while we wait for him,” Jack says, inclining his head towards the theater. “It’s jus’ in here.”

He reaches for the handle of an unobtrusive metal door, but right as he opens it he walks into the path of someone coming through from the other side. There’s a kerfuffle of fumbling footsteps and flailing limbs, then they both reach out to steady the other as one.

“Dave!” Jack exclaims, eyes wide.

“Jack!” the other person says, just as surprised. It takes Maggie a moment to place him: it’s David—Jack’s David—the one he’s been so worried about recently.

The two of them stand there, staring at each other, locked in their pseudo-embrace, for a moment longer. Then all at once they surge apart.

“What are you doing here?” Jack asks, and the change that’s come over him is as all-encompassing as the break of dawn. It’s not the frustration from earlier, or even the easy comfort of just beforehand; his attention catches and flares like fresh kindling, intensely focused and flame-bright. “I ain’t seen ya all day.”

David hoists his bag higher on his shoulder, shuffling another step backwards. He seems far less enthused at seeing Jack than Jack does at seeing him. “Oh, well, you know,” he murmurs. “Just needed a place to think.”

His gaze lands on Maggie and his expression seems to stick for a moment, like a rusted crank that won’t quite turn smoothly. When he smiles at her, his eyes are weary.

“Oh,” he says softly. “Hi, Maggie. Sorry, I didn’t see you there at first. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you,” Maggie answers, not quite sure what to make of him. Even without the familiarity Jack has with him, she can tell at a glance that he’s not at his best: there’s a heaviness in his posture, a dullness to his pallor that speaks of several sleepless nights, and the haphazard way his curly hair falls over his forehead reminds her of her own hair when she’s at her most frazzled. “How are you, David? Or do you prefer Davey?

He winces, mouth curling into a grimace.

“Oh, David’s fine,” he says. “And I’ve been good, thank you.”

Jack gives a pointed scoff, the noise unexpectedly harsh amongst the polite small talk. David’s frown deepens almost imperceptibly and Maggie can feel something similar settling across her own features, her eyes darting back and forth between them.

“Jack mentioned you’d been under some stress, recently,” she says carefully, trying to navigate the obvious tension that’s fallen over their odd little trio. “I hope things start to take a turn for the better soon, if they haven’t already.”

David’s expression turns even more brittle around the edges. “That’s kind of you to say,” he responds after a moment. “But I’ll be fine, regardless.”

He glances between her and Jack in much the same way that she’d been considering the two of them. He seems to come to some sort of conclusion—fresh understanding swells over him like a crashing tide.

“Ah,” he says simply. “I won’t hold you up any longer. Have a nice evening.”

“Whoa, hey! What’s the rush?” Jack asks, lurching forward on unsteady feet, a hint of panic behind his eyes. “You don’t gotta run off.”

“I need to get home,” David says, a touch curtly. “And I’m sure the two of you have plans you’d like to get back to.”

“But, Dave—“

“But, what, Jack?”

Jack’s mouth works soundlessly for a moment, hurt bleeding across his features like an open wound. David doesn’t meet his eyes, staring past him towards the main road, his shoulders hunched like he’s bracing for an argument.

Maggie’s wondering exactly how to de-escalate the situation, what, exactly, she’s de-escalating, and if she even can, when a voice from behind her drawls, “Well, ain’t this a party.”

“Race,” David says, relief evident in every inch of his body.

“Racetrack,” Jack acknowledges much more cooly.

“Jack,” the boy, Racetrack, greets. “Maggie,” he continues, tipping his cap in her direction.

“What are you doin’ here?” He asks David, giving him a scrutinizing once over. Maggie’s not sure what he sees, but his stare turns to Jack for a brief, accusing second, and he steps closer to David’s side, as if to put a barrier between them. Judging by the way Jack’s expression sours, he’s noticed the same. “You don’t gotta be here for this.”

“I was just leaving,” David says quickly, then seems to process Racetrack’s words. “What do you mean…?” His eyes flit from Racetrack to Jack to Maggie in short succession. “Oh. Then I should definitely get out of your way. It was nice speaking with you, Maggie.”

“Wait,” Jack interjects before he can make his exit, and there’s a depth of feeling in his voice that makes her heart lurch in her chest. “Will I… I’ll see ya in the morning?”

David hesitates, then gives a brisk nod. He gives Jack a wide berth as he walks away, but one of his arms trails behind him as he goes—like he doesn’t know what to do with the empty space at his side, even as he creates it.

Jack’s stares after his retreating form for several long seconds, his hands curling into fists that he shoves roughly into his pockets. Racetrack lets out a long exhale, almost a sigh, as it all plays out. Maggie turns towards him automatically at the sound, and their eyes lock behind Jack’s back.

Racetrack’s gaze is piercing but not unkind: a little exasperated, a little rueful, and far too knowing. Biting her lip, Maggie looks away.

“Jack,” Racetrack eventually calls out, and Jack startles at the sound, clearly lost in his own thoughts. “Maybe we should, uh… get back to business?”

Jack is not ready to get back to business. “He looks like hell, Race. I thought you were lookin’ out for him?”

“I am lookin’ out for him,” Racetrack defends, in the sandpaper tones of someone who’s very tired of repeating themselves. “I ain’t a miracle worker, cowboy.”

“Yeah, tell me somethin’ I don’t know,'' Jack retorts, and Maggie’s always known him to be the protective sort, but the feeling seems to hone the edge of his words particularly sharply in this instance. “He looks like he’s ‘bout ta keel over any second!”

Racetrack bristles visibly at his tone, but to her surprise, he doesn’t lash back.

“Jack,” he says instead, sounding like he’s reaching for the deepest reserves of his patience, and it occurs to Maggie that they’ve already had this argument—several times over, it seems. “I ain’t here to hash it out with you over Davey.”

Jack stares at him, uncomprehending. Maggie shifts her weight, feeling increasingly out of place, and some part of her almost wants to laugh at the irony of the situation, given that they are, ostensibly, only here on her behalf. The motion draws Jack’s attention and his eyes snap to hers, remembering her presence. The fight seeps out of him like a candle that’s been snuffed out.

“Right,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “We should, uh… head inside, I guess.”

“Actually,” Racetrack says, holding up a hand. “Maybe you could give me and Miss Margaret some privacy for this one?”

“Uh huh,” Jack huffs, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “How ‘bout, no.”

“It’s okay, Jack,” Maggie interrupts before they can continue squabbling. She finds herself suddenly exhausted with this whole ordeal, more than ready to get things over and done with. “I don’t mind.”

Jack studies her expression. “You sure?”

She gives him a tight smile. Of all the things she’s unsure about in this moment, this is perhaps the least of them. “I’m sure.”

“I’ll be right outside,” he says.

Racetrack holds the door to the theater open for her, which gives her a second to collect her thoughts. The inside of the building is larger than she expected—unfinished brick walls and high, vaulted ceilings—and almost entirely empty, save for a few tall, rectangular structures covered in drop cloths leaning up against the far side of the room. Maybe set pieces, she wonders idly, but she’s not familiar enough with the workings of a theater to do much more than guess.

Racetrack seems a touch more familiar with the space—he knows where to find the cord for the overhead lights, at least—but his eyes are just as curious as her own as he takes in the covered pieces.

However, he doesn’t give them much more than a passing glance: he rolls his shoulders back and turns to face her, solemn and determined.

“I’m sure Jack told ya already,” he says, sweeping his flat cap off his head and tucking it into the waist of his pants, “but I asked to meet wit’cha because I wanted ta say sorry for bein’ so rude to ya, when Jack first introduced ya to everyone. I don’t got a good reason for why—they’s all jus’ excuses, if I’m bein’ honest, an’ it’s not even really my story ta share—but even if I had the best reason in the world, I’d still owe you an apology. Because you didn’t even do anythin’ wrong, I was jus’ bein’ nasty to ya ‘cause you were there to be nasty to. An’ that ain’t right. So, I’m real sorry ‘bout it.”

Maggie blinks, overwhelmed by the barrage.

“That’s it.” Racetrack tacks on awkwardly, something undeniably nervous creeping into his posture. “Uh, I can try sayin’ it again if I went too fast the first time, Albie’s always tellin’ me ta slow down—“

“No, you don’t have to—“ Maggie takes a breath, some of her own nerves fading away in the face of his own. She offers him a small, but honest smile. “I accept your apology.”

“You don’t gotta,” he tells her seriously. “I was an ass—sorry, ‘cuse me—a jerk, an’ it’s okay if you’re still mad. You prob’ly should be, I’d deserve it.”

“I’m not mad,” Maggie tells him. “I never was. Jack already explained that you were upset about something else, I was just… there. But I do appreciate you apologizing.”

Racetrack stares at her.

“…I kinda feel like you’re letting me off the hook too easy,” he says, looking perplexed. “You sure you ain’t mad? Nothin’ I can do ta make it up to ya?”

“Well, there is, maybe, one thing,” Maggie says. “I don’t mean to insert myself, but whatever’s going on between you and Jack and…” She pauses. “…and David, can you please try to fix it?”

Racetrack’s expression turns blank.

Hurriedly, she continues, “Not that I’m saying it’s your fault, or anyone’s fault in particular, or even that it’s up to you to fix it. But whatever it is that’s wrong, Jack’s been really, really bothered by it. He’s been beating himself up over not being able to help, over making things worse and being useless, so maybe you could… reach out? Extend an olive branch? Call a truce? Anything that’ll start to patch things back up between you all.”

“…Not askin’ for much, are ya?” Racetrack mutters under his breath, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “I… Listen. I’ll be honest, things are… complicated, to say the least. I’m not even sure if things can be fixed—at least, not in the way that Jack thinks they can be fixed. There’s a lot of hurt goin’ around, an’ most of it ain’t even mine. So, I can’t promise nothin’. But I guess… I could stand to let up on him some,” he agrees with a sigh. Then, nonsensically, he adds, “It ain’t his fault, really, even though absolutely it is.”

“Thank you,” Maggie says, deciding not to probe further. “I know it’s probably none of my business.”

Racetrack snorts.

“You’re the last person that should be thanking me,” he says, with a grim sort of smile. “But I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Racetrack leans back on his heels, his gaze making its way around the room again, and his eyes land on one of the tarped-over pieces.

“Beatin’ himself up, you said?” he wonders, stepping closer to it. He lifts hand as if to uncover it, but he only reaches for a corner of the sheet, twisting it around between his fingers. “I shoulda figured.”

“What do you mean?” Maggie asks, not following.

“You know,” Racetrack says, unhelpfully. “Jack and his paintings.”

“His… paintings?”

“All these?” Race says, gesturing around, looking a little confused that he has to explain. “These are all Jack’s. He paints the backdrops for the shows here.”

“Jack paints?” Maggie asks, surprised.

“You didn’t know?” Race questions. “Yeah, he’s into all kinds of artsy stuff—drawing, painting—and he’s real good at it.”

“I knew he could draw,” Maggie says, feeling the strange need to defend her limited knowledge. “I mean, I've seen his comics in the paper. That’s how we met.”

Racetrack waves a dismissive hand. “No, yeah, he does the weekly comic ‘cause it’s good money and ‘cause he likes ta rub Joe’s nose innit, but he’d paint for Medda for free, jus’ ‘cause he loves it so much. Oh, don’t worry, Ms. Medda’s a good lady, she keeps things square, don’t take advantage or nothin’,” Racetrack hurries to assure her, misreading the expression that’s settled across her face. “I jus’ meant, this is the kind art he really loves.”

“He’s never mentioned,” Maggie murmurs, taking in the assortment of covered canvases with new eyes. “I had no idea.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Jack,” Racetrack says, rolling his eyes. “He and Ms. Medda got some kinda deal—she gives him the supplies and the space to work and he gets to use whatever ain’t needed for the theater for his own projects. Judgin’ by all the stuff that’s lyin’ around, he’s been at it a lot, recently. Says it helps him think. Don’t take it personal, he gets kind weird about it. None of even knew about it until after the strike an’ he don’t hardly show ‘em to anybody except—“ he coughs, fumbling for words, then continues, “—uh, except when, uh, Ms. Medda wants to check on his progress. For the shows, I mean.”

But that wasn’t what he was going to say. And they both know it.

“Oh,” Maggie says softly. And to think that she’d been so nervous about this meeting in the days leading up to it. How silly she’d been. “I see.”

“Aw, hell,” Racetrack groans. “I didn’t— I wasn’t gonna say anythin’. Really, I wasn’t! But…” He gives a helpless sort of shrug. “You saw ‘em yourself. You saw how they were. You don’t even need’ta say anythin’.”

Maggie closes her eyes.

“…No,” she agrees after a moment. “I suppose you don’t.”

“Please don’t tell him,” Racetrack begs. “Jack, I mean. He doesn’t know, and he’s definitely not gonna take it well if you storm outside and tell him.”

Then it’s Maggie’s turn to stare.

“What do you mean, he doesn’t know?” she demands, hands on her hips. “How on Earth can he not know?”

Racetrack winces. “He… hasn’t noticed, yet.”

Maggie takes a deep breath. Then she takes another, deeper breath.

“So, he hasn’t been stringing me along maliciously, is what you’re saying?”

“No!” Racetrack assures her, and it sounds like the truth even though it looks like he’d rather be literally anywhere else but here, explaining this to her. Maggie feels about the same. “No, I think he really does care about’cha. It’s jus’ that…”

“He cares about him, more,” she finishes for him.

“Yeah,” Racetrack says. Then, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Maggie sighs. “So, the two of them…?”

“Yes and no.”

“Well, is it yes or is it no?”

“It’s complicated,” Racetrack says. “Ta be honest with ya, you’ve been most of the complication.”

Okay then.

“That’s certainly one way of putting it,” she says faintly. “God, what a mess.”

“Tell me about it,” Racetrack mutters, and they share a weary, companionable look.

“I won’t tell him,” Maggie finally decides. “Not tonight, anyway. I need some time to figure out what I want to say, how best to end things… I cannot believe I’m going to have to break it to my own boyfriend that he’s in love with someone else.”

“…Sorry,” Racetrack offers once again. He does not, Maggie notices, offer to help, but given how the two of them have been fighting—why they’ve been fighting—she really can’t blame him. “But, uh… what are you gonna do in the meantime?”

There are a lot of ways she could answer: flippant, hysterical, furious, despondent.

She thinks of the kiss Jack pressed to her hairline, of the way his hands settle over her shoulders or high on her back but never around her waist, of how she’d been the one to ask him out all those weeks ago.

Then she thinks of the dark blue yarn she’d picked up the other day, the fingerless gloves that are nearly finished, just waiting for her to pick up her knitting needles when she gets home.

She smiles sadly, and her response is more honest than she’d intended, though perhaps not as straightforward as he’d like. It’s all she can muster up at this point. “Seems I’ve got some stitches that’ll need to be ripped out.”

00000

Special shout out to @the-broadsword-and-the-book , @livininmyhead , @claireverlasting and @sapphosboy for beta/test reading part of this chapter for me! I so, so appreciate your help with this 🙌🏼

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