#perhaps you could try a mime

[jessieren]

And another… watching him speak with his hands is like a lesson in semaphore… but with more movement 😁

[devildomcuties]

Obey Me: Raspberries [Demon Brothers]

thank you so much for the request! I hope you enjoy it :)

🕷 paring: demon brothers x gn!reader 18+

🕷 summary: Raspberries and tummy kisses.

🕷 wc: 2.2k

🕷 warnings: pet names (love, treasure, babe, hun, cupcake), hickeys, biting, oral sex, cum swallowing, making out, MC puts on lipstick

🕷 date: April 21, 2024

Lucifer

You savored every private moment with Lucifer. Most nights you snuck out of your bedroom and climbed the stairs, making sure none of the brothers spotted you entering Lucifer's bedroom. 

“At this point, love, perhaps we should consider acquiring bunk beds,” Lucifer states as you shut his bedroom door. 

“And why would we do that when you have a perfectly giant bed for the two of us?” You ask as you climb into bed beside him. 

“You do make a good point,” Lucifer chuckles as he wraps an arm around you. He’s shirtless like always when he gets into bed. His sweatpants hang low on his hips and you roll over to face him. Your leg slides between both of his as you place your hand on his chest. 

“Lie down,” you commanded and Lucifer hesitated before lying under you. He eyes you curiously as you straddle his hips.

Slowly, you kiss his neck, sucking on the one spot that drives him wild. He moans your name, his hands gripping the sheets as you sink your teeth into his neck. 

“No marks,” he reminds you breathlessly as your tongue licks over the bite and you kiss your way down his perfectly sculpted torso. 

Lucifer sits up on his elbows, his black hair disheveled from the mountain of pillows beneath him. He licks his lips when you kiss his hip, sucking gently for a moment. 

“You know, there’s this thing we do back home,” you giggle as you sit up, grinning mischievously.

Lucifer quirks his head, befuddled. 

“What is it, love?”

You don’t answer him. You lean forward and kiss around his belly button, tracing it with your tongue. You lick your lips and do your best to hide your wicked grin before you lean down and blow raspberries on his stomach. 

“What in the Devildom is that?” Lucifer’s eyes are wide with surprise. After all this time knowing you, you could still surprise him with your human qualities. 

“They’re called raspberries,” you explain as you do it again, and Lucifer rolls his eyes. You laugh before kissing his lips, moving to straddle him once again. 

“It is an odd feeling,” he says when he presses his forehead to yours. 

“It feels tingly for a bit on my lips,” you laugh before you find yourself on your back with Lucifer on top. 

“I supposed I could give it a try,” Lucifer states as he kisses your lips once more before kissing his way down to your belly button. 

Mammon

“Great Grimm! What are you doing here?!” Mammon asks as he’s caught in the act. 

“You mean in my bedroom?” You ask with a raised brow. You spot him with your pillow after catching him sniffing it. 

“Oh, yeah,” he laughs nervously as he sets your pillow down, his cheeks ablaze. 

Mammon lies on your bed, his arms tucked behind his head as he tries to appear nonchalant. You suspect he’s up to no good by how hard he’s trying to appear innocent. 

You spot his tummy exposed as you climb onto your bed. Mammon remains still as his eyes follow your movement. 

“Gonna tell me what you were up to?” You ask as you lift his shirt a little higher. Your fingers trace the smooth planes of his abdomen slowly. You note the slight change in his breathing, his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. 

“Just wanted to see you,” he clears his throat as he looks at your fingers. You lean forward after licking your lips and blow raspberries on his stomach. He jerks, eyes wide and full of surprise as he looks at you with his mouth wide open. 

“What do ya think you’re doing? What was that?!” He laughs as he shakes his head. It tickled but mostly surprised him. 

“Tell me the truth or I’ll do it again!” You threatened playfully. Mammon smirks, miming zipping his lips as you blow raspberries on him again. 

Mammon laughs, jerking beneath you as you do it twice more before he gives up. 

“Just so you know, Treasure, I get to do this to you next,” Mammon smiles smugly as you kiss the spot beneath his belly button. 

“Do your worst.”

Levi

“What kind of normie thing is this?” Leviathan asks as he stares at you with wide eyes. Solomon had managed to grab a few DVD sets of your favorite shows and now on screen, the protagonist was giving raspberries to her romantic partner.

You laugh. “They’re just raspberries.”

“They don’t look like fruit,” Levi is confused while you giggle. You motion for him to lay back in the tub, careful not to squish him too much though he loves it when you’re pressed tightly against him no matter how red his face turns. 

You’re slow with your movements. You lift his shirt to expose his belly button and he blushes but doesn’t stop you, his curiosity getting the best of him. 

Smiling, you lower his pants a bit as you lick your lips and press them to his skin. He curses, whispering your name as your tongue circles his belly button. You blow raspberries on him and he squeaks, covering his face as you do it again before kissing lower. 

“Can I go further?” You ask as your finger circles the button on his pants. 

“P-please,” he stutters as you undo the buttons of his pants and pull the zipper down. You give him plenty of time to tell you to stop but he doesn’t. Levi begs you to keep going as he lifts his hips as you tug his pants and boxers down. 

Levi gasps when your hand wraps around his cock, eyes rolling back when you spit on the head. 

“Oh, fuck,” Levi jerks his hips as you take him into your mouth. You bob up and down, slurping and sucking so hard his eyes roll back. No matter how many times you suck him off, he still gets so overwhelmed with pleasure he can hardly stand it. 

When he hits the back of your throat, he sees stars, hips jerking as he cums down your throat. He barely remembers how this started, something about raspberries?

Satan

“What are you doing?” Satan jumps when he hears your voice. 

“Shhh,” he hushed you as he shut the library door. He locks it and points to the couch. 

You take a seat, waiting for Satan to say or do something. 

“I stole this from Solomon’s room,” Satan explains as he shows you a book. “It’s got all sorts of Human World stuff.”

You nod. “You could have just asked me if you wanted to talk about human stuff. You know Solomon will realize sooner or later that you took his book without asking. Remember when you took the book on the ABC’s of Sex?”

Satan blushes, ignoring you as he grits his teeth. “I don’t recall.”

“Anyway,” you sigh, patting the spot beside you on the couch. Satan lies down when you push his shoulders, easily malleable under your hands. You’re the only one he would allow to treat him as such. 

Anyone else would be obliterated where they stand. 

You take the book from him after you straddle his lap, opening it to the first chapter. You skim through it while Satan grabs your hips. You read aloud, and Satan listens for the first few minutes until his hands move lower to grab your ass. You whisper a quick spell and the book flies from your hands and is narrated while you kiss Satan. 

Satan loses interest in the book as you deepen the kiss, your hands removing his shirt before kissing your way down his body. 

You pause at his stomach, taking your time to kiss every bit of skin. Satan moans softly, nearly whining beneath you as his cock grows hard. You palm him over his pants, licking your lips as you unbutton his pants. 

Satan’s gaze meets yours, his lip caught between his teeth. He’s about to beg you to keep going, when a loud knock startles the both of you. 

The stolen book falls to the carpeted floor with a soft thunk. 

“Satan! Give me back my book or I’ll blow the library to bits!” Solomon huffs as he knocks again. 

“Looks like he figured it out,” you smirk as you climb off Satan and grab the book. 

Asmo

“Oh, hun,” Asmo moans as you rub his shoulders. You had spent the evening pampering him. From a long, hot bath to a foot massage and a manicure. 

The two of you were spending the night together in bed. Tomorrow, he would take you on a grand date to celebrate your anniversary but tonight, you wanted him to feel good. 

Asmo curses when you move lower before kissing your way down his spine. The oil you used sticks to your lips, making them glossy. 

“Turn around,” you instruct and Asmo does so with a smile. 

“Hello again,” he giggles as you lean in to kiss him. Asmo sighs happily as you kiss your way down his body, marking his pretty skin with love bites. 

Asmo runs his fingers through your hair before reaching to the nightstand. He hands you a red lipstick that you apply. 

Asmo smiles when you kiss his body, leaving red lip marks on every bit of skin touched by your pretty lips. 

You reapply the lipstick, kissing the spot right below his belly button. You leave a mark on each hip, and one over his heart. Asmo grins as he looks down at you, pressing his lips to yours, smearing lipstick on both of your mouths. 

Tomorrow, he’ll still have the mark over his heart and someday he’ll have it permanently marked. 

Beel

Beel groaned as he set the weights down. He wiped his face with a towel and took his sweat-soaked shirt off. 

You wave from your spot on the floor where you finish stretching. Beel sits down beside you, stretching his legs before falling onto the clean towel you laid out for him. 

“Ah, I’m so hungry,” Beel laughs as he stares at the ceiling before he feels you climb over him. 

“Funny, so am I,” you smirk as you press your lips to his, moaning when he grabs your hips. You deepen the kiss for a moment, moaning his name before you leave a trail of kisses down his body. 

Your tongue circles his belly button, licking him up and down before tugging his shorts down. His hard cock greets you and your mouth waters at the sight as your hand wraps around him but your fingers never meet. 

You spit on the head of his cock, grinning when Beel moans your name. You lick your lips and then stick your tongue out. 

Beel grabs his cock, slapping the head on your tongue as you drool on yourself.

“Oh, Cupcake,” Beel grunts as you take him back into your mouth. He curses, rolling his hips as you stroke him. You wet your lips, puckering them to blow raspberries on the head of his cock. Beel groans, his eyes shut as you lick his length before you bob up and down.

Beel grabs the back of your head, cursing when you swallow and choke. You gasp for breath, allowing Beel to set the pace he likes before he’s pulling you off his cock. 

“I can’t wait anymore, babe. I need you,” Beel says before his lips meet yours. 

Belphie

Belphie had fallen asleep with your head on his lap. You told him about your day before you dozed off with his fingers in your hair. 

He tried to stay awake but he soon nodded off shortly after you. It would only be a couple of hours before someone interrupted the two of you, so he wanted to wake up after a short nap. 

When Belphie wakes up next, your lips are on his stomach. He feels the feather light touch of your lips repeatedly, only stopping when you see he’s awake. 

“We slept through the night,” you state with a sheepish smile. 

“Damn,” Belphie shakes his head. “I was hoping we’d get more time together.”

“I took care of it,” you inform him before you go back to kissing his stomach, gently sucking on his hip bone. Belphie moans your name, his hand grabbing the back of your neck to pull you into a toe-curling kiss that leaves you seeing stars. 

Soon, you’re beneath him as he trails kisses from your jaw down to your belly button. His name slips past your lips as you grip his hair in your hand just as he kisses right above your belly button. He kisses every inch of you before he tickles you. 

“Belphie!” You squeak before he kisses your hand. He blows a raspberry on your hip and you chuckle, pushing him away before you straddle him. 

“You play around too much,” you tell him as he kisses each of your wrists before pressing your hands together and placing them on the bed. 

“I do,” he admits with a yawn. “But I only give as much as you can take.”

“And how much can I take?” You goad him with a smirk. 

“How about we find out?” Belphie kisses you, his tongue meeting yours. His moans are music to your ears, and you kiss him harder, wanting to breathe him in completely, to devour every last bit of his being.

© devildomcuties - I do not allow reposts or translations of my work on any platforms.

[d6volution]

you, a little mime, just trying to keep quiet and stay out the way in this new and strange world, but the ringmaster doesn't seem to be too fond of your silence.

tags: afab reader x caine, dubious consent, fingering, creepy caine.

Caine hummed, straighting his tie in the mirror as he prepared himself to look his utmost best before introducing today's new adventure!

"Now, you see Bubble, as ringmaster I have to look absolutely prepared for any situation. That includes—" He turned to face bubble, squeezing his tie as it squirted water from it directly into the bubbles face. "Perfectly prepared to put a potential fire!~" He laughed at his own wacky joke, slapping knee in the process. "I don't see how that would really—"

"Quiet bubble!" Caine hushed his friend simply by scooping him into his hat. "Don't you hear that?"

Absolute silence.

"Exactly, I'm 2 minutes late for the introduction today!" He appeared in front of the digital circus crew in the blink of an eye.

What he didn't notice was the lonely mime hiding away in the corner.

So without a moments delay the ringmaster began yapping away until pomni awkward raised her hand.

"Uh.. Caine?"

"Yes, my colorful friend how can I help you!?" He pointed his Caine at the jester.

"Uh.. well— weee... sorta have a new member." Pomni pointed at the corner where you were hiding out.

"OH! Oh, dear! How rude of me! Why don't you come out, my dear, we don't bite!" Just then bubble suddenly popped from his hat without warning to quietly add, "Heh.. I do.." Caine rolled his eyes, "Come now, don't be shy!"

"Maybe you're just being too loud Caine, they seem a bit.. overwhelmed." Ragatha added with a reassuring chuckle, attempting to ease the uneasiness you were feeling.

"ME? LOUD? NEVER!"

With all eyes on you, it seemed like you had no choice but to stand up, gloomy as ever, and finally walked towards the crowd.. your colors seemed washed out compared to everyone else's, which in turn made you stand out a lot.

"Well then, what's your name? Or perhaps you need a new one!" Caine's voice seemed to drown out , you weren't listening to a word he was saying nor did were you planning on replying.

"Ah.. a quiet one then? No matter! I'm sure you'll open up in no time!" With his usual gleeful act he spun into the air.

"Now then! Where was I!?"

Caine did his usual spiel about the adventure, keeping his eye on you most of the time. You could feel his eyes on you, and it only causes you to curl in on yourself even more, attempting to make yourself less noticeable.

"Alright then! Off with you lot!~"

Just then, Jax popped up next to you comically , draping an arm around your shoulder as if you were old pals. "Get all that new kid?" You blinked a few times. "Yeah, yeah.." He seemed to fill in the spots where you'd normally be expected to reply. "Caine's a riot .....but, hey.. I'm sure you'll do juuusst fine.. heh." He was getting a kick from your expressions. They succeeded in doing all the talking for you.

You looked up, expecting the charismatic leader to still be floating in the air but he vanished.. you felt relief flood your body, the way he was eying you early made you feel.. uneasy.

The day was.. eventful to say the least.

You're relieved that no one really forced you to speak, opting for nodding yes and no instead.

See, you can speak.. you can you just haven't felt inclined to ever since you arrived here. It was strange, staying silent.. selectively mute almost. Right? Perhaps it had something to do with your new body. You looked like a sad little mime, after all.

"Hey , mime person— thing watch out!" Pomni rushed past you, and you failed to notice until now that all of the props in the circus came to life and chased everyone around. It was utter chaos, and you did beneath a table until someone finally found the solution to getting them back to normal.

Thanks, Ragatha.

All in all, it was an exceptionally draining day.

You followed behind the crowd at a distance, and gangle tried to close the gap a bit to make you feel more welcome in her own .. introverted way. Silently, you appreciated it..

....?

To your left, there was a stray floating eyeball watching closely as you walked by. Not the crowd ahead of you.. just you.

A shiver went up your spine.. surely it was just ! ... one of the props from earlier you all forgot to tame , yeah.. had to be.

You all had the infamous digital dinner, and headed back to your quarters.

So this is what life would be like now?

No— no, you can't give into that idea so easily it has to be a dream— "Oof! Eyes up here dear! Wouldn't want to get hurt now do we?"

Two large gloved hands rested on your shoulders and steadied you. Blinking away the dizziness you looked up, .. Caine!

Immediately you stumbled back and out of his grip before falling onto your ass, you winced quietly but not quietly enough that Caine didn't notice.

"Ahh, so you can make noise! Here I thought your vocal cords were— well who knows! Glad to see their working my dear! Now, I think it's best we get to know each other a little better."

He yanked you back up unceremoniously and you sucked in a breath at the suddenness of it all. But.. still you didn't respond.

"Oh, don't be modest my dear you can speak to your hearts content little one!" It was starting to sound more like a command if anything but you shook your head and attempted to walk past him to get to the safety to your room instead.

You don't know why you expected this to work, he appeared right in front of you causing you to plant into his chest face first.

"Ah, of course ! You must be excited to show off your new room hmm?" He opened up the door and moved aside causing you to stumble in, losing your footing you planted face first on the carpet. Caine's eyes lingered on your rear end for a moment too long before you finally gathered your bearings.

He cleared his throat. "Hm."

How awkward. Your eyes tried to look everywhere but him, the wall the floor the little knick knacks that adorned your dresser.

Without warning the ring master gripped your waist with both hands, sending a shiver up your spine and another pathetic sound left your lips.

"My, my I think I MAY have cracked the code~!" He grinned and allowed his hands to pull you in closer, hands snaking up your waist just along the swell of your clothed breast. You made another sound.

The prick was toying with you just to get some noise out of you.

"Humans are sensitive here arent they? What silly little creatures you are!" Another beat and his gloved hands cupped your breasts squeezing them without holding back.

"S.. Stop..." You finally spoke up, bit it was hardly a whisper.

"Hmm? I couldn't quite hear you dear!" His pupils were blown wide, and for a moment you felt relief as his hands trailed away from your breast and down to the hem of your shirt instead.

You thought it was over, until a cool breeze hit your now bare breast. The bastard yanked your top upwards and immediately started tweaking and pinching your nipples, causing them to harden. You whimpered and shook your head, scrambling in his grip which only seemed to tighten.

You could feel hot his breath hitting your neck.

" ...please.."

"What a darling voice you have dear, what a shame you want to keep it from everyone! ... why don't you let me hear a bit more, hmm?" He asked, voice laced with desperation now. He'd lost the original reasoning of why he was doing this, right now he just wanted to hear more of your pretty voice.

Yes, the voice that made his slacks tighten and his breathing to become heavy.

He needed more, and you'd have no choice but to give the ring master what he wanted.

"How about here?" He inquired , removing one hand from your chest and cupped your sex instead. Fingers rubbing along your clothed folds.

"Nh...!" Your eyebrows furrowed, it was so hard not to give in. Not to make noise, you didn't know how long you'd be able to last.

Your knees were getting weak , buckling in on themselves. He held your body close to his as you both slid to the floor unceremoniously. Caine used this to his advantage and hunched overtop of you, your face pressed to the floor and ass in the air now.

Your head felt dizzy and your legs trembled.

His gloved hand ran along your ass before it giving it a slap, and you yelped. Causing him to shudder in delight. "Oh dear me! My hand seems to have a mind of its own." He looked at his hand accusingly, before it rested on your behind just for a moment.

He lingered in silence , debating his next move. His thoughts so were jumbled right now, but he couldn't help himself. After this.. he'd stop, yes just this last thing.

He yanked your bottoms down and you immediately scrambled and tried to sit up , but he pushed a gloved hand on your back to keep you still. "Now, now none of that. You've been very stubborn up until now my dear. It's only fair you receive a little more punishment, yes?" He sounded amused, desperate and absolutely delighted all at once.

"N.. No.. no.." You whined, but your body was hot and secretly wanting more. Release.. something.

"SEE! Look how far you've come, speaking more words now then you have all day!" He chuckled before plunging a finger into your wet sex. You gasped, back arching and your gummy walls tightening around his finger. "Hmn.. there we are

..." He hummed and thrusted his finger in and out, your soft pants were enough to keep him satiated at the moment.

After a few moments, he slipped in another finger, and you reached back, grabbing his wrist, trying to push him away, shaking your head.

But he wouldn't let up, his fingers were slamming into your sex , the room filling with the wet sounds your sloppy cunt was producing.

This was wrong.. right? But it felt so good, too good. Your body was on fire. You couldn't think about anything besides the fingers pummeling in and out of you, secretly wishing it was something bigger.

"Please— g-gonna.. hhaa.." Your body locked up, tightening around his fingers and spasming like crazy. He seemed amused at how fast the coil inside of you seemed to snap. Still his fingers moved , his other hand gently caressing your back as you yelped and pleaded because of the overstimulation.

He watched you tremble and whine for a few seconds more before finally removing his fingers, licking them clean with his oversized tongue.

Your breathing was returning to normal, but your body still felt tingly buzzing with the aftershock of pleasure.

"See? I knew you could do it! perhaps more exercises like this would be helpful, don't you think?" It was a rhetorical question, not like you'd answer anyways. Caine pulled your pants back up, leaving you in your sticky clothes, but at least not naked for all the world to see.

"OH DEAR! Would you look at the time!? You'd better get some rest dear , wouldn't want to be late to tomorrow's adventure, would you?" He winked, and just like that, he was gone.

[sleepymccoy]

Universal translator headcanons:

Spock speaks English perfectly and is not using the translator, not even when he doesn't recognise a word. He insists on learning it old school style. When he uses a translator he tries to learn the words as best he can for future reference and now has a strange hodge podge of vocab across various languages

Uhura uses the translator to speak, but she does so to practice speaking a different language every day. It's translated into English but she could be speaking Estonian or Andorian. She's happy using the translator cos she basically built it

Chekhov didn't realise you could use the translator at work and is pissed off to discover he's been struggling through conversations that could've just been translated by tech for him. Scotty even says it can keep your accent as a sort of respected identity feature!

Scotty is speaking English but he uses the translator purely to give himself a thicker-than-actual Scottish accent. If you subscribe to the Scotty is Canadian and stuck doing the accent after a bad joke theory, this fits. If you think he's Scottish, this is just him keeping that front and centre

McCoy uses the translator less than you'd think, he's conversational in a handful of common languages like Cantonese, French, and Denobulan. He's learning Vulcan but it's not clicking for him, perhaps because he hasn't told Spock he's trying to learn so isn't practicing as much as he should

Kirk uses the translator when he needs to without worrying about it. His area of expertise isn't languages and he's happy to rely on his crew to supply that if the translator goes down. He does, however, know just about every greeting phrase there is across the galaxy just in casies

Sulu can really only speak english, but when he's talking to someone from home he uses a translator to another language to maintain some privacy. His family are used to having to translate his video messages back into English

Chapel uses the translator when needed, but will always try to have a conversation in English first. She's possibly the most normal about the translator tbh

Rand will invariably try to communicate via mime or grunts or anything else before pulling out the translator. She thinks it sanitises conversations and obfuscates tone. But she will resort to it when needed, reluctantly

[throneofsapphics]

taking a vacation with feysand and/or nessian

poly!feysand x reader & poly!nessian x reader

summary: for poly!acotar week day 4, adventure

warnings: none, very brief suggestiveness

a/n: look ... I messed up the dates and it might be barely but I still made it. here's some drabbles/ headcannons!

poly!Nessian x Reader

Perhaps surprisingly, Cassian insisted on planning it all as well as keeping it a surprise. Normally, he’d give in to either of you with enough pestering, but this time he was an iron wall, not a single clue or hint given to either of you. 

He pinched his thumb and forefinger together before drawing them across his lips, even miming tossing a key over his shoulder. You rolled your eyes, but a fond smile crept on to your lips.  “What if I promise not to tell Nes?” He snorted, and you lifted and dropped your shoulders. It was worth a try - but they both knew you were terrible at keeping secrets from either of them.  "It was worth a shot," you mumbled, redirecting your attention to the book on your lap. A shadow covered you, two fingers tilting your chin up. He pressed a kiss against your forehead, chapped lips lingering for a few seconds. "It'll be worth the wait," he reassured, confidence flowing through every word, not a hint of bullshit. Your eyes narrowed, but you gave a nod. Seemingly content, Cassian placed a too-brief kiss to your lips before making his way out of the room.

Nesta was a tad anxious over how his planning would turn out 

“It’s not if it’ll be a disaster, it’s how much of a disaster.”  “Have a little more faith in him,” you chastised, quickly looking away as she turned her glare on you.  “We don’t get much … time free together,” Nesta sighed, and you carefully covered her hand with your own. “I want everything to go well.”  “We’ll be together,” you insisted. “That’s good enough for me.”  Her mouth curved at one corner, a grateful look shot your way, her hand turning up so your palms met, her fingers wrapping around yours and squeezing. 

Cassian was impressed with himself, and firmly believed he had every right to be. He hoped both of you would as well. Mother above, he’d sworn an oath to Tarquin for this. 

“The blindfold is a little extreme,” you grumbled, fidgeting with the cloth knot at the back of your head. Cassian gently swatted your hand down.  “We’re almost there.”  Nesta was quiet next to you, her hand steady in yours, but you could nearly taste the anxious energy rolling from her. You gave her what you hoped was a comforting squeeze.  Salt, and sea, and sand hit you at once, along with a scent distinct to one place …  The knot loosened at the back of your head and you tore the cloth off, rapidly taking in your surroundings. You weren’t in Adriata, but it was unmistakably the summer court.  “Cassian,” you hissed, “you’re banned, for life.”  “I promise we’re fine,” he grinned, and produced a paper from his pocket, holding it out to you with a flourish. Nesta peered over your shoulder as you carefully unraveled it. A letter - attesting Cassian and company were allowed to access this beach and a rental vacation home for the next seven days, signed by Tarquin himself. 

poly!Feysand x Reader

Feyre and Rhys argued over where to take you - in their minds, of course. It seemed the only thing they could agree on was to keep it a surprise. You watched them, eyes glazed, but lips pursed - obviously in some kind of mental argument with each other. A crease formed between Feyre's brow, Rhys's lips pressing into a tight line. You didn't like that. Especially considering you were nearly certain it was related to you somehow, otherwise they would've spoken aloud. Clearing your throat, you tried your best to get their attention. Nothing. "Right, I'm heading out," you finally called. Still no response. The sting and small sense of hurt came naturally, and you let the door slam behind you a little louder than you usually would. Rhys's muffled voice came after the slam but you were already out the door. "I'll make it up to you later, darling," Rhys's voice slid into your mind, smooth and full of promise. "I'll look forward to it," you didn't know if it was possible for your voice to be breathy in your own head, but you certainly gave your best impression of it.

Feyre packed for you, of course.

You perched on the edge of the bed as Feyre started rummaging through the drawers. First, she picked up a sundress with thin straps and flowing fabric that would just brush the middle of your thighs - ideal for hot weather. Next came a thick woolen cloak. You tilted your head, catching her eye in the mirror. "How many places are we going?" "Oh," she carefully folded a long sleeved shirt, "just one." Your mouth parted, but she answered the next question for you. "We can't have you spoiling the surprise." A laugh bubbled from your chest. Their secrecy had only made you more determined in turn, and it turned into something of a game for you over the last week.

Rhys had scouted the location no less than six times in the week before, Feyre accompanying him for a few of the trips. He knew it was safe, but with you he had to be certain.

Your back pressed against his chest, his hand covering your eyes, you winnowed - holding your breath at the sensation that never quite felt comfortable. As soon as you hit solid ground, you attempted to peel his fingers away from your eyes, but his grip was firm. "Rhys," you hissed, and he laughed but released you. Jaw dropping, you spun in a circle. Feyre stood with her hands clasped in front of her, shifting back and forth. An island. "Where," you cleared your throat, "where are we?" "An island not far off the coast," Rhys wrapped an arm around your waist, slowly turning you. You felt Feyre smooth fingers grasp your other hand, thumb brushing over the back of your hand. Rhys was still speaking, you realized and focused back in. "You can see Velaris," his voice was laced with a touch of amusement that told you he was well aware your attention wandered. Sure enough, there was a cluster of lights, but appearing barely larger than your fingertip. Twisting your head over a shoulder, you spotted the ... cabin was an understatement. Mini-palace waiting for you. Shrugging away from Rhys's grip, switching to grasp his hand instead, you tugged them both forward, their laughter trailing behind you.

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Divisa; Two

Pairings; LADS OT4 x reader

Word count; 1, 771

Themes; reality hopping, alt universe (same universe but something is a little...different), doppelganger, multiple endings, slowburn

Warnings; Excessive swearing

Notes; Words with a " * " by them will be explained at the end of the chapter <3

Hey guys! Finally onto chapter 2 of Divisa! I could've made this longer, but I wasn't sure I'd have a stopping point if I continued so if the ending seems abrupt– that's why. Also, there will be a ton of posts today, none are too important. Just the Divisa Masterlist, the page to navigate to each character moodboard, annnd the five moodboards!

Now, please do bear in mind that the Love Interests moodboard will have spoilers pertaining to their backstories, so if you don't want to seem them, then look past the bio and look at the pictures I included! 🩷 I know I probably shouldn't post any spoilers for this since I'm only on chapter two and no character is fully fleshed out just yet but...I wanted to! If anything in their bio changes in the future, I just thought of something better. That's all.

prev || next

☆ Masterlist ☆

“What're you talking about?” Your brows knit toward and you try to grab the photo from him, but Sylus holds it above his head.

“Ezekiel L/n. Forty-five years old. His pregnant girlfriend went missing over twenty-three years ago when a rift opened in their downtown apartment complex.” The man finally decides to quit teasing you and sets the photo in your hand.

“He's been a Hunter for over twenty-six years, so it's hard to not know him.”

That's…odd. From your knowledge of the games, the first Deepspace Tunnel opened in 2034 with the Chronorift Catastrophe…so how come the dates are off?

You clear your throat, snatching your wallet back to tuck the photo back safe inside. “Well, I don't know him.” You look away from Sylus.

Something about this felt…

This whole ordeal felt off.

How the hell was your father from here?? If your mom clearly has pictures with this man, could it just be a coincidence? That, perhaps, your father just so happens to resemble this man?

“You don't know your own father?” Sylus hums, tapping his index finger against his temple.

“Never met him before.” You sigh, setting your coin purse onto the table. “Look, are you going to buy anything or not? I'm done talking about my family issues.” You cross your arms over your chest and you can tell Sylus is thinking about his response before there's a knock on the door.

One of the men walks over to Sylus, whispering something to him, and you hear Sylus click his tongue. “That damn fish…” He sounds annoyed, but he nods his head.

“Sure, let him in.”

“It appears you have another buyer.” Sylus waves his hand and the coin purse gets wrapped in a reddish black mist, before it floats into his hand.

As he opens the purse to look through the coins, a second person enters the room.

What in the main character luck…

A purple haired man dressed in a sleek suit waltzes over to Sylus, crossing his arms over his chest as he stands over the other man. “Were you trying to monopolize all of these rare artifacts?” The man clicks his tongue. “Seriously, Carrion*, you know I need antique coins for my showcase next month.”

“If I were the seller, Betta*, I wouldn't sell you a damn thing. Considering you ignored them.” Sylus glances up from your coin purse and jerks his head in your direction.

You were silent as the familiar purple-haired man turned to look at you. You knew your face was covered so he wouldn't immediately recognize you, but your body broke out in a cold sweat in fear that he might realize who you could be, just by looking at your eyes.

“Wait…” The man's eyes narrow as he takes the seat closest to you. “Can you..” He motions toward his face, miming the action of pulling down a mask. “You seem familiar.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and your eyes dart over to Sylus, coincidentally meeting his eyes and he chuckles. He shakes his head and pats Betta on the shoulder. “Tone it down a bit, yeah? She's in a bit of shock. Introduce yourself first before you scare off a big catch.”

“I'll use my real name then, if she's so worried. Rafayel.” He holds his hand out toward you and you grab his fingers, shaking his hand that way instead. “We use code names at the Nest, not that it matters since we have easily recognizable faces. Carrion is Sylus. But you can use a code name, if you want. It seems like you're a little worried about revealing your identity.”

“Ah…” you ponder for a moment before you finally make a decision on your codename. You definitely couldn't use your own name, so you settled on the nickname your mom gave you in the womb.

“You can call me Comet.”

“Alright then, Comet…So what had her so shocked?” Rafayel turns to look at Sylus and the white haired man pauses his search once more with an annoyed sigh.

“She was shocked to learn that her father is Ezekiel L/n.” Is all he says and Rafayel's head snaps in your direction.

“Wait, seriously?” He looks you up and down before you sigh and pull the photo back out. “So it is true…Wait. I know him. He commissioned a painting a while back and..” he taps his finger against the half with your mom on it.

“He wanted a painting of her. I finished it, but I could never find him again to hand it over.”

“Can I have it?” You can't stop yourself from asking and your hand quickly flies up to cover your masked mouth.

Rafayel chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “If I can find a 2000 Sacagawea, a 1947 Silver Walking Liberty half dollar, and a 2023 Silver Peace Dollar then I'll gladly give you it– as long as I don't have to pay for my coins.” He flashes you a smile. “Deal?”

“I have no idea what my grandma had, but if you can find what you're looking for…” You shrug, clasping your hands together. “Then, sure. It's a done deal.”

“Perfect. You're a lifesaver. My up-coming showcase is called ‘A glimpse into the Past’ and it's going to be filled with unique artworks based on antiques like those.” Then, Rafayel turns to grab the coin purse from Sylus, who promptly smacks his hand.

“Wait your turn, Betta.”

Seems like Sylus refuses to call Rafayel by his name…Either way, it's very odd to see the two of them interacting, however it makes sense. They're the only two that would ever step foot into the Nest, besides Xavier, of course.

“Has Velveteen* stopped by recently? I'm sure he'd love to find some air and space commemorative coins.” Rafayel speaks after he finally got his hands on your coin purse, dumping it out on the table in front of him to sift through the change.

“He just got done with a little hunter's mission, so I'm sure he's gone home for a nap.” Sylus taps his index finger against his temple before he looks through the bills in his hand.

Since all you could do was sit in silence, you could…theorize on who Velveteen is?

It's definitely a type of rabbit…and he's a hunter…and he takes a lot of naps…

There's no way they know Xavier, right?

Nah, that would be…Well, that would be crazy, but everything that's happened today could be considered crazy so it wouldn't be a long shot for Xavier and Velveteen to be the same person…

After a few hours of looking, you finally got your big paycheck. It was a surprisingly large amount of money, and you were left with no leftover coins or bills.

You tuck your cash filled wallet back into your back and stand up. As you do, Rafayel slips a business card into your hand.

“You have a phone, right?” As he asks, he takes his own out and looks at you expectantly. “You can come over to my studio and pick up the painting.”

“Ah…” You'd rather not risk running into yourself– Gemini – so after you type his number in and call him so he can save your number, you clear your throat. “I’d prefer to meet up at Meow’s cafe or in Azure Square, if that's alright.”

“Hmm? Oh, that's fine with me. See you later, Comet.” Rafayel pockets his phone and his three coins before he leaves.

You let out a sigh of relief and put on your backpack, getting ready to leave as well, but then a hand grabs your wrist. Your eyebrows furrow and you turn around with an annoyed look in your eyes before you realize Sylus is who grabbed you.

“You need something else?” You relax your face and glance down at his hand around your wrist.

“I saw you were looking for a place to stay. Try finding the Moonflower apartments. You might find what you're searching for there.” Sylus lets go of your hand with a small smile and you're left wondering what exactly he meant by that.

Once outside of the Nest, you first head to a convenience store to grab some essentials like food, a few drinks, a notepad, and a pen before you try to find a place to crash for the night.

As you walk down the sidewalk, a voice catches your attention.

“Excuse me, Miss?”

You turn in the direction and spot a woman. She looks about ten years older than your mom.

“Me?” You look around, pointing at your chest and she nods, beckoning you over.

While you felt this was a stupid idea, you decided to shove down your instincts and approach the woman. Once you were close enough, her hands darted out to grab your own.

“You seem familiar.” She questions. “You…don't appear to be from here.”

Your eyes widen and you try to pull away from her grip, but she's a lot stronger than she looks.

“What the hell is wrong with you!?”

Bop

“Ouch!” You cover your head with your hands as you pout. “Geez lady, what's your deal?” You rub the back of your head, your skull lightly throbbing from where she smacked you.

“You've got less manners than your mother.” She clicks her tongue, rubbing her palm with a thumb. She must've hurt her hand when she hit you– serves her right.

Wait–

“How did you know my mom?” You ask with a hand on your hip.

“I first met her twenty-four years ago on this very street.” The older woman muses. “She appeared just as confused as you are now…She reminded me of my late daughter, so I took her in for a few days. A few days turned to months…then a year. She told me everything. I was even by her side when she was pregnant with her–” she lightly hits your shoulder, “–ungrateful child.”

“I'm sorry, lady!” You hold your hands up in defeat. “I seriously didn't know who you were.”

“That's alright, dearie. I didn't expect you to…It was just an old crone's wishful thinking.” She laughs before it turns into a hacking cough. “Sorry, the name's Josephine. Enough with all of that, it seems you need a place to stay. Why don't you stay at your mom's old place? I haven't touched it since she left.”

“My mom's…place?” You echo her words. Your nails biting into your palm as your hand clenched into a fist and you quickly nodded your head. “Sure, where is it?”

“I'll take you there…It's room 013 at the Moonflower apartments.”

I know this is really short, but I'm hoping my moodboards and other posts will make up for it! <3 The next chapter will probably be around 2k or 3k, I'm not too sure yet. I've only barely started it.

I hope I didn't lose you on the old coins portion. I was looking up antique coins and I found a bunch of ones that would look pretty as artwork! You don't need to know what they look like to enjoy the story, though.

*Carrion— a species of crow, they're known to harass predators and competitors that come in their territory

*Betta— a type of fish, known for their aggressive personalities. These types of fish are also intelligent; able to make calculated decisions based on specific details

*Velveteen— a breed of rabbit, but also a children's story. This breed of rabbit is most active during dawn or dusk, and prefers to sleep during the day and evening; in the children's story, this rabbit is said to long for love and friendship.

Taglist; @ladyparamount , @the-love-of-my-life96 , @rui-drawsbox , @deputy-videogamer , @yoongi-tunes , @fallenfromgrxce , @msturi2u , @myheartfollower, @schwnapps

[peachdues]

Happy Sunday. Enjoy a last teaser at some of the building ✨tension✨ between Giyuu and Reader in The Great War

The Water Pillar returned exactly one week after Y/N had given him the home-cooked salmon – but he did not return empty-handed. For there, wrapped in the same furoshiki cloth, was a strange, oblong object, sitting in the palm of his hand though if he thought it heavy, Tomioka gave no indication.

“What’s this?” Y/N leaned curiously over the Pillar’s outstretched hand and squinted, trying to discern what the cloth could have been concealing.

Tomioka pushed his hand toward her, beseeching her to take the parcel from him. “A knife.”

The Shrine Maiden looked up at him in alarm, pulling away from the Water Pillar. “Why on earth would I need a knife?”

He rolled his eyes. “Protection.”

“From what?” The Miko wrinkled her nose down at his offering, though there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “As I recall, I walloped you just fine with my broom.”

Tomioka shot her a dull look. “Be that as it may, cleaning tools are useless against demons. Without the sun, the only thing that works against them is this — its metal is unique.”

He parted the folds of the cloth to reveal a simple blade, though Y/N found it daunting all the same. The hilt was basic, an unembellished metal handle wrapped in plain black leather. The blade itself was an unassuming silver, slightly longer than her hand.

The Slayer motioned for her to take it, though she only shrunk away. “You know how to use one, yes?”

The Miko’s eyes met his, wide and anxious. “For domestic uses, of course, but not –”

Tomioka’s fingers closed around her wrist and lifted, guiding her hand toward the dagger. His hand moved to cover hers, wrapping them both around the hilt of the blade before squeezing. “Grip it like this,” he held their joined hands up for her to inspect. “Keep your hand in a fist; do not lift your fingers away from the grip – that’s the best way to injure yourself instead of your target.”

But Y/N could hardly focus on the Pillar’s instructions, her attention entirely directed at the way her hand was swallowed by his, his skin warm and his grasp firm. She studied how his calluses – thick and forged from years of brutal sword training – pressed against hers; how, despite the roughness of his fingers and palms, and his solid hold still remained gentle.

“-- and thrust like this,” he remained oblivious to her distraction as moved her arm in a sharp jab, a second and third time, before dropping her hand. “Now do it yourself.”

His command startled her out of her trance, a heat creeping up her neck from beneath the collar of her kosode. She held out the blade awkwardly before her as scrambled to recall the Water Pillar’s words. To her dismay, all she was able to conjure was the memory of his touch, and how cold she suddenly felt without it.

Lamely, she mimed jutting the knife at an invisible enemy, the blade gracelessly wobbling through the air. Though she was by no means a swordsman, even she knew something was off, her movements disjointed and clumsy.

She glanced shyly back to the raven-haired Demon Slayer and deflated as she was met only with bemused resignation.

Tomioka shook his head in disdain. “Perhaps you would fare better with a broom.”

The Miko bristled. “I am not a swordsman —“

“You’ve made that abundantly apparent.”

“— and I do not have the basics you seem to take for granted.” She finished, glaring indignantly at her raven-haired companion. “So teach me.”

The Water Pillar considered her for a moment before he gave her the slightest, almost imperceptible nod of his head.

[cherri-ying]

Sing for me, little Nightingale (Yan! Scaramouche x Reader)

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56024689

Felines are deserving of their accolades. Merit embodies their nimble spines and ductile limbs; bodies like pliable sand, threading their way through knots, twists, cavities and labyrinths. The prince of the hunt flexes and swipes his talons and his victims are swift to falter, their necks wringed and their spines contorted in ways that are unnatural to their physicality.

“I’ve got you now.”

At times, though, even a cat doesn't remain undefeated.

“How stupid are you to think that a cheap disguise would work against me?” He almost sounds amused, his words an arctic hiss against your ear. Reaching up, Scaramouche claws at the thick cloak that veils your face and tears it to your shoulders. Your hair is quick to mime the departed elements, hanging in disarray across your face. A mantilla of unkempt tresses, veiling whatever thoughts sketch your visage.

The Balladeer regards the sight of your person with a sort of contemptuous delight. Forcefully knelt at his feet with your wrists bound behind you and your head drooped in defeat—or in pensiveness. It's a shame Zapolyarny is so devoid of windows. What light finds it's way into these all-too familiar stone chambers is too sparse to see what expression you're making.

“Well? Say something. Or have I rendered you incapable of speech?”

Tentatively—begrudgingly—you tip your head back, back, back until your irises lock with the hypnotic indigo tinctures belonging to the puppet who leers dauntingly above you. Locks of such a hue that only you could wear part like the red sea, revealing a thin, perhaps solemn, ambiguous smile—the last expression the harbinger could anticipate. Or desire.

“Thwarted again, hm?” You chuckle and it sounds like frost, “and I even took extensive measures to conceal my tracks. No good?”

“Failures are bound to repeat themselves.” Scaramouche doesn't nuisance himself with that syrupy facade he wears to rope his targets right between his molars. Malice is a noisome stench in the air as he adds, “This is the seventh time I’ve had to retrieve you. I'd figure you’d have learned your lesson by now, but time after time you insist on making yourself a burden to fetch.”

“There's no harm in trying, is there?” You maintain that strange curve on your plush lips. It’s difficult to tell what you're thinking, or feeling.

“‘No harm’, yet you delude yourself into believing that a time would come when you could successfully evade me. I wonder how long it’ll take until those dreams of yours crumble and die.”

“You know, there’s a word for what you are,” you state after a thoughtful pause. “I think it’s called: overbearing.”

What a strange person, with a strange smile. Normally, Scaramouche would meet such defiance by smiting his poor victim to dust within the blink of an eye. In your displays of resolve, though, the invincible harbinger finds himself crouching to your level, trailing a slender hand against your windpipe. How easily he could squeeze the life from your throat until you begs for reprieve; choke you of your indignation. Instead, he allows it to linger there without purpose, applying no pressure, grasping nothing.

“And there’s a word for what you are.” He nearly whispers. Difficult. Stubborn. Irrevocably his. “Irrational, when I only want what’s best for you. And what’s best for you, is to offer me your complete submission.”

“Even though I’d sooner offer my life than yield to you?” A new tone makes itself heard in your cadence. Such words, such simple, few words, reveal what lingers beneath your otherwise indifferent facade.

Sagacious. Provocative. Challenging.

Of course, you're testing the boundaries of Scaramouche's resolve, as he does with yours. Suddenly, the atmosphere is taut and palpable with tension for what may become of the future.

Sly, sly little songbird.

Something most unanticipated happens, and you reveal your hands, which you freed from their binds. Maybe it shouldn’t surprise Scaramouche, what with your prowess in the art of escape, but regardless your smile stretches in the presence of the astonishment that lifts his eyebrows and makes his eyes flash white, if only briefly. You take your time observing such a paltry display of rare, raw, emotion, how it shapes the contours of his features at the command of your actions. And gently, you take his hand that graces your throat and tenderly place it on your cheek.

"Ah... You've always been this way, haven't you, Kunikuzushi? Since the very day fate first connected your eyes to mine? " You slant your head into his cold hand with all the fragility of a shedding lotus petal descending into a reservoir, resting your cheek against his cold, liquid touch. Although, the action is far from affectionate. Rather, it's reminiscent of a sort of obstinacy, wearing the facade of love.

"You pine for my heart like you're starved for my flesh.” You take his hand and pass it through your cloak, poising it on your chest, right above your pumping heart.

"But... Perhaps I have no heart to offer you. What then? What will you do when you realize, there is no flesh to pick from my bones? No heart beneath my ribs?"

Scaramouche trudges through your words, running them across his mind. No plausible answer makes itself seen. He relinquishes his hand from your chest.

A cat may not have wings, but it is unrelenting.

“If you have no heart…” He murmurs, before smiling a bitter smile, “Then I’ll make you learn how to love.” how to love him. “I’ll create a heart in the shape of my love, and then I’ll take it. By force if I must.”

"You're willing to create something, just to seize and destroy it..." His words taste like blood upon your tongue. Strange. Carrying pleasantry and uncanniness in a sordid congruence. your lips falter from their smile.

"What a rotten soul you have... When will you realize that your avarice will be your demise?"

A wry, perhaps relenting chuckle emerges from your throat. Then you sigh.

"Perhaps we were made for each other." “

Then why do you run from me? Why do you fight, when you’re meant to be mine?” He asks, vehement, pertinacious.

"But that is where you're mistaken, Scaramouche. You see—” You direct your pointer finger to his chest, resting it in the junction between his collarbones.

“—You're tenacious in pursuing me. But I'm," You points at herself, "Tenacious in avoiding you. We are made for each other like the same ends of two magnets. The same, yet destined to be apart."

There it is, another one of your challenging remarks. The chirping nightingale wriggles free and unfurls it's wings, just as the cat thinks the bird is trapped beneath its paws. And oh, how infuriating, how exhilarating you are. Hatred is a simmering tempest that ignites the harbinger's temper. He despises how affixed he is to you, to the thought of trapping you beneath his claws, only for you to fly free and rejoice your liberation in song. It's petty. It's pathetic. It's irresistible. The Balladeer scoffs.

“Is this all just a game of push and pull to you? Just how long are you willing to avoid me?”

 “How long are you willing to pursue me?”

“Until you submit to me.”

“Then, until you set me free.”

Scaramouche can only watch as you put on your hideous, inhuman, anomalistic smile. Fine, then. If nothing else, he’ll build you a gilded cage to lure you into a golden prison disguised as a paradise. He’ll rip your wings from your body, flesh and bone marrow hanging in loose tendrils, so to erase all notions of flying free from your unreadable mind that he tends to make his possession, until you’re bleeding so sweetly beneath his claws. His beautiful songbird, who sings in the shape of his love.

Because you were made for him. He, the heartless one, who wishes for a heart. For your heart, which you are't willing to offer. Which you wish you never had.

You’re the only one who believes he still has a soul; that he ever had one, rotten as it may be.

Scaramouche cannot let that go. Regardless of how many times you flee from his talons, he will find you and chase you to the very ends of this earth.

Fly away, little singing nightingale.

[fanficfanattic]

Just watched the Wembley confrontation approximately 30 times so I could write down the exact dialogue. And to get more of the body language and gestures down. The scene lasts for precisely two minutes. (37:07-39:07)

James pokes his head into the room asking, “Are you decent?” Laughs as he crosses the doorway.

James walks past the security guard to enter the room, puts his thumb to his nose, before saying to the guard, “I told ya” and then to himself, “prick.” Laughs.

James is only a bit into the room before he says to the room, “Oh, gentlemen, gentlemen.” He throws his arms wide and mockingly groans before laughing again.

James is now fully into the center of the room and turns a bit to try and address all of the team. Says “Hey, it’s a tough one lads. It’s a tough one, but no shame to it.”

“Cause, you know, we only ever” pretends to tap his temple like he’s trying to remember something: “beat,” does a few feet bounces and fake little punches, “uh, everybody we play.” Laughs again.

James turns to Lasso who does the quickest fake Midwestern polite smile while Roy stands next to him stiff and angry. Will is looking over his shoulder, between the two coaches, stocking or taking out bottles from a mini fridge maybe?

“So you pups had no chance,” while once again spreading his arms. He finally looks right at Jamie and lets out a fake gasp before saying “Oh.” As though he is disappointed to see Jamie is actually standing there.

He points double finger guns at him while adding, “And there he is, my son.”

Says “My own flesh and blood” with mock grief in his voice. He stares at Jamie from half a room away, and bounces on his feet again.

“Poor Jamie, my son.”

He rocks his hips loose even as he brings his pointer finger to his nose. Does an exaggerated sniff. Then he goes back to addressing the room at large. Faces one way as he starts to talk.

“Now,” and he gestures with his right hand, then turns to take in the other side, “maybe I’m thinking his heart’s still in Manchester” and he gestures with both hands slightly towards his own chest “and that’s why he missed that sitter in the first half.” He points a finger into the air like he’s having a eureka moment.

Chuckles. Does another of his fake sympathetic groans.

“Oh ho ho.” And then lets out a little “Whew!”

Then starts tiny jogging towards Jamie while sing songing “You absolutely bottled* it.” He stops to throw his head back, arms wide, and then straightens up to slow walk closer. He laughs while saying, “You bottled it!”

Then he’s only a few steps away from Jamie and starts pantomiming some boxing moves. Ducks just a bit, has his hands in fists doing small jabs. “What were you thinking?”

Then he is right at Jamie and continues to do the small jabs, not hard, but landing like small pokes right against Jamie’s stomach. Jamie ever so slightly steps back. James pauses for half a second and then does an extra jab pushing Jamie another half step back.

James lets out a teasing “Ah ah ah.” Then “I’m only kidding, hey.” Before laughing again with a bit of a cough in the middle.

Ted does not look impressed and Roy has titled his head back a bit to squint at the man. Will is focusing on the mini fridge until James starts talking again. This time more quietly and just to Jamie.

“Hey, look, uhh…do us a favor…” and he comes back on screen as he moves his hand from his face, while sniffing, but like he’d just gestured Jamie closer or perhaps had gestured to his ear to indicate Jamie should listen to him. He continues “and get Denbo and Bug past security.”

James moves his right arm to indicate the stadium on the other side of the wall. “They wanna go on the pitch-” then he mimes raising a camera and clicking it. Jamie’s mouth turns down into a frown while his head gives the smallest shake. “-take a few snaps and all that, yeah?” Before licking his lips, letting out another sniff, and bouncing on his feet 2-3 times.

Jamie finally says something, which is to answer his dad with “I’d rather ‘em not.” He stares a hair over his father’s shoulder, not making eye contact with anyone.

James looks a bit to the side, not in embarrassment nor seemingly worried what people were thinking about his son turning his request down. More like he didn’t actually need to look at Jamie anymore.

“Yeah, they only want to look around.” And he looks back to Jamie again but it’s because he’s miming a guy jab with his left hand while saying “It’ll only take a second.” Then mimes punching him right in the jaw with a weird sound effect noise. “Doosh(?).”

James mouth drops open into a wide grin and chuckle.

Jamie repeats himself word for word, “I’d rather ‘em not.” But he is slightly louder this time and looks right at his father. He nods his head ever so slightly.

Offscreen James responds with, “What?” Then focuses on his face returning to mockery.

“What, you’re not gonna all go moody little bitch” while looking Jamie up and down, continuing, “just cause you got your arse served to you on a plate, are ya?”

Jamie is quieter again when he responds with “Don’t speak to me like that.” Jamie is back to not meeting his dad’s eye even as James starts bouncing on the balls of his feet again.

Then he pushes a little closer in to Jamie, face seemingly open to hearing what Jamie has to say, before going “ahuh?”

Jamie repeats himself word for word for the second time. “Don’t speak to me like that.”

James repeats his “Huh?” while pressing closer again, head tilted as though to hear him better. Jamie tries to repeat himself for a third time but his dad interrupts with his own third “huh?”

When Jamie finishes, his dad says “Huh?” a fourth time and then pulls back a minuscule amount to look Jamie in the eye.

James says to him “Okay, well,” and James lifts his right hand to flick up in the air. “-let’s see if you can hear this, hmm?”

Beard is shown in the background seething. James is still right in Jamie’s face, where he sniffs again, before leaning a bit closer as though to whisper.

“You know that ‘ickle tv show’ you made?” And makes broad gestured quotation marks even. “You just made it easier for Manchester City” He flicks the first finger of his left hand up like he’s about to count off things but instead uses it to point at Jamie while adding “to kick you to the curb!”

Then he leans back with a grin to continue mocking Jamie. He even adds a tongue waggle of his own.

“And look where you are now.” He laughs in his face. “Twaddling about with a bunch of…”

He spreads his arms wide and spins 180° to address the whole room. “…amateurs! No offense, no offense.”

No one responds to him, so he gives more of a belly laugh, and scratches the side of his nose with his right forefinger. Then turns around, leading with that finger pointing at Jamie. Who is not only not looking his father in the eye, he’s truly looking downwards for the first time.

Then he flattens his mouth and starts to turn away with his dad going “Huh?”

James grabs Jamie’s left bicep with his own left hand, to swing him back to face him yelling “Don’t turn your back on me” then pushing Jamie while finishing with “you pussy.”

Jamie pushes off from the foot he’d stepped back from his dad with to throw his punch.

James hits the floor, palms stopping his fall, with a groan. He pushes half up onto his hip and puts the back of his hand to his face.

Jamie’s face is in a pained grimace.

He pants out “Jesus god” while glaring venomously up at his son. Which must be when he notices that Jamie is wild eyed and terrified. The grimace is gone and instead he looks stunned.

James laughs before pushing himself up to standing, Jamie’s mouth parts while his dad is saying “Oh, yeah. Okay.”

Once standing, James says “You can have that one for free.” And gets one bounce in while readying his own fist.

Which is when Beard grabs him and says “Time to go.”

While being dragged towards the door, James is still trying to fight Jamie. “You wanna go, big time. Hey? Let’s have it, Jamie!”

Beard almost has him to the door when James screams “Don’t you forget where you came from!” Then Beard gives his “watch the door” warning while pushing James’ head against the door.

Edit 2: @kaph123 asked if James said “balled it” (what cc says and I originally posted despite some questions) or “bottled it” (a more common expression). I did a relisten and it sounded like balled BUT also like the accent might be in play. @itsjustpoopeh listened with better headphones and revealed there was a bit of a stutter which indicates its most likely Mancunian consonant dropping and should be bottled. I changed it above!

Edited to add the comfort we all needed at the reminder of our tender human hearts from @thetarttfuldickhead 🤣

[ophelian-darling]

Prompta 94 + 38 with noriyaki kakyoin. He's ready captured you and confessed his love to you and you're still trying to get used to your new home.

"I'm the only one who can understand you"

"You're adorable when you're asleep"

TW: Isolation, Obsession, Implied Stalking and kidnapping, delusional thoughts.

Word Count : 1.3k words.

enjoy ♡

"Smile for me!" 

It's been weeks- at least in your perception. There are certain thoughts of obscurity that gnaw your brain, the effect of Noriaki present even in the scatters of your mind's rambles: Time has no existence except that of the imagination, the more our thinking daubs with life colors, the more we get old. The clouds behind the window marched in a Foggy lane; so dreadful with a beauty of its own.

"Everything is beautiful! our eyes just can't see the bewitching charm of it. it's the human eye that is ugly" 

Noriaki would chatter for hours about everything and nothing. Clutching a brush and standing in front of a canvas, aimlessly coloring a homely sketch in a passion of a Picasso yet in the skill of the Austrian painter, an opinion that God forbid if you shared to him no matter how he insisted you to. Better leave him to swim in a warm sea of his own illusions if it meant that you're out of any disturbing antics he would present. 

A first look at him would tell no secret about the madness veining through him; it's just an introverted classmate with an amateur hobby of painting, someone who isn't recognizable in any way or form. Anyone who sees him scribbling on a paper would think that he's just recording notes for a class, while he is lining a crimson billet-doux. They would think he was fulfilling his class cleaning duty in the evening, while he was wiping the violent evidence of his crimes. They thought he was a sweet boyfriend to walk his lover home, while he was-

"What are you thinking of, Dollface?" 

"Uh-" Instinctively changing your position as you uttered a faux-casual 'nothing', you realized that you were staring through a skylight window for too long, perhaps forgetting (or ignoring?) him as he ordered you to smile. quickly, you put your lips curves to a height that felt awkward, a smile of a rushed family photo. He hummed in response, seemingly buying it so as to complete his 'Masterpiece' (using his words).

"I'm almost done, I can't wait for you to see it" 

"I'm so excited to see it!" you lied, the family photo smile still plastered on your face. 

"This is the best thing I've ever drawn so far" He smiled, cheerfully eyeing your resting figure on the chair "I wanted to paint you in full coloring for so long, and now I'm glad I got the chance to finally do it" 

Just at your left, a wall stood still, dozens of haste sketches hanging on, some semi-completed, others either barely spilled any effort or neglected at their prime, jittery lineaments in dark pencil. You could tell that Noriaki was frustrated with them: they never matched the tableau vivant he carved in his mind's eye; yet they somehow ended up being useful enough to have the honor to be remembered and kept. 

Leisurely, the corners of the house engraved themselves in your memory corridors, so was the daily script of life here: days mimed each other, Noriaki's smiles split into thousands of colors, yet his eyes were ever the same as fake greens; none of them held any normalcy or spontaneity, just faux calmness. In the morning, you both wake up- He's the first to rise from bed, rattling you awake before having breakfast together. His tongue flows when the sun shines, he talks and speaks and laughs and chatters nineteen to the dozen, his voice very clear in your anamnesis yet his words hazy. as your teacup hangs between your thumb and index finger, you focus on the movement of his lips and nod at whatever letter he throws. As the ether discolor into cinnabar, his room is solely altered to be a temple honoring you: poems, paintings and pictures wallpapered the small room in a morbid show of attachment. When the moon is crowned in the sky with stars, The jar of cogitation breaks, and Noriaki would animate his dreams of a family and a blithe life, framing you and him in one iridescent cadre, until the heavy curtain of dreamless slumber falls on your eyes.

"I'm done!" He announced happily "Come take a look" 

You stood up, blood circulating again through the muscles of your backside and thighs. Of course, sitting for two hours in a stiff position to please the Mr.Artist was nowhere of an exertion near his. You just have to sit and look pretty, he would argue.

"It's the best ever! I'm really proud of this one. I've been thinking about making it real for so long, and it's as perfect as I imagined!" The palette in his left hand moved with each word, intonating his speech. He surely was excited- you never got a reaction so enthusiastic from him.

You kept your smile, looking at the product of two hours in front of you.

A dark line rimmed a color that seemed like your skin tone, vigor lines on what you assumed to be the head pastiched your hair, proving even more how much of blind digits he had. The eyes of your own face were closed, an expression you never felt or recognized on your features layered your replica on the canvas. it was what a crow would caw compared to what a nightingale would chant.

"So?" He waited for your approval.

Life with Noriaki taught you a massively important key skill: Lying. your lips curve up, your vocal cords silken as the lie rolls down your tongue "It's really beautiful!" you reach up to his face and kiss his cheek as a 'thank you for bothering yourself to appreciate my beauty'. He basked in your validation and demanded it almost always.

"But I'm kinda curious, why did you draw my eyes closed?" you noticed his smile shift from a saccharine one to egoistic.

"You know you're already cute right? yet not genuinely" He stared at the painting, carrying on "I think that honesty suits your face best. I know that you didn't like the painting, and I know that you never liked any of my sketches or anything I ever made for you" His lips merged into a thin line, a gray flicker flashing in his irises. coolly, he continued "You have that stupid fake kindness about you, you don't want to hurt my feelings, and I hate pressing you to tell me your honest thoughts. I feel like at this point you treat me like a fucking toddler, you encourage and say sugary things to please me… you constantly lie to me to make me happy, and as much as this is caring, it bothers me" 

Your lips sewed themselves. 

"But I found a way. I memorize everything about you every single day, I came to know you more and more. isn't this sweet, My lovely eye candy? I get to understand you better! Now I know just too well about you! Now I'm the only one who can understand you" 

Four eyes widened, two out of pure shock, others out of an unfamiliar emotion, something that sounded like a pink Mania.

"And to answer your question, I realized why I love looking at you sleeping… I couldn't put my finger on it for a year, but the more I see the more I fathom it: you're most vulnerable when you're asleep… all appealing and appetizing and too pure to commit the crime of lying so glibly and beautifully… slumber has just a nice touch on your face, You're truly adorable when you're asleep" 

Thinking has no time to course within your brain. The head of his brush was smudged back in a crimson mix of colors, taking a clot of red and sullying the white canvas, just above the head of your painting. 

"Let's see how honest I can make you"

All red, a human Masterpiece of his.

[moon-buggg]

All's Well

another Mad Science drabble, this time featuring Sun! Companion piece to this

word count: 691

content warnings: very brief mention of blood

When they had first arrived at the (seemingly) abandoned manor, its size had intimidated Sun. It was the perfect opposite to everything he was used to, rooms within rooms guarded by twisting halls, all dark and imposing like the walls wanted nothing more than to consume him. Keep him lost and trapped forever. 

It took some time, but he was finally starting to get used to the layout, and was able to find his destination more often than not. His thorough exploration was paying off.

In fact, there was only one room in the whole manor Sun had not entered. The laboratory.

Even now, after combing through the rest of the house looking for you, he did not cross that barrier. The heavy wooden doors loom, keeping him away from you. Sun stands perfectly still, arm reaching but never touching.

He… he could do this! He would do this! You had been working for far too long and were long overdue for a break, and you needed your favourite assistant to remind you! He knew you were in there, could practically see you hunched over… whatever it was you were working on today. He just… had to open the door. 

Sun wasn’t scared- not of you, never of you- just… it could be hard to stomach the messier parts of your work. Thoughts of your first meeting, an unknown figure drenched in who knows what looming in the dark and staring, flash through his head, sending an involuntary shudder through his body. So messy, messy messy messy.

Slowly, hesitantly, he pulls his hand away from the doorknob and knocks. 

….

……………

Sun's head tilts with a soft ‘click.’ He knows you are in there. You rarely venture out without company these days (you rarely venture out at all), and he knows for a fact Moon is lurking around the basement somewhere. 

The rational part of him suggests that you must have fallen asleep at your desk again, or perhaps are simply so engrossed in your task you didn't hear him. Both extremely likely options. The darker, louder part of him howls how something bad must have happened. An experiment gone wrong, an injury- your blood pooling on white tile floors.

He knocks again, louder. 

“Doctor? Friend, are you in there?” He calls, cheerful as ever. He does not break out that title often, but he deems it necessary in this instant.

Silence.

He is suddenly, uncomfortably, aware of every gear, wire, spring, mechanism inside of him as his arm shoots for the handle. The hinges groan as he reefs open the door revealing-

You. Slumped over your desk and free of blood.

The seconds stretch as Sun’s racing mind catches up to the sight. Oh. You had fallen asleep. Good good, that’s good. Silly Sun, everything always works out! Yes, of course after so long working you… would be tired! No matter how often you professed your greatness, you were only human after all.

Sun toes the line between tile and hardwood. He wants more than anything to sweep you off to bed, ensure you get some proper rest. No matter how determined you are to avoid your bed, your desk is no replacement. If you are so dead set on neglecting yourself, Sun will simply make sure you’re taken care of himself.

He mimes a steadying breath, and crosses the threshold.

Walking quietly to your desk, he takes no notice of the state of the lab. He does not stare at jars with dubious contents, pays no attention to odd stains, staunchly ignores the lumpy thing hidden under a sheet. Sun keeps his eyes firmly on you. 

You do not stir as he gently, gently, so gently, picks you up. You remain limp and lifeless in his grasp. It is only the faint beating of your heart felt through metal fingertips that keeps him from trying to wake you.

You are simply asleep. Will continue to be asleep, if he has anything to say about it. Moon is in the basement, Sun is escorting you to your room and everything is well.

Sun closes the laboratory doors firmly behind him.

[katsona-the-katsequel]

Hiyah! Do you have any Persona fic recs? 👀

Long ago I made a Rec List, but that's lost to the abyss of Tumblr's awful search mechanism, so here's a new one. You didn't specify, so I included a little of every game. Each game is indicated by a specific color: 🟠 for P2 (both of them), 🔵 for P3, 🟡 for P4 and 🔴 for P5. Each one of these fics really stayed with me for a reason, so I heavily recommend you at least give them a chance.

Dust in the Air Suspended by @stealthnoodle 🟠

The dead timeline lives on, and Katsuya Suou stubbornly persists in it. His brother is determined to do better.

Gardenia by LunaDePlata 🟠

Jun can't sleep, and neither can his thoughts. A short vent piece.

heaven by [Orphan :(] 🟠

Lisa didn’t understand how Tatsuya could trust Jun so easily while she still woke from nightmare after nightmare of Joker’s piercing stare and twisted grin. She didn’t understand the pain in her chest when she saw the two of them linger at one another’s side, either.

under the mask by gaytimetraveller 🟠

Joker grants wishes, Joker receives calls (not always pleasant), Joker despairs.

maybe Death wants to be saved, too by @senblades 🔵

In December of 2009, Makoto Yuki slits Death’s throat in his bedroom. --- In January of 2010, Makoto Yuki meets an odd boy in a yellow scarf, haunting the entrance to Gekkoukan like a phantom. (The world is ending, and all Ryoji Mochizuki can do is watch)

No Ghosts, No Mistletoe by @stealthnoodle 🔵

If anyone asks, Junpei is technically spending Christmas Eve with a girl. It's just not anything like a date.

Threnody by @laora-ryn 🔵

In February, Nozomi shares a meal with Minato. [You know,” Minato says suddenly, “I had a twin sister.”]

All That Remains by @laora-ryn 🔵 ft. 🟡🔴

An exploration of the end of Persona 3, its aftermath, and those he left behind.

Equal or Lesser Value by Lisse 🔵 ft. 🟡

The wrong family dies on Moonlight Bridge.

A Barrel in the Sea by signalbeam 🟡

Post-game. Yukiko tells her parents about her relationship with Chie, and after the resulting fight, takes refuge in the Dojima residence.

First Impressions (Seventeen Variations) by jackdawq 🟡

It sucks to be the new transfer kid. Right?

Fusion Inheritance by @rabbitprint 🟡

In your first life, you're an asshole. There's no other way to describe it; even you would call it that.

I Have My Dead by signalbeam 🟡

Eight letters written from the Investigation Team to their families in the event of their deaths.

sentence by @corvus-corvus 🟡

Adachi rises to the balls of his feet for a better view. Yu knows they’re visiting a woman from the case files, but it’s only when Adachi mimes an exaggerated whistle that he knows it’s going to be a problem. "She told us to leave and we have other witnesses.” Yu holds out a light. Adachi breathes smoke until it ghosts over the beating sun. “She doesn’t know that.”

Lost Kingdoms by jackdawq 🟡 ft. 🔵

Every girl in Inaba likes Teddie; Port Island's no different.

A Year To Fill An Empty Home by @lostozian 🔴

The officer who came to explain the terms of the probation had a sad smile on his face the whole way through. He seemed like he was trying to be sympathetic at first, telling them about the mandatory school transfer and the probation terms, but when he got to the part about “removing Akira-kun from bad influences,” Chou couldn’t see the smile as anything less than sadistic. “I know you’re facing a lot of pain right now, Kurusu-san,” the officer had said. “But perhaps better parenting would have helped Akira-kun know that he shouldn’t assault people in the street.” OR, Takeshi and Chou Kurusu aren't bad people. They never stopped loving their son, not for a single second.

Falsities by Raaj 🔴

They keep saying you were sold out by a teammate. You can’t remember which one.

Killing Hope by Raaj 🔴

Akechi stops by Leblanc once after assassinating Amamiya, looking to find the last Phantom Thief.

Stumbling on the Chopping Block by vivvav 🔴

Even after Yaldabaoth leaves, the executions go on.

The Trickster's World by vivvav 🔴

The game has not played out how he imagined it would. Could the Trickster actually prevent humanity's ruin? Is it possible that Ren Amamiya truly poses a threat to his ascension? Only a journey into the boy's Cognition will tell.

marigolds by colbub 🔴 ft. 🔵🟡

Akechi meets a mysterious being chained to a door after death and gains a second chance.

Reflections by @senblades 🔵🟡🔴

In the space between dreams, there's time to think. And so, the attendants reflect; on the tragedies and triumphs their guests have left in their wake. On the saviour, the seeker, and the tricksters, and what facets of humanity they supposedly held in their depths. ___ The Velvet Room is a place of guidance. But what purpose does a guide serve once their role is complete?

Smart Kid by [Orphan :(] 🔵🔴

A troubled kid is brought into Officer Sanada Akihiko's office in the juvenile department, and Akihiko does his best to set him on the right path.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

By Your Side

Could you write some Janus angst / hurt/comfort? Maybe something having to do with him being insecure about his scales/snake traits. – monkeythefander

Read on Ao3

Warnings: fantasy racism

Pairings: roceit

Word Count: 3161

The practice of disparaging someone as they sit not twenty feet away is not an unusual practice for human adventurers in this tavern, but that doesn't make it any more bearable. Janus is not a human. He knows this. Janus has snake-like features. He knows this also. He would like to have one day where he is not being aggressively reminded of this. When Roman walks into a tavern to see a group of human adventurers making fun of his wonderful little snake-like, he just has to do something about it.

The practice of disparaging someone as they sit not twenty feet away is not an unusual practice for human adventurers in this tavern, but that doesn't make it any more bearable.

It's been around, oh, ten minutes, and Janus has already had to listen to the topic of snake-like humanoids' weird thing of not blinking, talking slightly too quietly and slightly too slowly. And—okay, it's not like the humans don't have a point at all. Janus does have a bad habit of being incredibly bad at volume regulation but it's not like he won't speak louder if he's asked. And he does try to speak faster too! He only really talks too slow when he's nervous or too cold or if there are a lot of reasons for something, like, say, something's wrong.

Perhaps that's why humans think snake-like humanoids talk too slow.

But still, there is only so much to say about something like that and they seem to be—at last—moving on to…?

Ah. Appearances.

Now, don't get him wrong. Janus is well aware that he is not attractive, at least not by conventional standards. He's been the one to say he scrapes by looking like an eight out of fifteen on a good day, alright? He's not exactly under the impression that he's any sort of thing to look at.

But, well…something something, person on the gallows, something something, part of the execution.

"Do you think he even knows that he still has to wash the normal part of his face?"

"Or shave it?"

"I know, sometimes I just want to—" the human mimes ripping off a strip of wax— "like, come on."

Okay. That's a bit rude.

"I didn't know I'd have to interact with a snake and a Sasquatch, that's for sure."

Oh, they know the word Sasquatch, do they?

Of course, there's only so far internal quips can get you when someone's talking about you like that. And there's really only so far it can get when it's not just you as an audience.

The sudden squeak from the other end of the table startles him, looking over to see Roman twiddle his fingers in a wave. Janus's gaze flicks back over to the other humans before lowering back down to his lap.

That whole eight-out-of-fifteen-on-a-good-day bit has a second part to it: 'So keep your 12/10 self on the other side of the room.'

Roman is not like Janus. When people talk about Roman, well, let's just say it's not about how awful they find things. Roman sitting right next to Janus right now is…not good. Not just because Janus really doesn't want to have an audience for this, but Roman's habit of poking and prodding at him really doesn't need any more material.

Gods, I really hope he didn't hear 'Sasquatch.'

But Roman's already following his gaze over and well, looks like his choices are flee now and suffer later, or get at least somewhat prepared for what new insults will be thrown at him and suffer now and later. Slightly less later, perhaps.

"I don't think he owns a mirror."

"Or a comb."

"Do you think he cares enough about how he looks to do either of those things? Have you seen the state of his…everything?"

Okay, wait, no. Janus's spent a lot of time trying to take care of his scales and everything.

"You'd think he'd at least have the decency to wear makeup or a glamor or something."

"No, you've seen what he thinks passes for an acceptable glamor or makeup. It's clown face paint."

Takes a clown to know a clown. assholes, but that one…that one hurt.

He startles when a hand touches the back of his neck, jerking his head around to see Roman watching him. He lifts his hand away for a second, a silent is this okay? Janus nods, a bit unsure, only for Roman to wink and start tracing idle shapes on his neck and back, focusing on the sensitive skin at the edge of his scales. It feels…nice. Really nice.

"I think he should just mask like the rest of them. So we don't have to look at it."

"I mean it's probably a good idea for him too, right?"

Oh, and now we're being explicitly racist. Great.

A rustle and a thud and the chair next to him scoots closer, a sudden solid warmth pressing against his leg. He glances over and sees that Roman's shuffled right up next to him, their legs pressed together, hand now running lazy doodles along Janus's far shoulder. It's an odd feeling, almost enough to raise goosebumps along one side, solid warmth pressed against the other.

It's almost enough to distract him from what he hears next.

"I'd ask if he's ever seen himself in the mirror, but maybe he's like any Gorgon and he'll turn himself into stone."

It's an interesting experience, to be suddenly so far away from his own body. The words echo around and around his head. His hands feel weird. Everything feels weird. And cold. And slow. And…and…

…and…

…and…

A sudden squeeze and he inhales sharply.

He goes to turn his head and he realizes Roman's wrapped his arm around his waist, pulling him almost off of his chair and into his lap. He's flush against Roman's side, Roman's warm side, and he's looking at him with a soft expression. Why?

Oh.

Oh, he heard that too.

"Hey," Roman says softly, far too softly to be talking to him, Roman doesn't talk to him like that, Roman teases him and flusters him and—and— "you okay?"

"I—um—I—uh—"

"Take your time," he says, still too softly, "it's okay. I'm not in a rush."

When Janus still can't get his act together, Roman huffs a laugh and brings his other hand up, tracing the curve of Janus's scaled cheek under the guise of tucking his hair back, lightly rubbing his knuckle against the sensitive scales.

"Hey, cutie."

Again, Roman is not supposed to speak softly to him. He's supposed to tease and be mean and make Janus's face want to explode and make him all sluggish from too much heat. Janus thinks he can be forgiven for the sudden lump that swells in his throat.

Nope. Nope, nope, too much.

First the remark, then the soft, then—then whatever this is.

Too much. No, thank you. He would like to get off this road, please follow the signs to the nearest inn.

"Shh-shh-shh, oh, hey, don't cry."

Things are still happening. He specifically requested for things to stop happening. He would like for things not to happen anymore. Why are they still happening, things need to stop happening.

"Hey…" The hand brushes warmly across his face. "Hey, love, shh, it's okay."

No. Why is Roman speaking to him like that? Roman shouldn't—Roman doesn't talk to him like that.

"Look at me, baby. Hey, hey, just look at me."

Too much. Too much.

"Oh, fuck it."

Something big and soft and warm wraps around him and pushes him into something dark. It curls protectively around his waist and it's humming under his cheek. It cards through the hair at the base of his neck.

"I've got you," a voice says from far away, "I've got you."

Janus blinks. Roman's hugging him. Roman's holding him and Janus is crying and everything is happening right now. But Roman's still holding him and that…that might be…okay right now.

***

The rest of the party teases, but annoying Janus is truly one of Roman's favorite parts of the day. First because Janus is adorable, and second because he's one of the few people who doesn't immediately fawn all over him.

Janus is interesting.

He snaps back and gets all flustered and pushes Roman away—but not in that 'oh, I'm gonna pretend I don't like this when I really do' way. Roman knows he really gets under Janus's skin sometimes. And yeah, sometimes he deserves whatever Janus hurls at him, but sometimes Janus just looks at him like he's trying to understand him and ugh.

Unfair. Truly.

Would he be lying if he said he didn't like how everyone looked and whispered and everything when he walks by? Yes.

Does he know on some level that Janus does find him attractive and shamelessly uses that to fluster him? Also yes.

Does he also want Janus to smile at him in a way that isn't the goofy, flustered, self-conscious one that he always tries to hide?

Jury's still out.

The rest of the party says Roman's hopeless, that he's pining so loudly the trees are jealous, denial isn't just a river, on and on. But really, he's happy just to annoy Janus for the rest of their lives. A perpetual thorn in his side.

So when he sees Janus sitting a ways away from all the other patrons in the tavern, he plops himself down as noisily as possible. He smirks as Janus jerks, looking over, only to frown when Janus barely looks at him for more than a second.

He follows his gaze over to see another adventuring party very obviously talking shit abut someone. Quite viciously too, if the surprising creativity of the insults is anything to go off of. Then he sees one of them glance over and—

Janus. It's Janus they're talking about. They're insulting Janus while he's sitting right in front of them.

He glances over again. Janus isn't really reacting—well, no. He's making little faces and gestures as each insult is thrown out and it's hilarious and adorable—but it's getting to him. And who wouldn't it get to, come on, don't do that. Don't shit-talk someone who's right there.

Alright, options…options…okay. Could go over there and cuss them out. Would be immediately satisfying but also might lead to more people shit-talking Janus and try to get Roman in on it, also would have made this even more of a scene and Janus would hate that.

Could also make a show of choosing to sit with Janus. He knows what his reputation is like and how other adventurers see him, how it would make a hell of a lot of them jealous. Also, though, does have that reputation and it would make a scene, both bad for Janus.

Could distract him. But teasing Janus right now would just be rubbing salt into an open wound and that might have the worst consequences of all. So, no.

He's jolted out of his musings by a particularly nasty comment that makes the plain expression slide right off of Janus's face and he reacts almost instinctively.

Janus startles, looking at him, and Roman lifts his hand for a moment before he's given permission to touch him. Roman rests his hand at the top of Janus's back, scratching lightly at the scales he knows get a little itchy. Janus's shoulders relax a little bit.

A plan starts to take shape.

Roman knows he's sought after, knows that probably half of that damn adventuring party would fall all over themselves just for the chance that he'd touch them like this. So, if Janus lets him—and only if Janus lets him—this is how he's gonna comfort him. And if it makes those assholes green in the face, even better.

…and okay, maybe, he also wants to comfort Janus because he looks like he really needs someone on his side right now but it's mainly out of spite.

And so it goes. He scoots his chair over to press his leg against Janus's, just to be like hey, I'm here, I hear this too, it's not true. Then he's shifting a little closer, like I like it when you experiment with makeup with Virgil, I think your natural blush is super cute too and I like how it looks mixed most of all. Then he wraps his arm around his back to stroke his shoulder because he may or may not have discovered Janus is a bit ticklish on that side and also because being racist is fucking awful.

Then the assholes say—and laugh—at something really fucking vile and Janus goes completely still.

There's no time to glare, he drops his arm down to pull Janus close—almost in his lap close—giving up the facade in favor of actually making sure Janus is okay. He squeezes him tight and watches anxiously as Janus looks at him.

Oh, fuck…

"Hey," he calls, "are you okay?"

Janus looks so small. He looks so small and so scared and so hurt and that's not right. Janus shouldn't look like that. Maybe…maybe something normal? Something Janus might expect? Slowly, Roman brushes the back of his knuckles across those pretty little scales along the side of Janus's face, right where that adorable blush normally is.

"Hey, cutie," he murmurs, but Janus just blinks and—and— "oh, hey, hey, shh-shh-shh, baby, don't cry."

Please baby, please don't cry—

But another tear rolls down Janus's cheek and Roman quickly wipes it away.

"Hey, hey, love, shh, it's okay." Janus is drifting further and further away and Roman can't lose him. Not like this. He cups his face in his hands. "Look at me, baby. Hey, hey, just look at me."

A flicker of something appears in Janus's eyes at the sudden contact but fades almost as quickly. Maybe if he…

"Oh, fuck it," and he pulls Janus in for a proper cuddle, murmuring into the crook of his neck. "I've got you, baby, I've got you."

Fuck this. Fuck the assholes who made Janus cry. Fuck everything that made Janus so insecure and upset. And if that includes Roman, well, then fuck him too.

Not like that, not right now. Maybe later?

Focus!

"You're gonna be okay, baby," he says softly, rubbing his back, "everything's gonna be okay."

Selfishly, he does actually pull Janus into his lap, just to get him closer, wrapping his arms all the way around him, keeping him right up against his chest, almost tucked under his chin. It's okay, baby, he thinks desperately, really, just don't cry, love. They don't deserve you, that's all.

Maybe if he just tries to pull Janus into his chest, he'll be safe.

He doesn't know how long he holds him—not that he gives a shit—but slowly Janus's hand clutches his shirt and he sighs.

"Hey," he says quietly, "you got me, you just focus on me."

"R-Roman?"

"Yeah, love, it's me."

Janus doesn't say anything else, but he snuggles into Roman's hold and you know what, that's good enough.

"You need a drink," Roman declares, "that sounds good, right? A proper drink, some food, not in this horrible place, obviously, we'll go find Patton and Logan and Virgil and Remus—they'll make sure we find a good place to eat. Perhaps I'm just hungry, but that doesn't mean I'm not right."

His chest clenches in time with Janus's grip on his shirt.

"…perhaps we should go and sit in that sweet little grove of trees for a while first, yeah?"

"I can't walk," comes the horrible strangled whisper, "I—I can't."

"I'll carry you."

"N-no, they'll—they—"

"They won't say anything."

"Are you sure?"

Roman glares at the assholes and watches with a vicious satisfaction as they scurry out of the back door. "They won't, I promise. Here, let me…"

Perhaps Logan has a point about them pulling off too many drunken shenanigans, but there is something to be said for half-carrying someone out while making it seem like they're walking under their own power. No one tries to stop them as he leads them out of the tavern, down the road, to nestle in the soft flowers underneath the trees where the horses are tethered. He sits with his back against the tree, pulling Janus back against his chest so the last of the late-afternoon sunbeams can warm him up.

"You heard them," Janus mumbles, "you…you heard them."

"I did."

"You…"

"Never, in my life, my afterlife, or any other life I may live afterwards," Roman vows, grip suddenly so tight he knows it'll hurt when he eventually lets go, "would I ever dream of saying something so cruel and vile to you. I tease and I poke fun but Janus, never."

Another little sniffle in the crook of his neck.

"You know I think you're adorable, scales and fangs and all, baby—no, no, don't you pull away from me," he murmurs when Janus fidgets, "you are. Don't you deny that."

"I'm not."

"Oh, but you are. And I'll remind you of it every chance I get."

"Don't tease," Janus says, suddenly sharp and cold, "don't tease me about this, not right now."

"I'm not, baby." He leans back just so he can cup those beautiful scales and see those pretty mismatched eyes. "I really do think you're so, so pretty."

"You're pretty," Janus spits, and Roman tries to wrangle down the warmth at hearing Janus say it, even if it's in the middle of disparaging himself, "I'm not."

"What can I do, then? To convince you that I'm telling the truth?"

Janus laughs, high and loud and cold. "Kiss me, then."

Well, that's easy enough.

***

He was joking. He was joking.

He thought Roman would laugh it off. He thought Roman would shake his head and say let's not go that far, or something. He thought it would break whatever weird thing is going on where Roman is being sweet and soft and kind to him, so he said something ridiculous to Roman like kiss me.

But then there are soft, warm lips on his, a tongue flicking playfully against the tip of his fangs, strong hands gently cupping his sides, and the slow thud-thud, thud-thud of a heartbeat against his.

"There," Roman breathes against his mouth when he pulls back for air, "have I convinced you?"

"You—you actually kissed me?"

"I've been looking for an excuse to do that for a while, now, so thank you for giving it to me, but yes, baby, of course I kissed you."

"Please—" he chokes on another sniffle— "please, Roman, just—"

"You don't need to beg for another kiss, love, I'll give you as many as you want."

"No," and he pulls himself back, just a little, "don't—please don't do this if you don't mean it. I can't—I won't—you'll fucking break me."

Roman looks at him softly, then, so softly, and then there's a hand twining gently in his hair and guiding him back down. "I'll be gentle with you, love, I promise."

"You promise?"

"I do."

And…well, if Roman wants to kiss him so badly, then…then yeah, that's okay.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs@el-does-photography@princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl@raven1508

[inactivewattpadauthor]

Johnny Cage x Celebrity Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tonight's walk with your celebrity peer was supposed to calm you after the shitshow of an interview you had as a guest on a television host show.

Maybe the walk wasn't helping because the flickering street annoyed your senses. Or you could see the stars to a bare minimum due to light pollution.

This area is where famous or rich people commonly reside, so it's what you indirectly asked for.

"I don't get why you're surprised, Y/n. Her last name literally is a few letters off from spelling 'Degenerate'. I told you she was going to ask questions like those." Your beloved doucebag friend tries to console you. You didn't know if he was even making it worse.

"Okay, I know what you said before, Cage! I wasn't actually expecting her to just- I don't know- blurt out my personal business and try to put me on the spot." You glared at him.

"Did you not watch when Swift was-"

"Let's not talk about that." You cut him off and kept walking down the street with him, trying to brush off the embarrassment and anger.

After a brief moment of silence, Johnny sighs. "Honestly, don't take what she said to heart. Coming from me, you're amazing!"

Getting a genuine compliment from the famous actor Johnny Cage was something many can't achieve.

"Coming from you, I guess that makes me feel better." You smile a bit. "Anyways, how is the set on Ninja Mime goi-"

"Are you Y/n L/n?!" Both of you hear someone scream ahead. So much for a quiet night walk...

There stood some guy who looked around your age, looking very surprised to see you. Only you, he didn't seem to acknowledge Cage.

"Oh, erm, good evening!" You offered a shy smile. Still becoming a growing celebrity, you weren't quite use to interacting with fans. Despite being on stage a few times, but it's partially different.

The fan ran to you, making you tense up in alert, but he only extended out a hand.

To you, it wasn't a big deal to give a fan a simple handshake, not until he said something unnecessarily random.

"Wow, you looked a lot slimmer in your photos."

It just didn't click until you noticed him looking you up and down which made you pretty uncomfortable.

And that comment alone made Johnny take his sunglasses off to eye the boy in a disgusted manner. Unfortunately, it didn't end there.

Retrieving your hand away and brushing it on your clothes, you let out a fake laugh before you and Johnny moved along past.

"Well, nice to meet you. I wish you a goodnight." You politely dismissed.

The fan frowned just before speeding in front of you. "Wait! Can I maybe get your phone number? Or you can follow me on my social media! I pretty much have everything you got-"

"Ohh, no thanks! Sweet of you, but I'm okay!" You smile wider, getting more uncomfortable to the point you reached for your friend's hand for comfort or perhaps help.

"But-"

"Hey, buddy, she said no! Go back to your room and jerk it!" Johnny snapped, pulling you behind him to be protective.

The fan didn't take lightly to the confrontation. "I wasn't talking to you! Your movies fucking suck!"

You grimaced, knowing that one was a strike to Johnny's ego. You butt in before it escalates further.

"If I take a picture with you, would you be happy with that?" You asked the obsessed male, patting Johnny so he moves out your way. He still kept an irritated glare on the boy.

"Sure, I'd like that. But can I still get your-"

Johnny pulls you away before the boy finishes his greedy requests. "Lesson thirty-six, you offer a fan one thing, you give them EVERYTHING."

Before you even replied, the fan tries grabbing you back which made you panic.

Letting out a yelp, Johnny was alerted and did not hesitate to punch the creep. The delivered hit caused the fan to fall on the concrete, a little red fluid leaking from his nose and covering a bit of his teeth.

"You don't ever touch her! I don't care if you're her biggest fan!" Cage scolded loudly at the fan who seemed pretty knocked out after that single hit.

You let out a relieved sigh. You didn't exactly want the fan to get hurt, but no matter now, he's going to leave you alone now.

"Come on, we'll get you back to your condo." Johnny calmly tells you, wrapping an arm around you and escorting you away.

For a douchebag, he was a pretty loveable friend. ~~~~~~~~~~~~

[airas-story]

Addiction

“I love you.”

Stephen glanced up at his boyfriend, immediately suspicious. “What did you do?”

Tony placed a hand to his heart in a gesture clearly calculated to express innocence. “Absolutely nothing.”

Stephen didn’t believe it for a second, the gesture was far too calculated, for one. For the other, while Stephen knew without a doubt that Tony loved him, he didn’t tend toward vocal expressions, preferring the method of ‘show, don’t tell’ that occasionally resulted in ostentatious displays that Stephen found reluctantly endearing. “Then why do I not believe you?”

“You don’t believe I love you?” Tony asked, sounding genuinely offended.

Stephen waved his hand in dismissal. “Oh, I know you love me. What I don’t believe is that you didn’t do anything.” There was a flicker in Tony’s eyes that only served to reinforce Stephen’s belief that Tony had done something he wasn’t supposed to do.

“Your lack of faith is hurtful,” Tony said, miming a dagger to the heart. “It’s like you don’t love me.”

Stephen raised an eyebrow. “I love you. I just also happen to know you.”

A smile tugged at Tony’s lips, and Stephen knew that it was something Tony was never going to get tired of: the fact that Stephen knew him and loved him anyways. 

At least that was how Tony saw it, even if Stephen thought it was more astounding that anyone could know Tony and not love him.

“So,” Stephen continued, not letting himself get distracted. “What did you do?”

Tony sighed, the sort of sigh that meant he was giving in to the inevitable. “Nothing bad.”

Stephen examined him for a moment before deciding that it was probably true, at least from Tony’s point of view. Sometimes they had differing ideas of what constituted as ‘bad’.

“Expound, please. I think I’m perhaps a slightly better judge of whether something is ‘bad’ or not.”

Tony gave a sort of half-hearted shrug. “I, uh, may have gotten your cloak addicted to laundry detergent?”

Stephen blinked. “What?”

“I may have gotten your cloak addicted to laundry detergent,” Tony repeated, as though the words were going to suddenly make sense just because Tony had said them again.

They didn’t.

“How did you get the cloak addicted to laundry detergent?” Stephen asked. “They’re self-cleansing. It’s part of the enchantments woven into their being.” He glanced at where the cloak was suddenly busy ‘perusing’ the shelves of the library, playing innocent.

Stephen had a bad feeling about this.

“It’s not my fault,” Tony defended, despite the fact that he still hadn’t explained just how he’d managed it. “The cloak was getting jealous! I was just trying to make things fair!”

“Jealous?”

Tony nodded. “The cloak saw me oiling DUM-E and U and wanted their own ‘bonding’ time.” Tony made a face. “Okay, so the cloak probably doesn’t actually care about bonding with me, but they are an attention hog, and they’re willing to pretend they want to bond with me if it means I’ll pay them attention.”

The cloak fluffed up a little in offense.

It was true, though. The cloak loved when they were the center of attention.

Stephen thought it probably was very telling that the cloak had chosen to bond with him. He was well aware of what people thought of Stephen’s own attention-seeking tendencies.

“And that ended with laundry detergent addiction how?” He narrowed his eyes at the cloak who, now that they were being judged, had decided that the books looked interesting again.

Stephen turned back to Tony.

“Well, we tried a few things. Then I found an expensive hand-wash detergent.”

Stephen just stared at him. From the corner of his eye he saw the cloak wiggle in delight.

Tony shrugged.

Stephen decided that it didn’t matter if the cloak was his, Tony was the one who was going to have to deal with this. Stephen wasn’t paid enough to. “You know what. You got them addicted, you have to deal with their cravings.”

Tony made a face. “Fine. But I’m restating it for the record, this really isn’t my fault. And anything that happens here on out is happening with your knowledge and permission. Isn’t that right, cloak?”

The cloak flew over so that they were between Tony and Stephen and nodded vigorously.

For a moment, Stephen doubted his choice to make this Tony’s problem. Then he considered having to deal with it on his own and decided that tomorrow’s problems were just that: tomorrow’s problems.

“Only you,” Stephen said. His tone came out more fondly amused than exasperated, which was only going to serve to encourage Tony in the long run. “Only you would get an ancient relic addicted to laundry detergent.”

[thalassophiliascripte]

texas hold me

Balor/Female Farmer, 2k, read on ao3 here

With Eiland intoxicated, there's no one to run Dungeons and Drama. Balor has another suggestion for how the group could spend their Friday Night - and there's definitely no ulterior motives there.

Friday nights at the inn were always interesting, but there was an arcing electric current in the air tonight.

Perhaps it had something to do with the drinks being half-off. Perhaps it had something to do with the kids being off camping in the Western Ruins. (Maple had seen the ancient circlet and the lost Aldarian crown in the museum, and insisted they go camping to see if she could find a real royal crown for herself.)

Perhaps it had nothing to do with either of those facts, and more to do with the warmth along her side where she was leaning against Balor. Eiland had stumbled in from talking to the kids at the ruins and plunked himself down at the bar—so Dungeons and Drama was cancelled for the night. Adeline had wandered over to ask him what was going on, but the wild look in his eyes and the muttered comment about Dell was enough to send her back over to the newly-emptied Dungeons table shaking her head.

“I’m not sure what happened, but it couldn’t have been anything good to leave Eiland looking like that,” she said. Then she clapped her hands together. “Even if we can’t play, we need to find something to do. I’ve set aside the next few hours on my calendar to have fun, so let’s get to it!”

“Right,” Aryn replied. “Right.” Technically she wasn’t officially part of the game, but Eiland had asked her to voice an NPC a few weeks ago, and then the rest of the players had been enchanted with her small gnomish barbarian, and dragged her along with them as they pursued their next objective, so she also needed to find another form of entertainment for the evening.

Balor watched the other table with a wistful look in his eyes, which he then turned on the remaining Dungeons and Drama players—which was only Celine, Aryn, and Adeline at this point.

Holt had pulled up a chair behind his wife, and with Olric watching his brother at the bar, she was slowly piling up a ridiculous number of poker chips while he watched her with shining eyes. Juniper and Valen leaned on one another, having taken the blacksmith brother’s place, and steadily descending further into drunken hysteria from the frequency of their giggling.

“It’s been such a long time since I was able to play a round of poker,” he sighed.

Aryn glanced at Adeline, then at the boys at the bar. Reina was still serving them drinks, but when Aryn caught her eye, she winced and slowly shook her head while miming taking another drink.

“We could play a round,” she said slowly, “but only if you get Olric, March, and Eiland over here to join us.”

Balor followed her gaze toward the bar, and grimaced. “I’m not certain how good they’ll be for it,” he said as he stood up. “I’ll try though—the doctor is off duty, and there’s nobody that can help if they drink themselves unconscious.”

Aryn watched him at the bar for a few minutes, having some sort of hushed conversation with the drinkers. March’s face flushed an interesting shade of red, and Eiland was nodding before Balor had finished the offer. Then he nearly slid off his stool. Balor had to steady him as he made his way over to the table. March and Olric followed, leaning on each other.

“Good old-fashioned poker is all well and good,” Balor began once he’d gotten back to their table. “But we were talking over by the bar, and we’d be able to just rotate in to the other table if we wanted to do that. So, does anyone care to wager something a little more…interesting?”

It just so happened that the last of his announcement left Balor murmuring in Aryn’s ear. His breath tickled the hair on the nape of her neck. She bit the inside of her lip in a desperate bid to avoid shivering.

“What did you have in mind?” Aryn asked. Balor hummed, and stroked his chin theatrically. Before he could say anything, Adeline interrupted him.

“Not drinks.”

He tsked. “You make a good point, Adeline, but that’s no fun.”

“We could attempt Caldosian variant poker,” Eiland hiccuped. “They didn’t wager for coin or chips—really, it was a fascinating byproduct of their non-monetary economy. Depending on your social class, in order to procure goods and services you might engage in a barter economy or a gift economy, which also created a disparity in the variety of good available to the common man—” Eiland trailed off. “What was I saying?”

Balor raised an eyebrow. “So you suggest we make no wagers?”

Eiland snapped his fingers, “Ah right! I was talking about poker! No, I was suggesting we go with something non-monetary. Like—” he waved his hands around “—like favors or something.”

March muttered something indecipherable, his face mushed into his brother’s bicep. “March says he’s hot,” Olric volunteered. March reached up to stroke Olric’s face.

“Shh, shh—you didn’t have to tell them that,” he slurred, before breaking into giggles. “I’m always hot. ‘S a part of bein’ a blacksmith.”

It was Balor’s turn to snap his fingers. Aryn knew that he and Eiland spent time together—but had Balor picked the habit up from Eiland, or had Eiland picked it up from Balor? “I know!” He leaned forward, and set his chin in his hands, devilish grin spreading across his face. “Has anyone played strip poker before? It’s a passing lark that people like to play in the Capital.”

Aryn flushed. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Balor draped an arm across her shoulders. “Ari, Ari, Ari. Of course it’s a good idea.” There was a strange intensity to his gaze.

“I can’t,” mumbled Celine.

“What?”

“I can’t!” Celine wailed. “My parents are right there!” She dropped her forehead against the tabletop. “I really want to play though. It sounds like fun.”

She was probably tipsy too—her cheeks had been awfully red before she’d face-planted onto the table. “We could go somewhere else?” Aryn suggested, hoping that she could pick up some water before they left and then—she might be able to sober up her friends before they went back home.

Adeline tapped her chin. “The park maybe? Near the old oak tree with the swing? It’s close enough to town that we shouldn’t get into any trouble, and still a decent ways away from where the kids are camping.”

“Sounds good to me,” Aryn shrugged.

As they left, Aryn made eye contact with Ryis, and cocked her head—a silent invitation. He shook his head, and gestured at Landen, who was leaning heavily on his shoulder. She shrugged again, and turned back toward the rest of her friends. It would have been nice for Ryis to come, but, in turn, he was too nice to leave Landen alone while drunk. She’d stop by in the morning to check in on him and tell him any embarrassing details from whatever was about to happen, she promised herself.

The night air was brisk on her face, as they made their way through the town toward the park. The clear sky sent shafts of moonlight across the paving stones, and Aryn was struck by the thought that it would be very nice to have someone’s hand in hers. There weren’t many crickets left, but the ones who lived to brave the early autumn chill were playing their hearts out in the otherwise still air. Balor’s arm brushed up against her side, and then his pinky looped through hers.

She hoped the cool air kept her from blushing. ***

They wound up in a lopsided circle in the moonshadow of the old oak tree in the park. March was splayed out on the ground with his head in Olric’s lap, snoring gently, and Olric had waved himself out of the game with a sheepish look at his brother. Eiland was doing slightly better than March, though that was partially the result of Adeline filling up his flask with water every time he wasn’t paying attention. He’d likely had about two or three flasks-worth of water, and they were clearly helping level him out.

Celine, on the other hand, kept bursting into random fits of giggles. She was lucky that she was the one sitting against the trunk of the tree, since Aryn had her doubts that she’d be able to stay upright by herself otherwise.

Balor flicked open the box of cards, and began to shuffle with practiced movements. His slender fingers and dexterous hands left the cards practically flying through the air, and if Aryn had to guess, he was showing off quite unnecessarily as he finished shuffling.

“How do we do this?” asked Adeline.

***

Things derailed quickly. It only took a half-round, actually.

Celine and Eiland were both overconfident drunks.

Olric was glancing wide-eyed between Celine and Eiland, who’d both lost their shirts, and in Eiland’s case, his cape. “I think it’s time that I take March home,” he stammered. And then he proved that his muscles weren’t just for show, as he hoisted his brother over his shoulder and booked it for their house.

“To be fair, he lasted longer than I expected him to,” said Celine. Aryn snickered, and anted up.

“Poor Olric,” said Adeline. “And March wasn’t any help.” She tossed her last few chips in the palm of her hand, weighing them, then sighed. “I’m out.”

Balor narrowed his eyes at Aryn, and dropped another round of chips in the pot. Struck by sudden burst of confidence, Aryn caught and held Balor’s eyes while she shimmied out of her shirt, and dropped it onto the pot.

Eiland wrinkled his brow. “I thought you were supposed to bet on what you’re taking off before the round ended. Or have I been doing this wrong?” He glanced mournfully at where his cape had been folded up neatly with the other stripped clothing, and shivered.

“I didn’t think it was fair that you and Celine were already shirtless,” she said, and thanked her lucky stars that she’d worn her cutest bra—despite the fact that the lace was annoying—since it was the last clean one before she did laundry the next morning. It was nice letting it dry while she was at Saturday Market.

Eiland’s eyes remained narrowed, and his brow remained wrinkled, but he didn’t say anything else.

“I’m out,” Celine sighed after looking at her cards. “I’m having terrible luck tonight.” She leaned back against the tree and closed her eyes. After a moment, she started to snore softly. “In that case—” Balor laid out his cards. A royal flush. Again. Somehow, Aryn didn’t think that it was an accident that Balor had been sent over to the Dungeons and Drama table and as far away from the poker game as possible. Damn him and his pretty hands.

She sighed, and dropped her two pair on the ground. “Another round?”

Adeline stood up as Balor started gathering cards. “I’d love to, but I’ve run out of fun-hours, and I should take Eiland home so that Elsie can laugh at him and help him sober up a bit so he’s not totally out of it tomorrow.”

Eiland frowned. “I’m fine—” he started, then Adeline pulled him to his feet. He clutched his head and groaned. “Nevermind. Lead the way.”

Ah. So it was just her and Balor. That was—fine—everything was fine. She wished that she hadn’t taken off her shirt now. The air that had been previously still stirred, and this time she couldn’t hold off her shiver. Balor had gathered up the cards, and was shuffling again.

“Another round?” he offered her. "I know there's only the two of us, but…"

“Is that all that’s on offer?” she said, and then clapped a hand to her mouth. “Wait. I don’t know why I said that.” If she hadn’t been blushing before, she certainly was now.

Balor had stopped shuffling, and his cheeks were pink. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Were you looking for more?” He was grinning now though, and her heart lurched. “You know me—I pride myself on offering all kinds of goods and services.”

His hand cupped her chin, and she looked up into iolite eyes. “I’d love to make a deal,” he continued.

She leaned in.

“After all—I’ve always had an eye for pretty things,” he breathed, and then his lips were on hers.