#poor buggers though; what a way to go

[fastofthekillones]

25

I'm just going to pin this post and use it to find weird tags that I have inexplicably written on something, mostly for my own gratification, but if any of you wonderful weirdos wanna look, feel free

[ellecdc]

Dude, I read the one where you talked about pregnant reader and you said it'll be a cute fic.... are you really gonna write it!!? Poly moonwater with pregnant reader!?? Will you? Will you? Will you!!?? Please, will you!!!!!???

well.....since you asked so nicely........👀

poly!moonwater x afab fem!reader who finds out she's expecting

CW: mentions of pregnancy, how people get pregnant (nothing discussed in detail, SFW and minors), reader is concerned the boys will leave her, reader wishes to keep the pregnancy, based off a discussion on this post.

Now that you knew, you weren’t sure how you could honestly feel surprised. In fact, now you were kind of surprised that it hadn’t happened sooner. 

For all the claims that wizardingkind makes to be ahead of the curve in comparison to muggles, they don’t exactly have the best contraceptives. 

Potions are fine if you remember to take them, the same can be said about charms, and condoms are a foreign concept to the likes of wizarding society.

You’d been feeling so incredibly exhausted lately, and it had gotten to the point that you couldn’t make it through the day without having at least one nap. It was when you’d actually fallen asleep at the dinner table that Regulus started to fret, though Remus found it terribly funny at the time. 

Then came the aches and pains that never seemed to dull no matter what you did. You’d tried potions, over the counter muggle medications, hot baths, cold showers, lying flat, sitting up – nothing stopped the aches that seemed intent on plaguing you. Remus had even given you full body massages that, whilst absolutely heavenly, did absolutely fuck all. 

“Maybe you’re coming down with something?” He’d queried, holding the back of his hand to your head. “Reg? Can you bring me the thermometer?”

You swore you heard whatever Regulus had been fussing with in the kitchen fall unceremoniously onto the counter in his haste to come over to you.

“Why? Is she poorly?” He asked severely, placing the back of his hand against your head like Remus had, only far more aggressively and to the point that it actually made a slapping sound as it made contact.

“Och, babe! If she wasn’t poorly yet she’ll surely have a concussion now!” Remus chided, pushing Regulus’ hand away and cradling your head protectively to his chest.

Needless to say, the thermometer didn’t pick up a fever either. 

So, when you woke up the next morning and spent most of the day hunched over the toilet bowl, Reg insisted you see a Healer.

Once the Healer started to ask the more...pointed questions, the pieces all started to click together in your mind.

Are you sexually active? Yes.

When was your last menstrual cycle? They weren’t exactly regular so... you supposed it had been late.

Any nausea? Yes.

Fatigue. Uh-huh.

Body or muscle pain? Fuckin’ hells.

So now you were standing outside of yours, Remus', and Regulus’ shared flat with a copy of your test results in your hand wondering what in the buggering fuck you were going to do now.

Both Regulus and Remus were pretty set on not wanting children of their own. They loved children, and they were both really good with children (in their own, very different ways); but with Regulus’ past, his family's reputation, and “the sodding inbreeding, amour; I’d be surprised if it didn’t come out with everything upside down and backwards”, he was sure that it’d be better for everyone if he stayed childless.

And Remus.

Poor, sweet Remus.

Too ashamed of his own affliction to a) pass it onto his own biological child or b) force any child to live with the knowledge that they had a ‘monster’ for a father.

And that was that.

Children just wasn’t in the cards for you three.

Yet here you were...

Suddenly, you weren’t just worried; you were terrified.

They didn’t want this, they never wanted this. They had always been clear about that. They could have been more careful to prevent this, but here you were.

Here you were.

There you stood; outside of your shared flat, unable to bring yourself to open the door.

They were going to leave you; they’d leave you, surely. Yeah?

They didn’t want this.

They wouldn’t want you. 

Fuck.

“For the love of Circe, I’m jus- Salazar’s saggy balls, Y/N!” Regulus said as he stumbled in the doorway, startled after having been in the middle of shouting something over his shoulder only to nearly collide with you. “How long have you been standing out here?”

You stared dumbly at him; you weren’t ready to go inside. You weren’t ready to have this conversation.

Too bad.

“Not long?” You stated in the form of a question. He furrowed his brows and looked you up and down before offering you his hand up the two steps to your doorway. 

“I was just opening the doors and windows; you’re lovely boyfriend tried to make us dinner.” He explained with a fond eyeroll, stepping into the flat and squinting through the smoke flooding the living space.

“Yeah, yeah. Last time I try something new in the kitchen.” Remus muttered as he threw away an entire baking dish.

“What was it supposed to be again, sweetheart?” Regulus asked with a mischievous smirk you knew he picked up from spending too much time with Remus, Sirius, and James.

“Just never you mind, you tosser. Hi dove.” He muttered to Regulus, though his tone changed dramatically once he turned to you, his eyes softening as he took in your form.

“How was your appointment?”

Your appointment? Your appointment. The appointment you just had. The appointment where you found out. The appointment where you were told you were pregnant. That appointment. The appointment you were still holding the slip for. The slip with your results. The slip with your pregnancy test results. The slip with your positive pregnancy test results.

That appointment.

“I-”

And you took off to the bathroom, slammed the door behind you and heaved into the toilet. 

There was a gentle knock on the door as you sat back against the tub with your knees to your chest, trying to catch your breath. “Dove?”

Another knock.

“Okay, we’re coming in.” Came Regulus’ more authoritarian voice through the door before it slowly opened to allow both of them entrance.

Remus had to fold himself a number of times in order to sit on the bathroom floor beside you whilst Reg flushed the toilet (while you flushed in embarrassment) and closed the lid to sit on it, facing you and Remus. 

“Did you get any answers from the healer?” Regulus asked quietly.

You smothered a humourless scoff and nodded your head in the affirmative. 

The boys let you sit there with your head laid back onto the edge of the tub and your eyes closed before Regulus couldn’t seem to handle it anymore.

“And? Are you... okay?”

You took in a deep breath and pulled that paper - now crumpled within your fist - cast a gemino duplication spell on it and handed one to each boy. 

You curled yourself inward and rested your forehead on your knees, reminding yourself to breathe even though you knew these two men now knew that you were expecting, that you were expecting their child. 

It could have been moments, or it could have been hours; but it was Remus who broke the silence.

“Pregnant?” He whispered on an exhale.

You cautiously raised your head to look over at him by your side, noticing that his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

You brought him to tears.

He never wanted this.

He wouldn’t want you.

“You’re really pregnant?” He asked again.

You nodded and swallowed around your gag reflex; unsure whether the nausea was nerves or...pregnancy related.

“You’re...” Reg started, still looking down at the paper in his hands. “You’re... gonna have a baby?” He whispered in awe.

You felt your brows furrow when you heard an emotional chuckle from beside you.

You turned back to see Remus wiping tears away from his eyes as he looked back down at his own paper in front of him.

“We’re gonna have a baby?” Remus corrected, nudging Regulus’ calf with his foot.

“Wait, you... you guys aren’t upset?” You asked urgently. Both boys snapped to attention to look at you in various degrees of worry or horror.

“Upset!?” Remus gawked as Regulus started shaking his head emphatically.

“Why? Why would you be worried of such a thing?”

You shook your own head and looked down at your hands as you began picking at your nailbeds. “Neither of you were ever interested in having kids of your own.” 

“Oh, dovey.” Remus cooed and quickly pulled you into his side. “When was the last time we talked about this, huh? When we first graduated Hogwarts? I think we could manage a kid now, yeah?”

“Or four.” Regulus added, causing you and Remus to straighten up significantly.

“Four!?” You and Remus chorused.

“Since when did you want kids?” You questioned incredulously.

“The moment I saw you hold Harry for the first time.” He answered without hesitation. 

“Ha ha.” Remus taunted. “Mine was watching her shop for Lily’s baby shower.” 

“What!?” You nearly screeched.

Regulus sighed before ultimately moving to sit on the floor on your other side; you knew this was very serious considering he was a notorious germ freak. 

“I was always a little afraid of having kids of my own, you’re right. I mean, you’ve seen the way that Sirius and I turned out, yeah?”

You and Remus scoffed at that.

“I just hated the idea of ever being anything like my parents, because that’s all I know. Or I guess, that was all I knew. But... I think you guys have taught me an awful lot.”

You watched Regulus’ stormy grey eyes as they moved between you and Remus. “You’ve both taught me to slow down, to be more patient, to see the fun in the mess and the burnt food and the change of plans. You’ve taught me that I won’t perish if I sit on the bathroom floor for a minute. And, I think most importantly, you’ve taught me how to love. And when I see how happy Harry is, I realize that’s all a kid really needs, yeah? Love?”

“You... you really want a child? This child?” You asked in a whisper.

Regulus’s face turned heartbroken for a moment. “You’re child? Absolutely, amour. There was never any doubt.”

“I always thought I’d pass on only the worst parts of me to any child.” Remus added, turning your attention to him. “But I find I’m only ever my best self when I’m around the two of you. And any child that’s even a fraction of either of you, well, I’d be one... one lucky man to call them mine.” He whimpered the end of his sentence before breaking out into a sob.

“Oh, Rem.” You murmured empathetically, pulling his larger frame into your side. He chuckled through happy tears as he moved one of his hands tentatively to your abdomen.

“A baby...” Regulus breathed, looking back at the paper in his hands. “We’re really going to have a baby?”

You and Remus exchanged a shy glance, understanding seeming to pass between the two of you before you both turned back to Regulus.

“We’re going to have a baby.” You concurred. 

[kay-elle-cee]

@jilytoberfest 31 Prompts: Day 10 || 543 Words || Read on Ao3 —

3 July 1977

03 July 1977 1:06pm

Lily: I need to tell you something but you have to promise not to do anything stupid about it.

Cross-legged on her childhood bed, Lily chews on the end of her pen as her eyes stay trained to the little scrap of charmed parchment that sits in front of her. Light pours in through the open window, bathing her in its summer glow and her stomach churns, unsure if he’ll have the ability to reply immediately, though she desperately needs it.

James: …that’s a hell of a way to start.

Lily: You have to promise.

James: I don’t even know what it is I’d be doing something stupid about. I’d like to have the rest of the information first, if you don’t mind.

Bugger. She supposes it’s not that unjust of a request.

Lily: It’s my mum.

Lily: She’s gone and set me up on a date with a friend’s son.

James: I see. And you were expecting me to…what? Come crash the date? Show up like some jilted lover angry to find his girl with another?

Lily: I cannot emphasize how much I don’t want to go, but I told her I wasn’t seeing anyone and I’ve fallen into her trap.

Lily: I just wanted to let you know it’s happening, and it’s not my choice, and I am not happy about it, so please don’t make an already mortifying situation any worse.

James: You haven’t even told me where the date is going to be. Virtually impossible to show up unannounced that way.

James: Unless…

James: Evans, do you want me to crash your date?

Lily: Of course not!

James: You sly thing. You want me to ruin your date so you don’t have to hurt this poor bloke’s feelings all on your own, don’t you?

Lily: Now you’re just being ridiculous.

James: Me? Lil, there is a whole other way this conversation could’ve gone. “I told my mum I wasn’t seeing anyone so she’s set me up with a friend from her knitting group’s son (ugly mug, I’m told, poor thing). It doesn’t mean a thing but I have to go to fulfill some sort of blood oath between knitting club members. Please know my heart beats only for you.”

Lily: Quite the poet, you are.

Lily: And Gerald’s not got an ugly mug!

James: Oh it’s Gerald now, is it?  

Lily: Just a quick bite for dinner tonight and we part ways as friends. I promise.

James: Lil, I’m just teasing you. I trust you, of course. I know we’re keeping this under wraps for now…I won’t pretend that I expected something like this to happen, but it’s fine.

Lily: …You’re really great, do you know that?

James: Of course I do. You might want to tell Lily of 1976 that though.

Lily: Poor thing would never believe me.

James: She’d think it was some elaborate ruse on my end.

Lily: Oh, absolutely.

Lily: If you promise not to make a scene…I’ll let you know where I’m meeting Gerald for dinner. If you’re not busy, maybe we could get some ice cream after?

James: I’ll be on my best behavior. Watching in dutiful silence from the other side of the diner.

Lily: Oh, don’t you dare.

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

A Game Of Cat And Mouse

Leona Kingscholar and Che’nya x Fem!Jerry Mouse!Reader 

Note: Reader is Yuu/The magicless Ramshackle Prefect from another world

I have a ton of WIPs that I really want to complete but to help motivate myself to finish them I decided to write this

So Jerry’s personality seems to fluctuate depending on his iteration so I’m just going to tone down his more sadistic tendencies and make him more like the early shorts where he’s more mischievous and acts when provoked instead of going out of his way to ruin Tom’s life for no reason. 

Honestly as a Tom girlie I felt so sorry for Thomas. There were times where that poor cat did not deserve what he went through - even when I was little I would root for him. Though this might just be an oldest child thing since my little sister and mum (who’s the youngest in her family) prefer Jerry.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR 

Honestly, his first impression of you wasn’t the best. Yeah, you’re a girl and he chugs gallons of respecting women juice for every meal but come on - you’re this tiny little mousegirl from another world who can’t even do magic (not to mention that he’s heard rumours that you don’t even speak that much). You’ll get eaten alive!

Then he met you and all of that went down the drain

The meeting went as it usually does: you stepped on his tail, he angrily confronts you (whilst subtly warning you of the dangers of NRC) but then you just give him this flat, unamused look.

“Hey pussycat,” you deadpan, raising an eyebrow and crossing your arms as you jut your chin up so you level him with a glare, “maybe don’t go leaving your tail lying around everywhere if you don’t want people to step on it.”

Okay, so maybe you weren’t the meek little mouse that he thought you were. Even the predators in his dorm don’t have the guts to talk back to him. Honestly, respect.

Then word gets out that you defeated an overblot and his opinion of you gets more and more favourable.

Long story short, you start dating after his overblot.

And it does cause a few turned heads.

And who can blame them? A lion going out with a mouse. That’s definitely something.

And to the untrained eye, it does sound concerning. But to those who know you (read: have been around you for more than five minutes)? Well, they’re praying for Leona’s sanity because you are nothing more than an agent of chaos.

There was this one time before you and Leona got together where a bunch of Savanaclaw predators were trying to push you, Ace, Deuce and Grim around and without even blinking you just pummelled all of them right then and there. At one point during the curb stomp battle you just pulled a mallet out of nowhere and just started thrashing everyone until they were black and blue. 

Congratulations the entire Savanaclaw dorm is terrified of you

All that training with Big Cousin Muscles really does wonders

NRC have two new rules: 1) don’t even think about going after the nagicless prefect because you will lose and even if you try to use magic she will dodge and it will be your funeral and 2) DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES hurt Ace, Deuce or Grim because that will probably be the last thing you ever do (memories of Jerry completely annihilating Tom after he hurt Nibbles are resurfacing)

One thing he admires about you is your cunning and intelligence and how you’re always a step ahead of everyone no matter what their plans are. Even when you do find yourself in trouble 

Even Rook Hunt has trouble trying to catch you. Don’t worry though, he’s far too fond of ‘petite mademoiselle souris’ to be irked by that.

He does get jealous of how close you are with Ruggie though. Since the hyena is also a greedy little thieving bugger like you, you have found a kindred spirit in him. The two of you bond over raiding the NRC kitchen and making off with as much as you can. And also taking the mickey out of Leona.

 You also get along great with Cheka. He’s noticed that you have a soft spot for children and other animals. The pro is that he gets his nephew off of his back by pawing him off to you (who he knows will make sure that no harm will come to him) the con is that you get along too well and your chaotic natures mixing will probably send him to an early grave - if your mischievous and provoking nature doesn’t already.

One thing he loves to do is tease you over your mouse-like qualities. Yeah, anyone with eyes can tell that you’re nowhere near as innocent as you look but those mouse ears, wide eyes, squeaks and cute little tail are objectively and indisputably adorable. He takes great pleasure in telling you how cute ‘his little mouse’ is, especially when you give such sweet reactions when you're flustered.

Though he does get taken aback by how bold you are. You definitely did that thing Jerry does where he holds mistletoe above his head and made kissing noises at Tom.

Your high pitched laugh makes his heart melt and he definitely uses his rich boy money to buy you all of the expensive cheese you can eat.

CHE’NYA

He loves you so much. Finally, someone he can be chaotic with - you’re a match made in hell.

His interest in you starts when he tries to sneak up on you whilst invisible but you pull one over him and just turn around, look directly into his unseeable eyes and sprAY WATER RIGHT ONTO HIS FACE-WHAT THE HELL?! WHERE DID YOU EVEN GET THAT SPRAY BOTTLE FROM????

At first he was pleasantly surprised before his face broke into a Cheshire Cat grin. He felt cupid’s arrow hit him square in the chest and he just looked at you with heart eyes.

By asking Trey and Cater and hiding in the rose maze, he gathered enough information to decide that you are his future wife

Turns out that your troublemaking antics have you paired with Ace and Floyd for the position of ‘bane of Riddle Rosehearts’ existence’. Mainly because everytime you break a rule you always, without fail, evade punishment by avoiding getting caught - even when you are clearly the culprit

Trey has bribed you with so many cheese based baked goods to stop you from sneaking into Heartslabyul and causing mayhem (you felt sorry for him so you promised him that you’ll only steal from the main kitchen near the cafeteria. That’s not what he meant but he’ll take it)

One day he catches you kidnapping the dorm’s pet dormouse before an unbirthday party so that you ‘can help your fellow mice by freeing them from their subjugation’. He shrugs and nods in understanding before asking you if he should let out the flamingos and hedgehogs from their pens as a distraction. 

And so a beautiful relationship was born as the two of you ran off with a tray of choux pastries and a bunch of angry card soldiers chasing you.

The two of you have a competition over who can sneak into and stay in Heartslabyul the longest without getting caught and you’re currently the winner.

He loves that you’re not scared of anyone and you’re not afraid to stand up to people that are almost quadruple your size. In fact, he’s there cheering you on whenever you fight back or plot your revenge (he does know that he has a whole other school to attend, right?). One time you showed him one of your revenge plans and he even helped you set the traps and everything. Oh the two of you working together has NRC running for the hills.

Like Leona, he does like to tease you but what do you expect? He’s a cat, you’re a mouse - that’s nature. Though he does love the fact that you’re always one step ahead of him whenever he does try to outsmart you. He loves a good puzzle and you certainly keep him on his toes.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

How about a fanfic that goes like this-

It’s super late at night and you’ve already gotten into bed. The reader is sound asleep but Marc is just laying there wide awake having a huge episode of self doubt and insecurity and he can’t sleep because of it. Marc is aware that his thoughts are just running around but he can’t help it. He wonders if he really is living a good life or if he’s living in a lie he’s made up for himself to think that he is. 

Do you actually love him or do you just put up with him because you actually love Steven and Jake and he’s just part of the “package”? Or what if he and the boys are just some sort of man-toy that you like but will leave once you find them not longer amusing. Even when reader cuddles up closer to him in their sleep, he just thinks “what if they’re just dreaming that I’m Steven or Jake”.

At some point Marc does end up falling asleep, more so out of his body just deciding to do it rather than through will. When it’s morning, Marc wakes up and finds reader starting to make breakfast. They greet him with a good morning kiss and all that and a while after comes out and made a breakfast that Marc specifically, just out of whim, and Marc just kind of sits there and thinks “Okay yeah, no, they love me :)” 

You can change this up any way you like It was just something I thoughts that fit in your writing style

PAIN. (Thank you for the ask, oh boy did this one just run off and do whatever it wanted.) Also basing Marc’s thought process/self doubt on my (mentally ill) thought process. I changed the ending, I hope you don’t mind, again the story just seemed to go off and do its own thing.

Ink in Water

Marc Spector X GN!Reader Rating: T Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: self doubt, self hatred, Marc thinking he's worthless (HE'S WRONG), illusions to Randall, nightmares, happy ending, rail road sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 1305

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The steady rain hitting the windows would be soothing to most, calming. The right noise to lull someone off to sleep. 

Marc hated it. 

Especially when it was dark with the sound of your soft breathing next to him. Rain and dark and not being alone.

It had been one of the things that had annoyed him about London, the idea of it at least. But it was pleasantly surprising when he realised that it didn’t actually rain that much in the city, not really. Despite how often its inhabitants seemed to talk about it.

More often than not it was that spitty rain anyway, the kind of stuff that felt like you’d been sprayed in the face with mist. It made everything damp and by default made 2 degrees celsius feel colder than 30 in fahrenheit, but other than that it was okay. Bearable. 

Not like tonight. 

Tonight it pelted down, the wind howling faintly. Tonight it reminded him too much of… well, things best left buried. 

He tried to focus on the sound of just your breathing instead. That gentle, even rhythm and was normally so soothing. Would usually drown everything else out. 

Don’t think of drown.

Don’t think of anything. 

Just breathing, your breathing. In and out. In and out. He tried to match it, held his breath until you breathed out. But no matter how he tried he kept slipping out of your rhythm. 

Marc turned onto his side, opening his eyes to look at you, your face faintly illuminated by the glow of this fish tank. He’d forgotten to turn the light off. 

Steven would tut and scoff at him in the morning. ‘How would you like to sleep with the top light on, hmm? It’s not good for them, buggers up their internal clocks and all that.’

He’d have to tell Steven that he didn’t think fish had internal clocks. 

Part of him wanted to get up, to turn the light off. And not just to avoid Steven’s disappointment, but because really he did feel kind of bad for the poor fish. 

Not tonight though, he couldn’t do it tonight. The thought of getting up, walking through the darkness of the flat despite the glow from the streetlights outside, with the sound of the rain. Dark, walking, rain. No, not tonight. 

The fish tank light stopped the complete darkness, the sound of it hummed lightly. Even if Marc couldn’t focus on it enough for it to completely block out the rain the absence of it would be worse. It would make the drip, drip, drip of the water going through the tank’s filter louder. The kind of sound that would give birth to stalagmites.

No, not tonight. He would say he forgot, apologise to Steven and the fish in the morning. 

He could put his headphones on, listen to something to try to drown out the rain-

Don’t think of drown.

But he didn’t remember where he put them, which left him with fumbling around in the dark to look or turning on a light. Both would wake you. And that wasn’t fair. 

You put up with so much and here he was, not even able to deal with the sound of the rain. 

Marc pushed gently at the head space, a nudge just to check if anyone else was awake. If Steven or Jake would like a go at trying to get the body to sleep. He could just… slink back and fade. It was always easier to nod off if he wasn’t fronting, just sort of sink-

Don’t think of sink. Don’t think of drown. Don’t think at all.

That, of course, never worked. 

You shifted in bed, sighing quietly. 

It hurt sometimes to think about how much he loved you. Early on he used to imagine you breaking up with him every night, not Jake or Steven, no you’d still be with them, just him. Ending it with him. 

It was like he had to. Repeatedly going over and over the way you’d tell him you didn’t want to be together romantically anymore. In any and all situations he could think of. 

The more he thought about it, he reasoned, the more he would get used to the idea. Grow calluses over the hurt, so when it happened he wouldn’t cause too much of a fuss. Wouldn’t make it awkward for you or Steven or Jake. 

It never worked like that, of course. His thoughts very rarely did what he wanted, preferring to run among and spread all over the place like ink in water. Clouding everything to madness. 

Everytime he imagined it, the words you’d say, whether you’d speak them calmly or in a rage, coldly or with kindness, it didn’t matter. Just thinking about it always made him cry. Made his throat ache and skin hot. 

It got so bad once that Steven had jumped to the front, confused and worried at the tears on their face, at why their hands were pulling fistfuls of their hair. At why they were sitting curled up on the bathroom floor. 

Marc had bullshited something, he couldn’t remember what. Steven hadn’t believed him, Marc knew that for sure, but he hadn’t pressed him further either. It wasn’t surprising, Steven was far too smart to swallow whatever nonsense had been thrown at him. The opposite of  hook, line and sinker. Sinker. Water. Rain. Sinker. Sink. Drown.

Don’t think of sinker. Don’t think of sink. Don’t think of drown.

Of course you’d stay with Steven and Jake. How could you not? 

He’d seen the way Jake made you laugh, so loud that it reverated in your chest, so hard that you almost couldn’t breathe, so constantly that you’d beg him to stop, just for a moment so that you could compose yourself. You’d never give that up.

He knew the way you talked with Steven, both of you speaking so fast that it made Marc’s head spin, so excitedly and animatedly, not even needing to finish a sentence before starting the next one because you were both so in sync. You’d never let that go. 

What did he have to offer? 

Except for being scared of the rain. Too afraid to turn off the fish tank light. Too pathetic to even deal with the idea of not being with you. 

He really should just-

“Marc?” You turned, your voice filled with sleep as you reached out for him. You grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.

He swallowed, “yeah baby?” He sounded stuffy, almost like he’d been crying. Thankfully, you weren't quite awake enough to notice. 

You sighed, relief flooding your veins and shuffled closer to him, quickly embracing him and hugging him tight. 

“I had a bad dream.” You mutter against him, pressing your face into his chest. 

“Baby,” he squeezes you back and places a soft kiss on your temple. “It’s okay, don’t worry. You’re alright.”

“Dreamt I couldn’t find you.”

“Couldn’t find me?”

You nod. “I kept shouting ‘Marc’, kept calling for you, but you weren’t there.”

Something sharp digs into his chest, spearing his heart clean through the middle. “Shouting for me?” He whispers.

You nod and stiff, shaking a little. There’s wetness on his bare chest. 

“Hey, baby, hey,” he gently pulls you back and lifts up your face, cradling your cheeks in his warm, safe hands. “It’s okay.” He kisses lightly just under your eyes, presses his lips to your tears, “I’m right here, don’t worry. Not going anywhere.”

You nod, still sleepy and kiss his lips. “Love you.”

“I love you baby, here.” Marc readjusts his position so that you can lay your head fully on the pillow and he can wrap both arms around you, softly rubbing your back as you snuggle into his warmth. 

You both fall asleep at the same time. 

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Thank you for reading!

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[snippychicke]

Kinktober Week Two-- Garp

Prompt: Phone Sex

Warnings: these poor communication snails. Otherwise just a lot of dirty talk. Nsfw, 18+, just look at the title.

You sat at the library of the marine headquarters, mindlessly reading quite possibly the only piece of fiction in the entire place. The library was calm, quiet, with just a few soldiers as well as cadets milling about, looking through old journals and log books. Pieces of history to help them plan the future.

You sat at the library of the marine headquarters, mindlessly reading quite possibly the only piece of fiction in the entire place. The library was calm, quiet, with just a few soldiers as well as cadets milling about, looking through old journals and log books. Pieces of history to help them plan the future.

The quiet was interrupted by a chirping sound. Not the transponder snail on your desk, but the ear-slug in your purse.

Garp.

Your breath caught, he rarely ever reached out on the private line, usually happy using the official lines even if it was just to whine and tell you how bored he was, or how much he missed you. Often to everyone else's annoyance.

You quickly fished the small conch out of your bag as you stood and retreated into your office, sure whatever he was calling for was private. "Garp?"

"Heh. Wasn't sure you'd answer," Came your husband's reply. "You do still keep the little bugger with you."

"Of course I do!" You said, though relief wasn’t instantaneous. You knew Garp, he'd chit chat before admitting he had a massive hole where his stomach was. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I was just missing you." There was a huskiness to his voice, making you frown. It wasn't pain. But… "Are you able to slip away and talk in private for a little bit?"

Something about the way he said it made you blush, as if he was right there whispering into your ear. "I'm in my office with the door closed."

"Perfect. Have you got a new desk yet?"

You blushed as you looked at your desk, covered with papers and books, it wasn't nearly as grand or large as the last one. Or the one before that. Or the one before that.

All broken by your husband during his… visits.

"I do. It's not very well made, I guess they got annoyed about how many we've broken."

His laughter echoed in your ear. "I can't wait to get back and break that one too. I'll push all those boring dusty reports to the side, throw you up there and start railing you. Whole place is going to hear me fuck my wife."

If your face was't red before it was now as you slumped in your chair. Throat became dry as you listened to his slightly-heavy breathing. "So that's why you called me."

His chuckles echoed down your spine, goosebumps pricking your skin. "I've been out to sea too long. Can you blame me for wanting to hear my wife's voice as I jacked myself off."

You could just imagine him in his quarters, sitting at his desk, legs splayed wide open, cock hard as the mast as he teased himself. After all, how many times had you seen it when you worked as his secretary? First on accident, then on purpose.

"Are you already touching yourself?" You purred, switching mental gears, and heard him groan in response.

"Barely. I wanted to see if I could get you at least breathing heavy first."

You relaxed back in your chair, teasing your nipple through your outfit. "What got you all hard and bothered, sailor?"

"All this goddamn paperwork made me remember the days you used to sit beneath my desk and reward me for doing my reports," He answered. "Talk about initiave when you have a pretty woman giving you head, knowing you get to fuck her wet pussy once you're finished."

Your breath hitched between his words and memories. Hearing him growl in frustration as he tore through his work as you lazily sucked him off. "It was the only way to get you to work," You teased, making him growl.

"You fucking loved it. You start loosening the buttons on your blouse, showing your cleavage as you delivered reports. Bright red lipstick. You were begging me to fuck that pretty mouth of yours."

"I was," You admitted with a sigh, now fully groping yourself. Eyes closed as you focused on his voice and memory. "But could you blame me? I was serving under the vice admiral. Those huge muscles, that smile. I swear your eyes smouldered when you’d eye-fuck me. And then that is cock of yours. So big and girthy. I felt like a cat in heat wanting to be fucked by it."

"I shouldn't have wasted time. I should have just bent you over my desk that first day and claimed you right then and there, instead of hoping you didn't notice me jacking off under my desk while watching you work."

Your pussy clenched at the thought, and your hand pulled up your skirt and brushed the fabric of your underwear. "That would have been some first impression. But I admit, it felt rather nice realizing I had the legendary Monkey D. Garp lusting over little ol' me."

"Turned you into a little brat," He moaned. You had no doubt he was touching himself now from the way he was breathing. Stroking his hard cock, head leaned back with eyes closed. It was such a beautiful image. "It was like you were testing your limits. Seeing how far you could push until I snapped."

"No. I wanted you to snap. I knew you wanted me. I knew the mess you were making beneath your desk--you're hardly quiet with those growls of yours. I wanted to hear those growls in my ear as you fucked me. Those hands gripping my hair."

That growl was cutting every breath now. "Fuck darling. Please tell me I got you a little wet."

"A little?" You moaned as you pushed your underwear aside and teased yourself. "Sir, I am dripping."

"That's my girl," He snarled. "Always so wet and willing. How long would it take for you to come for me?"

"I thought you just wanted my voice," You teased.

"Plans change. I wanna hear you come. I wanna hear you whine and moan as you fuck yourself. I want to hear you begging me to come there and fill your pussy up."

You whimpered as you started to finger fuck yourself, rolling your hips in time with your thrusts. "Please, promise me you will. As soon as you're back to headquarters."

"Oh yes," He panted. "As soon as this ship's close to shore I'm jumping overboard and running straight for you. Fuck everyone else, I'm going to find you first. I'm gonna carry you into that little office and eat that pussy until you're a sobbing mess, and then we're gonna break that damn desk as I fuck you. The whole base will know I'm back just to satisfy my wife."

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

How to Find a Werewolf (a week before the full moon)

The title will probably change lmfao

7 days

Sirius notices the signs from the moment Remus is awake. He's flinching every single time a fork hits a plate in the wrong way, for starters. Sirius ends up gently kicking both James and Peter, forcing them to catch on. It's clearly much too loud in the hall itself, Remus is barely contributing. Not for lack of trying, but he seems more than a little dissociated.

Then it's the walking.

As much as he's trying to hide it, the slight exhales that come with every step is enough to show Sirius that he's in pain. The hip's usually the first of his joints to start acting up, so Sirius wordlessly starts picking up and shoving Remus' textbooks into his own bag. Thankfully, Remus isn't ready to bicker about that.

No, it's much too early for that.

5 days

It's two in the morning when Sirius notices.

He's a light sleeper, so Remus' tossing and turning is more than enough to wake him up.

For a moment he just observes carefully. He knows full well that Remus is going to be exhausted, and the fact that he's still up means his skin must be crawling.

"Moons?" He says softly, and Remus stops in his tracks.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"Nah, s'fine," Sirius waves him off easily. "We can go sit by the window, if you want?"

For a moment, he thinks Remus is going to say no and resign to a sleepless night, but instead he just sighs.

"...yeah. If that's okay."

Sirius is already sliding out of their bed, glancing at James and Peter to make sure they're still asleep. Then, he reaches out and offers Remus his hand. Remus takes it, letting himself be led to the big window. The windowsill was charmed years ago. Initially it was to fit the four of them, but four seventh years can't fit on it even when it's been extended. Two, though? It's absolutely perfect.

That's how the two of them end up sitting together on the sill, Sirius wedging the window open slightly and letting the cool air hit them both. He can see the way Remus relaxes as he starts to cool down, eyes sliding shut. He leans his head back against the wall, and Sirius smiles to himself as Remus finally starts to fall asleep.

3 days

It doesn't take long for the anger to hit.

Remus isn't what people expect when they think of a werewolf before the full moon. He doesn't have all consuming, blinding rage. There's no world where Remus Lupin will turn and start screaming at teachers.

Instead, it usually starts pretty suppressed.

At breakfast, he sees Remus' hand tighten around his goblet the moment Snape strolls past, making another snide comment about the moon. It's enough for Sirius to make a mental note not to push anything too far. Bickering can turn into real fighting and hurt feelings much too quickly around the full.

James, however, hasn't caught onto the timeline the way Sirius has.

They can all see Remus fighting his own tiredness in the common room, quill in hand as he absentmindedly tries to do his homework. Remus' handwriting is shit at the best of times, but before the full? It's barely legible.

Sirius' solution is to walk over and sit beside Remus, not saying a word and just making sure Remus knows he has support.

"Moony, you might need to take a break," James says softly, and Sirius almost sighs.

Poor bugger.

"I'm fine," Remus starts, and Sirius feels him tense up beside him. He tries to shoot James a glance that essentially means 'stop fucking talking', but he doesn't get the hint.

"Minnie's offered you an extention. It's probably best to wait until you feel better."

"Christ, I said I was fine! Get off my fucking back!" He snaps, James lapsing into silence.

Okay, it's hit him too.

Sirius tries to wrap an arm around Remus' shoulder, but he's shaken off like it's nothing, Remus standing. He winces as he does it, and Sirius forces himself to take a breath, not get too het up about that.

"You all just need to fuck off! You're all so bloody clingy!"

With that, he's gone. He turns and walks upstairs, and Sirius just shrugs at James.

"Give him a day, it'll be fine."

1 day

Remus doesn't get out of bed the day before.

Sometimes he does, but recently his good days before the moon are getting fewer and further between. The only reason Sirius actually bothers to go to his morning classes is to take notes for Remus, and he makes Pete promise to get Remus' notes for his last few.

That sorted, he heads up to the dorm, a hot chocolate he got from the kitchen in hand. Knocking once, he pushes the door open to find the curtains drawn in the room, the whole dorm flooded in darkness.

"Moony?"

For a moment, he thinks he's asleep, until-

"M'fine." His voice is rough, sounds almost like he's been crying.

Yeah, this is definitely one of the bad ones.

He steps into the room, letting the door shut behind him as he gets to Remus' bed. At first, he sits on the edge of it, Remus not moving.

"I've got hot chocolate?" He tries.

"...could you put it on the bedside table?" Sirius nods, setting it down.

"D'you need anything?" He asks gently. Not that he needs to ask, he knows what the answer is going to be.

"If you- maybe you could... stay?"

He doesn't waste a moment in climbing into the bed with his partner and wrapping his arms around Remus' waist from behind.

"Sorry I was such a twat before," Remus says quietly, and Sirius smiles to himself.

"Don't worry about it."

To be fair, his body is literally getting ready to break itself. In what world is he going to have boundless excitable energy?

Sirius just wants to take care of him.

"I love you," He says softly, shifting his weight to reach up and press a kiss to Remus' temple.

"I love you too."

[fly-boy-in-the-sky]

Banana Fish & Films PART 1

Recommendations based on aesthetics, themes, decade etc…

These are just my personal recommendations for movies similar to Banana Fish. Most of these films from 1960-90s revolving around some sort of street culture gangs, prostitution, trafficking, drugs all that good stuff…also a few of these I haven’t watched in years so the description may be a little off LOL

TAXI DRIVER 1976

“All the animals come out at night. Whores, skunk-pussies, buggers, queens, fairies, dopers, junkies. Sick and venal.”

Taxi Driver follows a former Vietnam solider insomniac 26-year-old Travis (Robert De Niro) who takes night shifts as a cab driver in NYC. The story is mostly told through his inner monologue, where he talks about his his loneliness and depression along with telling stories of his interactions with his customers. He crosses paths with a 12-year-old prostitute Iris, (Jodie Foster) whom he tries rescuing from her situation.

This film was recommended by Yoshida.

THE WARRIORS 1979

“Since when the fuck are you a diplomat?”

After being blamed for the killing of a rival gang leader in the Bronx, the Warriors have dozens of New York City street gangs are out for revenge battling over turf that ranges from Bronx to Coney Island where the Warriors reside.

STREETWISE 1984

“No one to tell you where to go or what to do.”

A documentary on Street Kids in Seattle Washington 1984. Many of the teenagers do dangerous hustling gigs to survive on the streets.

There’s a story about a girl who is a prostitute with her mother’s knowledge, though her mother is against the idea she doesn’t stop her since it brings in money. Similar situation with Ash and his father..I have seen people say “I can’t believe his father would do that!” or that it’s totally unrealistic. Unfortunately these terrible things do happen, and even though Banana Fish is fictional and exaggerated, the crimes featured are really not far off for the time. Child exploitation human trafficking was huge, that’s one of the reasons how the milk carton missing persons started back in the eighties, especially through mafia/politicians in Europe.

PLATOON 1986

“Any way you cut it, Barnes is a fucking murderer.”

This movie was recommended by Yoshida.

Chris Taylor (Charlie Seen) leaves university to enlist in the Vietnam war. His experiences in combat fades his idealisms of what war is really about and what the troops are fighting this war for. His two Sargents, Barnes (Tom Berneger) and Elias (Williem Dafoe) are constantly arguing together over their morals. Barnes has violent approaches and believes the villagers are harboring Vietcong, while Elias has a more sympathetic view of the villagers and the war. Their disagreements began putting soldiers up against each other, as well as the enemies.

CRUISING 1980

“They told me that there was some... special assignment... and that I was right for it.”

Steve Burns (Al Pacino) is tasked to go undercover cop as a gay man infiltrating New York’s S&M clubs for a psychopath who’s been violently killing homosexuals. Steve begins immersing himself in the subculture and club hopping. While this is going down, he becomes increasingly distant with his girlfriend and the police forces homophobia becomes more apparent as the case goes on.

KING OF NEW YORK 1990

“ I spent half my life in prison. I never got away with anything, and I never killed anybody that didn't deserve it.”

The biggest Kingpin of the underground Frank White (Christopher Walken) just got released from prison. He’s different from most gangsters though. He shares his benefits with the poor, opening children’s hospitals and protecting the wellbeing of underprivileged citizens. Though the streets are much tougher than before. The mafia, Chinatown and Colombian gangs are running the streets partaking in child human trafficking and prostitution, unnecessary killings and racketeering. Frank’s not a fan of how they do business, and puts an end to it.

One of my favorites..the ending even ends similar to Banana Fish and there’s these two gay ass cop partners that the one kisses him towards the end (no spoilerrr) Frank is a super morally grey gangster and very similar to Ash in his beliefs. Film features many famous 90s actors. Must watch.

THE OUTSIDERS 1983

“I used to talk about killing myself all the time, man. But I don't wanna die now. It ain't long enough. Sixteen years ain't gonna be long enough.”

Based on the novel of the same name, an American classic most of us had to read in middle school.

A teenage gang in 1960s Oklahoma, the Greasers have constant clashes with another rival gang the Socs. When Ponyboy (C. Thomas Howell) and Johnny (Ralph Macchio) get into a brawl that leads to the death of a Soc member, they are forced to run away into hiding. With help from their friend Dally (Matt Dillon) he tells them a place out in the rural part of town they can hide until the situation dies down. They are eventually forced to return back to their town after a tragic incident with Johnny happens, and they’re subjected to the consequences of their violent lives once again.

[theonlyren]

Public Sylveon Announcement

So. It's Pride Month, and the Sylveon are out in droves, being the icons we all want them to be (they adore the attention). During this time, you may be tempted to catch one of these goobers, or perhaps be chosen by one, to raise and train as your own. That's great! As a trainer of a Sylveon for a whole decade, I'm intimately familiar with the ins and outs of this particular Eeveelution and will be glad to share some advice!

Without further ado, here's how you care for a newly caught Sylveon!

0: Don't.

Get yourself an Eevee, and earn your Sylveon.

Understand I'm not saying this with spite, this is genuinely a word of caution, a warning, if you will. Aside from the fact that catching a Sylveon during Pride is almost certainly an "impulse catch" that you may well not be ready to commit to, stop to consider for a moment just how Sylveon evolve. They require affection. Love. A step above "mere" friendship. They require a genuine connection to another that sparks perhaps one of the most unique and precious evolutions known to all 'mon. Straight up catching/adopting one not only skips that entire, critical step, but also more-than-likely deeply implies that the Sylveon you're catching/adopting had that connection and, one way or another has lost it.

We call this baggage and a lot of people aren't ready to deal with it. You could be inadvertently taking in a 'mon with separation anxiety, depression, nightmares and high stress, imposter syndrome, and more.

Start with an Eevee (A child of a Sylveon if at all possible ;D), and evolve it with a healthy baseline into a Sylveon, you'll both be much happier.

"But what if the Sylveon chose me and isn't leaving?"/"I'm aware of the risks, but want to commit to this anyway."

Well, dear reader, keep reading!

1: Be ready for touch.

Sylveon are titled "The Intertwining Pokemon" for a reason. They adore touch. They're hardwired to seek it. Quite literally my own Sylveon is sitting under my desk as I type this, with his feeler wrapped around my leg. It's his favorite place to be that isn't also in my bed. Their feelers can be off putting to a lot of people, especially after one realizes they're flesh and fur, but do not recoil from it, you'll break the poor bab's heart. Touch is how they explore and how they get a read on you and other pokemon (it's also how they lull prey into a false sense of security before they go for the throat, more on that later). Do not touch starve your Sylveon. For a blessing, their feelers are velvety soft and feel wonderful, at least, to most people. If you have other Pokemon, encourage them to get used to the feelers as well. I have a Zoroark on my team, and, though it took a while, he doesn't recoil at Vivi's feelers and lets him explore.

This all goes double for cuddles. Sylveon are perhaps the absolute worst of the Eeveelutions that still believe they're a lap Eevee once they evolve. A lot of trainers will try and tell you to discourage such behavior, since it will encourage them to pounce on other people, but, in my experience, Sylveon are rather adept at knowing who to not pounce on. As long as you're the primary pounce person, your Sylveon will seldom jump on other people that it doesn't consider a friend and knows not to pounce on.

2: Be ready for high-maintenance.

Sylveon (most of them, at least) are spoiled brats in one way or another. It's a common "trap" most trainers fall into when raising one, a lot of the ways you can show one affection as an eevee is to go above and beyond for it in one way or another, and they will get used to that. My Sylveon, as an example, loves baths, and practically requires one daily. Other Sylveon may require a battle on the weekly, or high quality food, or long, scenic walks, or, Arc-save-you, all of the above. They're a very high-energy, high-maintenance Eeveelution, beaten out only by Jolteon.

3: Be ready for noise.

Oh they YELL. Sylveon are talkative little buggers, and the moment something goes amiss they will cry about it. If they're having fun they will cry about it. If they're bored they will cry about it. If they know Hyper Voice, Lord-in-heaven they will cry about it. You can train one to be quiet on demand, but use such commands sparingly, as frequently telling them to "quiet down" will make one start to question if you're mad at it or appreciate it. Which leads us to-

4: Temper your emotions.

Another aspect about Sylveon is they use their feelers to channel a calming Fairy-type energy that quite literally reads your emotions and dulls hostility. This makes them great therapy Pokemon, as it makes it damn near impossible to be mad if one's around, and great hunters, as it makes it damn near impossible to fear for your life when it goes in for the kill! It also, perhaps frustratingly, makes it damn near impossible to be mad at them if they misbehave. And they're a fairy-type, they will misbehave at some point. All a Sylveon wants to feel is love and joy, understandably, but other emotions exist for a reason, and both you and your Sylveon will have to learn to channel and process those emotions in a healthy, controlled manner, as this will reliably get the both of you back to feeling the love and joy you're likely seeking. This process is different for everyone, and Arc-knows I'm far from a licensed therapist, but it's still important to learn how to figure out anger and sorrow with a Sylveon around, and the both of you will need to train yourselves to work through your feelings.

5: Be ready to play.

I'm lucky, I have other mons that'll be playmates for Vivi at the drop of a hat. But one thing I've observed with Sylveon as a whole is that they all need playtime and playmates, and if you don't have other Pokemon that can be your Sylveon's playmate, guess what, bud - that means you're the playmate! Even if you do have other mons you are still a valid playmate!

Buy toys.

Squeaky toys, tug-ropes, ribbons, balls, feathers, and dolls are all fantastic toys for your Sylveon, and if one brings a toy to you, you'd best engage, unless you want an express example of lesson 3. Thankfully, most Sylveon are happy with short and quick play sessions. My own is happy with maybe three rounds of fetch or a brief tug-o-war session before it'll go back to happily cuddling up next to me, but all Sylveon are different in varous ways. Trust your instincts and you'll be able to easily tell when your Sylveon is content.

6: They are smart.

Sylveon are beat out only by Espeon in the overall intelligence category. Being mostly modern/urban life adapted Pokemon that usually spend all their lives around humans, they pick up pretty quickly on language, social cues, tools, and so on. Intelligence is always a wavering factor among all Pokemon, but, on the whole, expect your Sylveon to be far more clever than your average Growlithe or Yamper, and respect that intelligence. It may not ever speak Galarian to you, but it could very well learn to read, open doors, work a TV remote or even keyboard, steal your phone, visit and buy from stores, and so on.

---

And there we have it! Past all this, all the standard methods for training and caring for Pokemon apply! Sylveon, on the whole, are quite amicable, and most are perfectly content to chill out and cuddle when they aren't being high-chaos gremlins. They're fantastic battlers as well, with great durability, utility, and surprising potential for damage, amplified only by the love and friendship you provide one.

Give a Sylveon love, and - capital L - Love is what you get in return.

[weaveandwood]

The Bard and The Blade Chapter 2: A Small Continent

Wyll/Named Tav | Slow Burn | Read on AO3 | Entire Work

Summary:

Rosalind has a poor showing in battle and the mission is a complete failure. Will Wyll change his mind about accompanying the party now?

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out before taking a large gulp of her wine, which he instantly topped up.  “For what?” He laughed. “For having a bad day? It happens to everyone. I have had a number of days end just like this, returning to camp with my metaphorical tail tucked between my legs, my only solace at the bottom of a glass of wine. Now…I can honestly say I haven’t died in the middle of a fight,” he smiled as he teased her, hoping it would help lift her spirits. He wasn’t ready to admit to her that the sight of her lying lifeless on the ground sent a cold dread through him, even though they had only known each other a little more than a day at that point.

AN: This chapter was born out of the fact that I am playing on Balanced mode (and am Not Good at the game, even though I enjoy it immensely) and a glitch in my Investigate Kagha quest. I'm hoping to update this fic every 2 weeks, alternating with Weave & Woods. Also big thank you to @druizard for the banner!

Dying the second day of their adventure wasn’t part of Rosalind’s plan, but as she woke up gasping for air with her three party companions standing around her, it was clear that was exactly what happened. She groaned as she sat up, her now pounding head in her hands as her elbows were balanced on her knees. 

“What happened?” She asked the ground, not wanting to make eye contact with Gale, Astarion, or especially Wyll out of sheer embarrassment.

“Wood Woads,” said Gale. “Nasty buggers, they got us all pretty good.”

“Speak for yourself, wizard. I am perfectly fine, thank you very much,” said Astarion, a hint of amusement in his voice. Rosalind glanced up. Gale and Wyll looked way more beat up than Astarion. She assumed he used his sneaking abilities to get around the majority of the fight. She had been friends with plenty of rogues growing up in the Lower City, she knew how they operated. 

“As I was about to say,” Gale said as he leveled a look at Astarion who was no longer paying attention, having moved on to look around the small island for chests that may have loot in them. “Luckily, we had taken down most of the mud mephits and the other Wood Woad before you went down. Wyll here got the final blast in right after you…well right after you died.” 

She looked at Wyll, who was staring off into the distance, not making eye contact with her. While she had to admit he looked extremely handsome as the sun shone on his face, this had clearly not been a good first impression on her part. He was probably rethinking their deal right at this moment and was plotting how to leave their camp and capture Karlach on his own, leaving her in the dust. She thought about resurrecting the Wood Woad to take her out again or crawling into a large tree trunk and never coming out. Maybe she could get Gale to cast an invisibility spell on her so she could slink off for good. All three sounded like good and valid options at this point. 

“Weren’t we supposed to find some sort of clue here about Kagha?” Astarion yelled from behind the large tree trunk. The whole reason they came to this area was to see what shady deal Kagha was getting into based on the letter they found in her quarters and hopefully try to talk her out of performing the ritual that would seal the Emerald Grove and set the tiefling refugees out on a road far too dangerous for anyone who wasn’t trained to fight. “There’s nothing here!”

Rosalind took Gale’s now outstretched hand and he smiled at her as he helped her up from the ground. What a good, kind man. She was glad she pulled him out of that rock. She walked stiffly to Astarion, groaning and rubbing her back as she did. “What do you mean, there’s nothing here? There has to be!” She was desperate for something to go right today. 

“Darling, I’ve looked in every chest, under each rock, and in every nook in this tree. There’s nothing. Either someone else got to it first, or we were duped and there never was anything here.”

She sighed. This was not her day at all. “Alright, let’s head back, I guess.”

As they walked the path through the swamp back to the grove, she found herself falling in step with Gale while Wyll and Astarion led the way. Gale was easy to talk to - partially because he loved to talk, and partially because wizards had always been so interesting to her. The way they practiced magic was so studied, so precise. Sometimes watching a wizard cast felt cold, calculated, formulaic - less about artistry, more about precision. Gale was on a different level - the way he moved his hands was faster than any wizard she had ever seen, and the spells he chose had a certain flair to them, either in the type of spell he chose or when he chose to cast them, which resulted in the most dramatic effect. An artist can always spot another artist, and Rosalind felt a kindred spirit in Gale. 

“You know,” he said softly as he slowed down, putting more distance between the two groups, “I think Wyll was angrier when you went down than he was during the goblin fight yesterday. An instant after you fell, the Wood Woad who caused your demise was nothing but ash. He was also the one to revive you. Astarion and I didn’t even have time to attempt to dig our scrolls of revivify out of our packs before he was already chanting the verbal components at your side.” He smiled, a knowing tone in his voice. “Interesting, don’t you think?”

Rosalind stopped in her tracks, her mind racing. Wyll revived her? Instantly, she was giddy as she pictured him pushing everyone away to rescue the downed, fair maiden. She giggled internally at the thought and caught herself starting to blush. On the other, more practical hand, it made complete sense. He’s a hero - of course he’d rush to her rescue out of a sense of duty. Part of the job. Just another day. She knew that. And the anger Gale described? Well, that was definitely because she was a failure and put them all in danger. Any thoughts she had of him potentially fancying her disappeared as quickly as they came, replaced by deep embarrassment again at being unable to hold her own on the battlefield that day. Living in a large tree trunk for the rest of her days now seemed like the most appealing option again. 

Maybe a family of raccoons would take her and her tadpole in. 

******

The mood at camp that evening was subdued. Wyll noticed everyone seemed to take their cues from Rosalind, effectively the party leader at this point, and Rosalind was not in the best of moods. She sat away from the rest of the group, using her fork to stab at the remnants of whatever vegetables remained in her bowl of stew Gale had prepared and muttering to herself.

He recognized that mood.

He grabbed two cups and a bottle of wine and walked over, sitting next to her on the ground. He saw her freeze for a second before looking up at him. She had the biggest blue eyes with flecks of gold. He hadn’t taken the time to appreciate them fully the other day, but he was sure he’d notice their beauty all the time now. He filled one cup and handed it to her before filling his own. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out before taking a large gulp of her wine, which he instantly topped up. 

“For what?” He laughed. “For having a bad day? It happens to everyone. I have had a number of days end just like this, returning to camp with my metaphorical tail tucked between my legs, my only solace at the bottom of a glass of wine. Now…I can honestly say I haven’t died in the middle of a fight,” he smiled as he teased her, hoping it would help lift her spirits. He wasn’t ready to admit to her that the sight of her lying lifeless on the ground sent a cold dread through him, even though they had only known each other a little more than a day at that point. 

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Don’t remind me. I have a scroll I can give you to replace the one you wasted on me.”

He placed a hand on her arm, the contact making her look at him. “It wasn’t a waste, Rosalind. It would never be a waste to revive a valued member of a party.” 

She sighed. “I’m not sure exactly how valued I am. I am sure everyone here thinks I’m awful and would leave me on the side of the road in a heartbeat. Well, maybe not Gale. I’m just…new to this. Fighting, traveling, roughing it. All of it. I’ve only been outside of Baldur’s Gate just a few times, and one of those times led to me being kidnapped by mindflayers. Once this is over I don’t think I’ll be venturing outside the city again for a good long while,” she said and laughed nervously, finishing her wine. 

Wyll took a drink, observing the rest of the party. Lae’zel kept to herself mostly, sharpening her blades each night. He had heard her admonish Rosalind for dying, ordering her to train with her during any free time from now on. Gale, Astarion, and Shadowheart sat together, laughing quietly at something. Gale looked over at them a couple of times as Wyll watched. He thought he saw a smile, a nod directed at Rosalind. Wonder what that is about? He turned to look at her and caught her staring at him, her chin resting on her hands. She quickly tried to look away, but he noticed the blush rising up her neck. He smiled to himself. 

“Refill?” he asked, holding up the bottle of wine, now half gone. 

“Please,” she replied, holding out her cup. 

“So you’re from Baldur’s Gate?” He asked, wanting to confirm that his suspicions on her identity were correct. 

“Oh! I guess we didn’t really get a chance to talk much. Eventful day yesterday, what with the kidnapping, the crash, and the battle with the goblins. I think I fell asleep 10 minutes after setting up my tent. Anyway…” She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m from Baldur’s Gate, born and raised, in a manner of speaking. You’ve already figured out that I’m a bard. Hmmm, what else? I mainly perform in coffee shops and taverns in the Lower City, sometimes the Upper City - but those are few and far between. I’ve been asked to perform at private events and bigger venues but I turn them down every time. One must keep their reputation intact, you know.” She rotated her cup in her hands as she spoke. “Do…do you ever stop in Baldur’s Gate on any Blade of Frontiers missions?” She asked. 

He shook his head. “I was raised there, but left seven years ago. I was seventeen with an eye for adventure and haven’t been back since. I did enjoy seeing bards perform in the Lower City Plaza when I was a teenager though.”

“I used to perform at that plaza! My first paying gig was there. I was so nervous!” She smiled, her face lighting up as she reminisced. “It was such a big place, and it was the weekend so of course it was busy with people not even pretending to pay attention to me. I remember it so vividly! I wanted it to feel intimate so I cast dancing lights but instead of the cool blue they normally are when I cast, I changed them to be warm yellow, like candlelight. I thought I was so creative,” she laughed. “I think maybe twenty people listened to me that night, but I’ll never forget it.” 

Wyll couldn’t believe it. It was her - The Sunlark. What a small continent it was. 

“I wonder if our paths ever crossed before this. It’s such a huge city, it feels unlikely. But I got that gig when I was seventeen, and if I’m doing the math correctly, that would have been when you were sixteen, so there’s a chance,” she said, looking at him again and catching him smiling at her. “What are you smiling about?” She asked, taking a sip.

“I remember you. I saw that performance.” He finished his wine, the bottle now empty. 

He heard her choke on her wine and had to hold back his own laughter. “You did? And you remember it after all these years? It was either really good or really bad to be that memorable,” she laughed nervously. “Hopefully good, though,” she added.

The fire cast a diffused warm glow onto her, reminding him of that night. “Good enough for a sixteen year old boy to skip drinking with his friends at the Elfsong. And good enough to remember a pretty bard’s beautiful singing after seven years,” he said softly as he looked over and saw her shy smile, the faint blush returning to her cheeks. His gaze traveled over her face, taking in the faded bird tattoos, the scar above her eyebrow, her freckles, the scar cutting through her full lips. They looked soft. He saw her beautiful blue eyes do the same, pausing when they got to his lips. He realized suddenly that he had been leaning toward her, their bodies closer now than they were when he sat next to her. All it would take was him leaning in just a little more…

No, there wasn’t time for that. He cleared his throat and stood up quickly.

“It’s getting late, I should get to my tent. Tomorrow we hunt down Karlach and we’ll need all of our strength to capture that infernal devil. Goodnight, Rosalind, thank you for the conversation.” He bowed to her before turning and walking across camp.

******

Rosalind smiled to herself as she finished the last of her wine. He had seen her perform. He remembered her. He called her pretty . Gone was the embarrassment of the day. Gone was the desire to run away. Gone were the feelings of doubt and insecurity - at least for now. She was positive she’d make more mistakes, most likely tomorrow. But none of that mattered because the Blade of Frontiers complimented her singing voice. She would float on the cloud she was now on as long as possible.

Not quite ready to end the day, she went across the campsite to sit between Gale and Astarion, laughing at jokes they were telling at each other’s expense. Her favorites were the ones about Shadowheart’s permanent scowl - even Shadowheart managed to crack a smile at a couple of them. As the wine flowed between the four of them, however, the attention turned to her. 

“So, Rosalind,” Astarion crooned. “You and Wyll looked rather…cozy over there.” 

Oh, no.

She felt her cheeks get hot, sure they were turning bright red. “We were just talking,” she said, taking a long drink. 

“Please, the two of you looked like you were two seconds away from -”

“Now, Astarion,” Gale interrupted. “Rosalind and Wyll are young. Surely you remember what it was like to be so young after the heat of a battle? I could hardly blame them for their…closeness.” Rosalind choked on her wine again. Somehow it sounded even worse coming from Gale. 

“No, no. He was just cheering me up! It was a hard day, what with dying and the mission being a complete failure. That’s all. We both grew up in Baldur’s Gate, so we were reminiscing.” Gale, Astarion, and Shadowheart all exchanged a look that implied they didn’t believe her for a second. 

She looked up at the sky, squinting at the moon, now high overhead. Does that even mean anything for nighttime? She thought, suddenly wishing she had taken the time to learn just a little about life in the wilds and not focus her entire childhood on just surviving in the city. “Well! Look at the time! We should probably wrap this up - big day tomorrow, capturing a devil and all! I’m just…I’m just going to go to my tent now.” She turned on her heel and raised her hand to give an awkward wave. “Good night! See you in the morning!” She heard the sound of muffled laughter as she entered her tent. 

She took two deep breaths, thinking again about her conversation with Wyll. She smiled as she climbed into her bedroll, grabbing her small notebook she kept for jotting down notes, potential lyrics. She wrote “fire, wine, soft lips, almost kiss” on a page and closed it, holding it to her chest. 

“Sorry family of raccoons, I think my tadpole and I are going to be sticking around here,” she laughed to herself.

[daydreamgoddess14]

Salvation pt. 3

Full Masterlist

Roy Kent Masterlist

Roy Kent / Reader - general rating for now... set to increase 😏

Meet the woman who stole Roy Kent's watch... We finally get to some Roy x Reader deep conversation and messy history... This one is ALL OF THE ANGST guys! But the reward in part 4.... whooooo boy! The spoils (🔥) are coming lads, fear not!

This also helpfully covers one of the prompts from my 200 Followers Celebration 🎉! From a lovely Anon who requested Roy and "I won't let anything bad happen to you".

~~~~~~~~

You pick Sammy up. It’s an excuse really to see Nia, your mother/sister/best friend stand in of the last few years. Even if she is practically the same age. If Sammy’s the one who gave you a job and some semblance of financial security, Nia’s the one who recognised the dark hole you were in and lowered down the ladder to you. You hadn’t realised how close you could feel with someone in only three years, but she’d become your ‘person’ almost immediately.

“Darling, morning.”

“Hey, how’re you feeling?”

“Like my ribs have become a xylophone.” You grimace at that. The human body is a magnificent and terrifying thing. When she’d shown you in her baby book how her organs shifted to make space for her growing baby, you’d declared auntie duty would be just fine, thanks. There would be no babies moving your organs around. 

“Nice. Brought you breakfast.” You pass her a bag of pastries. “Is he ready yet?”

“Nearly. Must have changed either his tie or his turban about four times trying to find the perfect combination,” you both roll your eyes and laugh at his commitment to the flawless matching pair. You both knew the answer already - 

“Blue floral.” You confirm together with a nod.

“The fabric is just beautiful. I do feel sorry for the poor bugger who has to make a matching tie for every turban though.” You muse, knowing it’s his mother in law who takes up that mantle.

“I know, right? And he complains that I buy too many books? I think not, pal.” She sniggers.

“You show him who’s boss. Cos if you don’t, then a certain someone else will.” You point at her growing belly. 

“Come on, Sam. You’re going to be late!” She shouts up the stairs. “Dinner tonight?” She asks you, she knows you might need company after the day ahead of you. You’ve disclosed a lot more of your past to her than Sam so she’s already up to speed on the last few days. You nod gratefully. “You’ll be fine. You need to talk to him though, apologise properly - explain what was going on back then.”

“I know. I will.” You hug her tightly and pester Sam out of the door.

Rebecca Welton is a gracious host. Warm, welcoming… you knew the lies the tabloids liked to spread so you knew the whole ‘cold, old Rebecca’ name tag was a load of crap.

“So, I think if it suits you both, I’ll have a cup of tea with Sam and we can get caught up while I get Roy to give you a tour and then we can arrange some smaller interviews with key staff and players?” Sam is beside himself,

“Sounds perfect Ms. Welton.”

“Yep, I’d love a tour.” You accept with a tight smile. 

“Wonderful! Here’s Roy now,” he steps through the open door and is clearly not expecting to see you.

“Thought we had reporters coming?” He grunts.

“We do, Sammy’s here from the Gazette. This is his… apprentice?” Rebecca tells him, “Something like that.” Sam laughs. You take a deep breath before holding your hand out,

“Nice to meet you again.”

“Hmm.” His warm hand engulfs yours and shakes it. The feel of his skin against yours is enough to trigger memories through your brain at top speed - his hand in yours, his hands on your face, your legs, in your hair. You snatch your hand away. “Come on, tour.” You follow him down the stairs and through mazes of rooms, “ticket office, finance,” then out into a wide corridor, “hall of fame.” You stop to look at the collection of memorabilia, making your way slowly past each piece and reading the accompanying cards. You stop fully at the couple of shelves dedicated to him, fingertips resting lightly on the glass. He clears his throat and you follow him deeper into the building. “Locker room, physio, boot room.” He pauses at the boot room. More memories come flooding back. “Remember when we -”

“Yeahhh,” you breathed, “I remember every single time.” You turn away to avoid his gaze.

“We were good together?”

“The best.” You reply quietly, a little sadness creeping in. He pushes the door open and holds it for you to follow. You sit shoulder to shoulder on the bench, both looking straight ahead.

“How have you been?” He asks quietly.

“Better recently. You?”

“Well no one has stolen my fucking watch lately.” He bumps you slightly, there’s the barest hint of amusement in his voice that you latch onto.

“They haven’t tried hard enough then,” you reply with a wry smile. He lets out a breathy laugh that he can’t quite disguise as anything else.

“I wish I could be more fucking angry with you than I am.”

“You have every right to be angry with me. I fucked up. I’ve been angry with myself for as long as I can remember.”

“You really fucked up. I just can’t understand why. I’ve spent this whole time trying to understand why. Because we were good together.”

“I know.” You agree, again. You were good together. You’ve been single since the day you walked out on him, haven’t even kissed anyone else in all that time. He’s the one you think of when you’re alone - he’s the only one you need to think of when you can’t sleep and you let your memories guide your hand down your body. These are obviously things you can’t say aloud, illicit memories you shouldn’t lean on but do. You sigh, he’s so expectant beside you, “How are you so… calm?” you wonder aloud. 

“Therapy,” he mutters with a short laugh.

“Shit, really?”

“Yeah, you?”

“No. Not sure if I’m ready for that yet.”

“Much as I hate to admit it, it helps.”

“Do you remember when you were angling for an invite to Christmas at my mums?” You ask, he frowns a little at the sudden change of subject. You feel him nod next to you.

“That’s when it started, that’s when you started to pull away. I never met any of your family.”

“My brother. You never met him, I never wanted you to meet him. He was there… he’s an addict. He has been for a really long time and we’ve tried everything to help him, everything. He told me that he was in some money trouble with some blokes he brought off. I didn’t have much but I gave him everything I had saved. Then he needed more. And more, and more and I just didn’t know where I was going to get it from, or how to help him. I took the watch, changed my phone number and left.” You pause for a minute to take stock of what you’ve said, you can tell he wants to ask questions but he waits patiently instead. “He was a fucking mess. I made him tell me who he owed and went to see them on my own, told them I’d pay them back myself if they never went near him again. Worked about three jobs, moved back in with mum so I wouldn’t have to pay rent as well, and spent the next year and a half paying them back. I worked 18 hour days, 7 days a week. I literally kept back, like, a tenner a week for myself. I kept a record of how much I paid and when. When we were done I told them so and told them to never come near us again.”

“And?”

“They still turn up occasionally to try and get more out of me, they claim it’s interest.”

“And your brother?”

“We sent him to my uncle’s house up in the North West, he’s been there ever since but he’s clean now. Too scared to come home though.” Roy is quiet for the longest time.

“He must have owed…”

“About 130k. Maybe a bit more than that. I was pretty fucking knackered. I was doing early mornings 4-8am at Maccys, then 8.30-5 with Sammy at the paper and then bar shifts til about 10 or 11 pm most nights. Sam saved me, let me get an hour's kip at lunchtime, and brought extra food every day for me to share with him.”

“Fuuuuuck.” He slumps where he’s sat next to you.

“There is something else.” He looks over in disbelief. You reach into your bag, pull out a sleek, matt black box and put it in his hands. 

“Fuck off?” He slides open the box to find his Rolex, in pristine condition - still ticking. “Fuck off.”

“I went to hand it over to them and… I couldn’t. I didn’t want them to have something of yours. I didn’t want to know that I’d done that, sunk that low.” Your voice gets even smaller, “they tried to suggest other methods of payment but…” you feel his shoulders tense, see his fists ball tightly in his lap, “I told them to give me a couple of months and see that I was good for the money, and if I ever missed a payment then we’d have that conversation.” He wants to know if you ever had the conversation, you can feel it in the air between you both,

“You never have to justify yourself to me.” He says firmly.

“I didn’t do it. Never missed a payment. Had to borrow a bit from Sam occasionally when I fell short, but I was never going to have that conversation with them. Never.” The air feels weighty with the tension, like it's risen up from your shoulders where it’s weighed you down for the last three years and is now hovering around you both. You’re amazed you got through it without tears. It’s been so easy to fall into the trap of feeling sorry for yourself over the years and wallow in the self pity of it all. Roy on the other hand is still visibly tense, his knuckles white. You tentatively reach your hand across to cover his, using your fingers to unball his hands.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He sounds worse than he had when he asked the same question a few days ago. His voice is hoarse and tight,

“I couldn’t let them know about you. They’d have ruined you. I had to protect you.”

“I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I would never have let anything happen to you. We could have sorted it together.” You turn to face him, bringing your other hand to his cheek,

“No love, it was never your problem to fix.”

“If all of this was over eighteen months ago -”

“Don’t ask me why I didn’t come back, Roy. It’s never really over, I couldn’t bring this shit to your doorstep and these dickheads just turn up whenever they think they might get a bit of extra cash out of me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I’m sorry I took your watch and I’m sorry I walked out on us.” You can hear voices in the corridor outside, your times up and now you both have to be the epitome of professionalism while Roy is interviewed. “I’ll get Sam to interview the team and other staff first, give you some time.”

“What about you?”

“I’ve been living with this for three years, I’m tougher than I look. Besides, I’ve got some happy memories of this place,” you admit, looking around the familiar boot room. “I had the best sex of my life in this very room.” He lets out a low laugh, shaking his head. “I would never expect you to forgive me, Roy, but I truly thank you for giving me the chance to explain.” You pat his hand gently and leave a cool space beside him when you slip through the door to meet up with Sam and Rebecca.

~~~~~~

[goshdangronpa]

any of the warriors of hope because those little buggers have been on my mind for months and they won't leave help

(obvs no sexuality stuff because come on man)

Hi, friend! Any of the Warriors of Hope? How about ... all of them?!

Like-like headcanon: Masaru still thinks liking girls is icky and he's not yet aware that boys can like boys. Jataro believes that cooties are real and the grossest cooties are his own. Kotoko is clearly enthusiastic about girls but will have to really sort some stuff out as she gets older. Nagisa was never the type to think that like-liking someone is gross - he's always wanted to get married. Monaca sees the human heart as just another instrument she can play ... but she'll mellow out if given enough time and care, and then, who knows?

Gender headcanon: Masaru is the boyest boy to ever boy ... which is what I tried to be and look how I turned out lmao. Jataro is cis, but his takes on gender are so galaxy-brained that you wouldn't believe he's not on Tumblr. Kotoko will adopt more androgynous affects over time, exploring cuteness outside of traditional femininity. Nagisa can go on for a long time about his view of his own gender, but if asked to summarize, he'd say he doesn't have one. With little to go on besides my own intuition, I'm surprisingly confident that Monaca is a trans boy.

One ship I have with them: Eh, kinda weird to ship them with anyone since they're little kids. Even Kotoko, who at one point in her boss battle declares that she wants to have children with Monaca, probably doesn't like her as much by the end of UDG. Same with Nagisa, poor guy ... but they've all still got each other.

One BroTP I have with them: Gonna use this section to declare which DR teen they'd get along with (note: I haven't played much of DRS). Masaru would be thrilled by Kazuichi, a neon-haired, shark-toothed, funny-voiced goblin man who builds robots, and Kazuichi would rather embarrassingly treasure the validation from a pretty cool kid. Angie would love love love Jataro, though anyone who knows her will make sure someone else supervises them so that arts-n-crafts playtime doesn't become Baby's Second Cult. I think Sayaka and Kotoko would have a lot that they can talk about together, and I believe she'd do everything she can to nurture and protect the kid. Nekomaru and Akane would be a refreshing pair for Nagisa: they'd focus on training his body rather than his mind, but in a way that's actually healthy and clearly caring. Monaca should probably be kept away from most people for now, but Hajime is uniquely suited to be friendly with her ... so they can wax about Nagito's weirdness together.

One NoTP I have with them: I guess anyone? Since, again, they're little kids?

Random headcanon: When Masaru goes on long walks, he looks for long sticks to carry and will exchange them for even bigger ones he finds along the way. Jataro's reading comprehension is poor, but he can already do basic algebra. Kotoko's never felt safer on a film set than when she played a creepy kid in an R-rated horror movie. Nagisa can take catnaps on command for the same reason soldiers do: they never know when their next chance to catch some sleep could be. Monaca may be the rare person who would become a kinder and gentler human being by joining a school theater program.

General opinion: Suitably creepy in their roles as antagonists to Komaru and Toko, crushingly sympathetic in their motivations, and really fun on their own. The Warriors of Hope are just one reason why I'd urge people to try Ultra Despair Girls, even with all the game's faults (especially the ones related to the WoH themselves). It's incredible that Kotoko can be my favorite for her winning personality despite how tastelessly the writers treat her. Jataro also has one of my favorite character voices in Danganronpa, not referring to the vocal performance (which is great!), but to his almost Dadaist dialogue. Ah, I like 'em all!

[braxiatel]

If I were an artist I would call this a doodle, but as I am a writer I will have to call it an unfinished, unedited abandoned wip.

Mumbo and Scar meet in a bar and commiserate about the struggles of being a young adult. Eventually they kiss. Also Scar is trans and Mumbo is autistic because I wrote this fic for me and me alone <3

(Content warning for references to alcohol, sex, and mentions of a character getting disowned)

————

Scar woke slowly to the sound of birdsong.

The pale spring sun was on his face, as warm as the body next to his in a way that made him feel a pang of homesickness.

He stretched, listening to how his joints popped and creaked, before opening his eyes to look around the unfamiliar room.

He had known it was not his city apartment - excuse him, flat - since he registered the birds. The closest he got was the coo of the pigeons that nested above the grand train station. Nothing like the chitter-chatter of songbirds he could hear here. Must be in the suburbs, then.

The room gave little away. Somewhat austere with its dark walls, the closest thing to decorations being a bonsai tree that was somewhat overdue a trim, and of course the rows upon rows of bookshelves with their arranged books standing to attention. Scar blinked, unable to make out the titles between the sleep in his eyes and the darkness of the room.

Instead he turned to look at the person next to him.

The combination of messy black hair and pale skin brought back vague recollections of the prior evening. Flashes of the interior of a very familiar bar, a hand in his, and a row of empty shot glasses in front of him. Well, that explained the pounding headache, at least.

Scar dared to lift the covers a little, getting a better look at his bedmate.

A handsome round face, smeared by last evening’s eyeliner. The moustache had been neatly combed with wax last night, but now it was somewhat comically askew on the man’s face.

“It’s a mouthful. My friends just call me Mumbo.”

“Mumbo?”

“As in Jumbo.”

“Well, what a lovely name you have then, Mumbo Jumbo.”

Scar blinked. Right, he had met Mumbo at the back of the bar.

It was an older place, with good food and decently priced drinks, that meant it had survived since the early ’00s when karaoke rooms had been a must for any self-respecting club.

These days it was mostly used by couples looking for privacy, or by people looking for somewhere to do the sort of substances the owner would kick you out for even bringing into her establishment, the door half obscured by the very curtains that had once framed it as a main selling point.

In short: it was a sound-insulated place in an otherwise noisy environment, with comfortable sofas, that few people other than the poor bugger making the cameras knew about.

It made it the perfect place to catch his breath after a long evening at work. The next guy to man the security cameras had been two hours late - exam season emergency, apparently - and Scar didn’t feel like sitting in the break room where - once again - Angela had just opened a window to smoke rather than going outside, making the whole place an asthma attack waiting to happen.

So Scar had tucked his bag into the basket of his walker and gone into the karaoke room expecting a quiet moment when instead-

“Well, hello there.”

Years later Scar would claim his immediate thought was something in the direction of either “handsome” or “beautiful” depending on what mood he was in, but honestly in that moment he had mostly felt shock followed immediately by concern.

The man in front of him looked as though he had just witnessed something gruesome. Eyes wide, with a faraway gaze and shaking hands.

“Oh, sorry, is this off limits?”

In the present Scar was looking at the man’s sleeping form, marvelling at what a night’s rest had done for him.

Light stubble decorated his soft jawline and Scar’s fingers itched to feel it. Mumbo’s lips were slightly parted in a snore, and he felt their phantom presence on his own. His arm was heavy around Scar’s waist, though it did not feel possessive so much as protective.

Similar to how he had been holding himself when Scar had found him. Huddled in the corner of a couch, as if trying to make himself far smaller than he was.

“No, no. I just came here to sit down,” Scar said. “but I can leave you to it.”

The bus home didn’t arrive for another 20 minutes - if it were on time for once - and his joints would surely protest if he tried to wait it out in the cold winter air.

“There’s room,” the man said, pulling his long legs up to his chest.

Scar paused for a moment. The stranger did not seem dangerous. Upset, perhaps, but there was a million and one reasons one might be upset. He sniffed the air and detected no more alcohol than was usual for the bar.

Well, it was a big couch, there was certainly room for two.

The cracked, white leather sank beneath his weight, creaking as it shifted. The stranger winced but otherwise stayed where he was.

Not a week went by without one of the other employees telling Scar he should try working the bar sometimes. He obviously couldn’t, not with how long it required him to stay on his feet. It didn’t stop him from spending his breaks there though, talking up a storm with the customers and doubling their sales while he was at it.

He was what one might call a people-person, though he very much doubted he would have missed how tense the man in the room with him was even if he hadn’t been.

“My name is Scar, and who might you be?” he asked.

Perhaps he had been wrong in his assessment of how drunk the man was, or perhaps Scar himself was more tired than he had though. Either way, the sentence the stranger spoke was an unidentifiable whirl to Scar.

“What was that?”

The stranger sighed.

“It’s a mouthful. My friends just call me Mumbo,” the man - Mumbo - explained.

“Mumbo?”

“As in Jumbo.”

“Well, what a lovely name you have then, Mumbo Jumbo.” Scar could not keep the smile from creeping into his voice. “Now, Mumbo, I am no expert, but it seems to me that something is bothering you?”

Mumbo shifted, turning his face halfway from Scar’s and resting his face on his knee, resulting in a lock of his hair obscuring the other half. Well, so much for keeping an eye on the stranger with whom he was alone.

“Long night,” Mumbo told him. “I just needed a break. I don’t do well with loud noises or crowds.”

Scar made sure to keep his voice down when he spoke next.

“Interesting place to go on a Friday night, then.”

Mumbo shrugged. “Well, there’s not a whole lot of gay parks or gay cafes about. The man i was meeting up with wanted to meet here.”

Scar offered a look of sympathy.

“Date gone wrong?”

It was at this point he learned that Mumbo was the blushing type, when his cheeks darkened.

“Something like that…”

Scar inched a little closer, feeling the insatiable itch of curiosity.

“You know, people tell me I’m a good listener,” he fished. “I can go first if you’d like. My love life is abysmal. I haven’t had a date in months, and my last steady relationship was with a straight guy.”

Mumbo looked up fully, pausing for a moment, before he said:

“Tonight was a frankly terrible - and misguided - attempt at getting over my flatmate.”

“This sounds like the sort of conversation we could both use a drink for,” Scar said, having long since learned that this was the way of the British. “What’s your poison?”

Mumbo hesitated.

“My treat,” Scar hastened to add. “I get a staff discount.”

“... [Mumbo requests a drink].”

“Coming right up, good sir,” he said.

Another perk to working here was being able to skip the busy friday night line - sorry, queue - at the bar. He was back in the quiet room in no time, balancing the two drinks on a tray.

“Please don’t spill any. You really aren’t allowed to drink in this room, so if we ruin the sofa or the carpet it will get docked from my paycheck.”

Mumbo accepted his drink, clasping it tightly between his two hands.

“Cheers,” he sighed, taking a sip. “How did you end up dating a straight guy?”

Mumbo, it seemed, was the forward type.

“I’m trans,” he said. “We were still together when I realised. He was good about it, you know, just didn’t want to date a guy. We parted as friends.”

“Right,” Mumbo said. “Congrats? On the gender?”

Scar couldn’t help but laugh. “Why thank you, Mr Jumbo, that’s very kind of you to say.”

“My flatmate is straight too… or he was, anyway, until recently. Turns out being in love with him was a lot easier when I thought he wasn’t into men. Back then it was the idea of dating a man he wasn’t into, and not…”

“You?” Scar guessed.

“Yeah, that,” Mumbo sighed, having another sip of his drink.

“Well, he’s a fool to overlook such a handsome man.”

Mumbo snorted.

“You are!” Scar told him. “Look at you. That luscious hair, the stylish suit, those beautiful grey eyes, and those curves? I’d say you’re quite the catch, Mumbo Jumbo.”

Somewhere between the compliments and the way Mumbo bit his lip and blushed Scar had a realisation. Yes, Mumbo was quite handsome, wasn’t he?

“Well, you must be just about the only one in this bar who feels that way. My date walked out after half an hour, and I’ve failed to talk to even a single other man tonight.”

“You’re talking to me,” Scar pointed out.

“I don’t think it counts when one of the staff decides to give you a pity drink,” Mumbo sighed.

“Do you think that’s what’s happening here?” Scar snorted. “I’m off the clock, you know. I’m just making friends. I’m a friendly guy. Look, why don’t I tell you a little more about myself, and you can do the same if you’d like? Great!”

He had continued to tell Mumbo about his life story, how he ended up in the UK, going to university, coming out, getting sick, dropping out, and finally after several years in and out of the hospital, ending up enrolling again while working evenings here in the bar.

Ending up in Mumbo’s bed…

Scar stretched, the delicate silk sheets slipping over his naked skin in a gentle caress. It brought to mind the way soft hands had wandered over his flesh in the dark of the small hours of the night. It had been a while, long enough he was probably going to be sore for at least half of the day. It was a pleasant sort of soreness, though.

He looked up at the face mere inches from his, feeling no shame in taking in the details of Mumbo’s appearance while he slept.

In the low lights of the bar he had not been able to tell, but from the shape of his face he suspected Mumbo would have dimples when he smiled. There was no sign of wrinkles on his skin yet, but by the sharpness of his cheekbones, he had to be in his twenties at least.

The moustache was a nice touch too, even if it had tickled terribly against Scar’s collarbones and abdomen each time Mumbo had kissed him last night.

On the subject of collarbones, Scar could only note his admiration of the rather prominent mark he had left just about Mumbo’s left one. He shivered at the thought of how the other man had whined. Perhaps he would be up for another round this morning..?

Another round… right. He had stayed past the last bus for another round. Mumbo, once he had started talking, had seemed almost compelled to share his life story as well.

“Theodore Bertram Ambrose Osborn Chace the third,” Mumbo pronounced, a seemingly impossible feat giving he was at the end of his second pint. “Former heir to the right honourable Lord Theodore Chace the second.”

Scar whistled and leaned back in the booth he had found them towards the back of the bar, though it might have gotten lost in the noise. The music was as loud as anywhere else, but they had the table to themselves and the ability to wave one of Scar’s colleagues over when they would momentarily need another refill. Mumbo seemed content enough, anyway.

“That’s quite the name. Can’t imagine any loving parent wishing learning how to spell all that on any child of theirs.”

Mumbo picked up his drink, downing the rest of the dark red liquid.

“They weren’t,” he confirmed. “Hence, Mumbo Jumbo. Easier to pronounce.”

And a name that came with less baggage, he read between the lines.

“I have this friend from Sweden - shared a flat with her when I did my bachelor’s degree. He accused me of having a Mumbo Jumbo name, and when my father disinherited me for dropping out of business school and going into engineering… well, it just fit me better. Silly, I know, but what can you do.”

“Mumbo,” he started. “My name is Scar.”

Another thing Scar was learning about Mumbo was the fact that he was a giggler, or at least the drink brought it out in him. His whole face lit up with it, even when he tried to hide it.

“So, your Swedish friend, is he the one you’re pining after?”

Mumbo shook his head. “Iskall moved back years ago. No, he’s from here. We were paired up for a pub quiz during fresher’s week and we hit it off. I think I fell a little bit in love with him the first time he spoke to me. He just… has this energy. He can be such a pest sometimes, but his happiness is always infectious. Even when he’s laughing at your face because he pranked you by glueing the cereal box to the kitchen counter again, you can’t help but join in. You ever met anyone like that?”

“Sounds a bit like my ex,” Scar said. It must be the alcohol warming his insides, he decided. Surely the ‘Yes, I think I would give up most of my earthly possessions to stretch this evening forever if it means hearing you laughter again’ was down to the alcohol.

Mumbo huffed, picking up the drinks card.

“I’m never going to get over him this way.”

Scar rested his chin in his hand, leaning against the sticky table.

“Nonsense. Look around you, Mumbo, this room is full of wonderful men all looking for a good time.”

“Hard to get to know them when the music is so loud.”

Scar laughed. “Well, I wasn’t suggesting you go looking for ‘the one’ right away. But a night with a handsome man might be a good first step.”

Scar hoped he never got tired of watching Mumbo blush. It was just so… cute.

“What, like a one-night stand?” he asked.

“Exactly.”

“I’ve never… I’ve never done that any sooner than the third date,” Mumbo confessed.

“Never too late to try something new,” Scar suggested. “If you want to, that is.”

Mumbo made a noncommittal sound, wringing his hands.

“Just a suggestion. I’m sure there are many other things you could do to create some distance. A holiday, maybe? I hear Paris is nice this time of year. Or maybe a new hobby? Something to get you out of the house”

Mumbo bit his lip.

“Maybe… There’s one thing I’m wondering, though. Why are you doing this, Scar?”

Why was he doing this?

Mumbo was good company, and Scar liked people. In the backroom, the closest he got to social interaction was Samuel showing up to replace him for the late shift, and while the people on his course were nice enough, most of them were a decade younger than him and straight out of sixth form. And Cub, of course, but when Cub would be home in their little two-bedroom flat above the Chinese restaurant was anyone’s guess.

And shoot him, Scar liked to see people happy, and he liked to believe there was people out there for everyone, helping Mumbo find his (or at least the courage to find them) wasn’t such a bad use of his time.

“This is the first new thing that has happened to me in weeks,” he admitted. “I don’t get out a lot - just work and school. I’ve already missed my bus, and the taxi market will be a nightmare at this hour, so I’m stuck here for at least another hour until the Friday evening rush passes. And you’re interesting, I suppose.”

“That was��� very honest,” Mumbo said after a pause.

“I tend to be. That a problem?

“No, not at all. Makes it a lot easier when I don’t have to second guess. Dating, making friends - I’m a bit of a spoon with these things.”

Scar laughed. The alcohol was getting to him, he could tell, because the idea of being Mumbo’s friend made something in his chest feel all warm and fussy.

“Do you want to know one thing I don’t think I will ever get tired of? You British people and your funny little sayings. ‘A bit of a spoon’, that’s adorable.” He grinned, doing an excellent job of imitating Mumbo’s accent in his own humble opinion. “Well then, Mumbo, as someone who has been very much enjoying making friends with you - how would you like a sample of my famous, internationally renowned Scar Bontemps wingman service?”

“If you promise me not to try to do an English accent again, I think I’d agree to just about anything.”

Scar gasped. “I am great at accents, Mumbo! I bet you the next round I can convince someone I am British.”

“Well, if you’re handing out free drinks, I won’t say no.”

Scar stood up, taking the first few steps towards the door before he realised what Mumbo had just implied.

“Now, hold on just a moment, mister,” he protested. “That’s it! I’m going to prove you wrong, right away.”

Scar’s head ached, a reminder of just how that bet had turned out for him. The first round of shots had been his treat, the second bought by Mumbo. Dutch courage, he had called it.

Mumbo would surely have an advil somewhere… or whatever they were called this side of the pond. However, trapped between a wall and a man sleeping like a rock, Scar stood little chance of finding them.

It was very gentlemanly of Mumbo to begin stirring just when his need for pain relief was getting urgent, Scar thought.

He moaned, perhaps a sign he too was suffering for last night’s escapades, and tightened his hold on Scar’s waist.

Scar relaxed, letting himself be pulled against Mumbo’s chest, only squirming a little when his hip started protesting at the odd angle.

“Good morning,” he said.

Mumbo sighed, hiding his face in the crook of Scar’s neck. “Hey.”

The way he was petting Scar’s back was sweet, the gravelly tone his voice had taken on from sleep sending a shiver down his spine.

“Something wrong?” Mumbo asked, prodding himself up on one of his elbows.

Scar’s back lamented the new angle he was lying at and he adjusted himself, then adjusted Mumbo with hesitant hands, until he was comfortable again.

“I think an elephant walked through and stepped on my head while I slept - or perhaps a marching band took up residence on the inside of my skull.” At Mumbo’s puzzled, half-asleep expression, he added: “My head hurts.”

Mumbo hummed, the scruff on his cheeks tickling the sensitive skin of Scar’s neck when he leaned in to kiss his shoulder in sympathy.

“Wait here,” Mumbo told him, wriggling out from under Scar and standing up.

Despite his pounding head Scar could not help but lament the dim light of the bedroom. The end of the night was clear to him, but only in flashes. Ones that, sadly, did not include as much detail of what Mumbo looked like naked as Scar would have liked.

However, being a man of the arts, Scar had to admit there was something truly aesthetic about the way the sunlight that slipped in through the curtains lit up Mumbo’s side. One stripe of light painted on his pale skin, filtering through the speckles of body hair and nestling into the curve where his leg joined his torso. As Mumbo retreated into the en suite bathroom, it paned over his backside, upwards, playing with his silky black hair.

How would it feel on a sunny day, warmed by the sun, Scar wondered? He wiggled his fingers against the sheets in a vain effort to satiate the itch to find out.

Mumbo returned a moment later with two pills and a glass of water.

Scar eyed them sceptically.

“You keep your glassware in your bathroom?” he asked, feeling entitled to judge the man at least a little after sleeping with him.

“Only one glass,” Mumbo excused, not close enough that Scar could make out his blush in the dark. “Sometimes when I’m working on a project, I get a little… focused. seeing it next to the basin reminds me to eat and drink. It’s clean.”

“You’re a funny one, Mumbo Jumbo,” Scar told him, accepting the water and the painkillers, downing both.

“In the best ways only, I hope,” Mumbo said, flopping back on the bed with a soft grunt.

Scar leaned over him to put the glass on the nightstand, using his position to lay down half on top of Mumbo.

“Just need a moment to wake up properly.”

The last part of the sentence trailed off into a yawn. He stretched his arms above his head, bending his wrist just in time to avoid hitting the wooden windowsill.

As he settled back down, arms wrapping around Scar, it struck Scar how comfortable Mumbo was in his own space. It suited him.

The Scar Bontemps Wingman service was renowned in his circle of friends. Ren liked to say that in another lifetime Scar may have been a travelling salesman, a conman, or possibly both.

Scar wasn’t sure about that, but he did know he was good at this.

Matchmaking was easy. It was all about understanding two fundamental things: 1) everyone wanted something 2) everyone had something to give.

On dark days and long evenings watching the security feed, he often found himself circling the thought that the only reason he found it so easy to talk about others and so hard to talk about himself was that he doubted whether there was truly anyone out there who would be interested in what he had to offer.

With Mumbo it was easy. The man was obviously attractive, passionate, and charming. He had all but convinced himself setting Mumbo up with someone would be as simple as to introduce him to whatever man he had his eyes set on. Mumbo was attractive, passionate, and polite. His laughter was infectious, one evening in his company enough to put Scar in a good mood.

“So,” Scar asked, hand on the bar counter to steady himself after the second shot. “Anyone catching your eye?”

For the first time since leaving the room, Mumbo surveyed the busy room. From the small dance floor - currently dominated by five women who had arrived together and seemed to have some intricate constellation of relationships between them, judging by how a different pairing in the group were kissing every time Scar looked over. To the door, opening and closing and letting what little fresh air was able to slip in into the bar as guests went out into the cold winter air for a smoke. Finally, at the end of the bar where a group of men a year or two their junior were surveying the crowd with feigned disinterest. Bingo.

“How about those three?” he asked, nodding towards the three, well, twinks was the word that came to mind.

“Erh,” Mumbo said eloquently. “Sure?”

“Which of the three do you like?”

Mumbo looked at Scar for another long moment before surveying the group.

“The one to the right,” he revealed. “He looks stronger.”

Muscular men were Mumbo’s type, then. Scar made a mental note of it in case this first attempt didn’t work out.

“Ready?” Scar asked, draping an arm over Mumbo’s shoulder.

“As I’ll ever be,” Mumbo replied, shoulders tense enough that Scar’s own trapezius twinged in sympathy.

Mumbo, Scar quickly learned, was not an easy commodity to sell.

He obviously had plenty of qualities, which Scar dropped artfully into conversation. Why, my good friend Mumbo is an engineer, did you know? Very smart. He volunteers at a repair workshop, on top of working at a garage. Mechanics are so strong, don’t you agree? Who doesn’t love a man covered in oil and sweat? And look at him. How many men do you know that are willing to make the effort of wearing a suit every day?

That part was easy.

The hard part was when the commodity you were trying to sell seemed adamant to fight back against you.

Mumbo, while technically an engineer, needed to become a fully-fledged civil engineer before he could use his degree for anything, so really he was just like any other master’s student. The repair workshop was only to buff his resume, and the mechanic mostly had him doing consulting work - flying machines and cars weren’t so different after all.

The suit though, oh he could talk about the suit! Scar thought he had finally succeeded - on the fourth try - until Mumbo started talking about the seventh tie knot, illustrating how to tie it and detailing when to wear it. Scar made a mental note to go to his new friend next time he had a formal event, and to not bring up his manner of dress with the next man they approached unless he seemed particularly interested in the history of cufflinks.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” Mumbo hiccupped over another shot of whisky, provided by Scar. “I’m just not good at this.”

“Nonsense,” Scar told him, downing his own drink and rubbing Mumbo’s shoulder comfortingly.

(Despite his protests that he did very little practical work at the garage, Mumbo was rather strong, wasn’t he? How had Scar not noticed sooner…)

“You just need to get out of your head. Maybe we’re just going about this wrong. What if instead of approaching them, we get them to approach you?”

“And how would we do that, mate?” Mumbo asked, his arm slipping under Scar’s and providing much needed support.

“Dance with me?” he suggested. “We’ll get everyone wondering who those handsome men on the dance floor are, and when they come to ask, all you need to do is seal the deal.”

“I’m a terrible dancer,” Mumbo confessed. “Can’t dance a single step.”

“It is past midnight, everyone will have had enough to drink that it won’t matter.”

Mumbo sighed. “If you think it’ll work…”

He took a step back, offering a light bow before offering Scar his hand. Scar bit his lip not to laugh. It made sense, it did. Old money and formalities often went hand in hand. Mumbo had probably been taught how to waltz, or something equally formal.

Scar took the offered hand, placing it at his waist.

“You stand there,” he instructed, positioning himself closer to the centre of the floor, and Mumbo outwards so he could be seen from the bar and the booths. That suit really did wonders for his backside…

Now, Scar was not much of a dancer either. He liked it, but there were the obvious challenges.

“You okay?” Mumbo asked.

“My balance isn’t great without my walker.”

Mumbo’s hold on him tightened, and Scar had to wonder why he was suppressing the urge to shiver in such a hot room.

“We can leave if you’d like?” Mumbo offered.

“I was promised a dance, Mr Jumbo, and I’m holding you to that.”

Scar placed a hand over Mumbo’s chest, feeling the other’s racing heart even through the layers of fabric.

“Just hold on to me?” he requested.

“Of course,” Mumbo agreed.

They started out slow. Scar moved, Mumbo followed, the two of them simply swaying to the music.

Whatever song must be popular, because soon a handful of other bar patrons joined the previously sparsely populated dance floor. For a moment Scar thought he might have succeeded in getting someone to see Mumbo for the get he was, but instead the additional people just pushed him further into Mumbo’s arms.

Mumbo’s hand crept around his body, settling on Scar’s lower back instead of his hip, holding him in place.

“You okay?” he asked Mumbo.

“I was just about to ask you that.”

Scar smiled at him. They were chest to chest now, and he had to wrap his hands around Mumbo’s neck to even have room for his arms.

“You’re so warm,” Mumbo told him, swaying to the tune of the music again. Being as close as he was, Scar was moved by him.

“Is that bad?” he asked, both feeling and seeing how Mumbo shivered when Scar’s breath ghosted over his neck.

“No,” Mumbo said.

The music picked up speed, and so did their dance. For the first time since they had left the safety of the karaoke room, Mumbo looked relaxed.

His eyes were on Scar, his attention solely on moving to the music.

How had Scar not noticed Mumbo’s eyes sooner? Dark grey framing light, reflecting the flashing lights on the dance floor back to Scar.

The song changed, but Scar was no longer listening.

Mumbo’s hips were against his, the two of them sharing heated breaths as they continued dancing past the fifth song. Aches and pains forgotten, there was only the beat of the music and the beating of their hearts.

For every rejection Mumbo had run his hands through his short hair, leaving it a mess at this point. Perhaps Scar should smooth it out?

He wanted to do so, anyway.

He got as far as the short hair at the nape of Mumbo’s neck. Mumbo bit his lip, sighing, and Scar could not help but watch those pink lips move.

Oh.

Mumbo was tall, and had to bend his head down experimentally. Scar approached, both of them inching closer, and-

His lips were soft, his tongue inquisitive where it met Scar’s own. He tasted of fruity ciders and burning alcohol, the scent of his subtle cologne somewhat mixing into the taste in a way that wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

Whether Mumbo was consciously tightening his hold to support Scar when his knees began to go shaky, Scar wasn’t sure.

Scar heard himself moan, and Mumbo responded by biting at his lip.

He gasped, breaking away for breath.

“Cheeky,” he accused, leaning against Scar. “Do that again?”

Mumbo continued as he had all evening, following most of Scar’s whims. This time, however, he cut the kiss short, trailing down Scar’s jaw and neck instead. Oh, how pleased he was he had worn something low-cut tonight.

One of his hands remained on Mumbo’s shoulder - a necessity, his legs were still as soft as jelly beneath him - while the other trailed down Mumbo’s back, and settling on his ass- arse- whatever.

“Scar,” Mumbo sighed. “You sure about this?”

“Wouldn’t be kissing you otherwise,” he replied. “Let’s get out of here?”

“My flatmate won’t be home,” Mumbo agreed.

“Mine will be.”

“My place it is.”

And from there… well, somewhere between heady kisses, needy touches, and affirmations that neither of them expected the other to be at their best after how many drinks they had had, they ended up at the back of a cab, and then in Mumbo’s little terrace house.

“Upstairs,” Mumbo said somewhere south of Scar’s collarbone and north of his left pec, nimble fingers flying over the buttons of Scar’s shirt. It did make sense, with how much Mumbo knew about suits, that he would know how to most effectively remove a button-up. How very talented he was.

“Not great at those,” Scar told him, his walker left at the front door alongside their shoes.“Sofa?”

“Flatmate will be home by morning.”

Scar sighed, tilting his head back to allow Mumbo better access. He had never been with a man with facial hair before, and was delighted to learn Mumbo’s moustache tickled against his skin.

“I’ll help you?” Mumbo offered.

“Sure,” Scar said. By morning he would be decidedly more sober, so getting back down shouldn’t be such a challenge.

He smiled, the events of last night playing out before his mind’s eye.

Kisses that started out hesitant, while hands explored unknown paths, soon turning heated, clothes coming off in the process.

Where last night Mumbo’s body had been marked by teeth, it was now decorated in pretty little bruises. Scar knew he was much the same.

The alcohol had still been clouding their heads, burning past inhibitions, but remdering them slow. To compensate they had moved at a leisurely pace. Warm, soft, and caring, ending with both of them on their sides, inquisitively familiarising themselves with where to touch to make each other sigh in satisfaction.

Mumbo, he learned, had never been with anyone trans before. He was a quick study, though, diligently prepping Scar, carefully listening to Scar’s instructions when he told Mumbo how to hold up his legs so it wouldn’t hurt his joints now or tomorrow.

It hadn’t exactly been the best sex in the world, both of them were drunk after all, but Scar was certain he had never felt so comfortable after a one night stand before.

He was still catching his breath, lying comfortably on this side, when Mumbo slipped into the bathroom. Scar could hear the water running, and after a few minutes, he returned, looking less flushed and much cleaner.

“Sorry,” he had said, lying back down with all the grace of a falling tree, offering his open arms to Scar. “Just needed to clean up.”

Scar could recall waving it off, already cuddled against Mumbo and drifting off to sleep.

In the light of the morning, he kissed Mumbo’s shoulder and was rewarded by him snuggling closer.

“I’m awake,” he mumbled, adding a snore that told another story entirely.

It was sweet, and Scar did nothing to resist the urge to kiss him again, planting one on Mumbo’s jaw.

Mumbo shifted to look down at Scar.

“Goodness, you’re handsome.”

He said this with a surprising amount of clarity.

Scar knew this already, but it was nice to hear it anyway.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

Mumbo’s hand settled on Scar’s waist, his fingers spreading and tracing patterns on the sensitive skin.

“Can I kiss you?”

[Still lying in bed, Mumbo and Scar agree that they both want to get to know each other better. They both find each other interesting and attractive, and even if it doesn’t turn into romance they think they could become good friends.

Mumbo goes to have a shower. Scar thinks of joining, but is hungry. Mumbo tells him where the kitchen is and to help himself to whatever he’d like.

Scar goes into the kitchen and is greeted by Grian, Mumbo’s flatmate - and his ex!

Scar is thrilled to see him. Grian tells him he regrets breaking up without giving it a try, he’s been thinking a lot about Scar, and wishes they at least hadn’t lost contact. Scar doesn’t blame him, and just looks forward to reconnecting.

Grian suggests a time and Scar has to decline because he has just planned a date with Mumbo that day.

Grian reacts weirdly to this, but before Scar can ask, Mumbo joins the in the kitchen. Scar happily tells Mumbo that he and Grian know each other, and how]

[acaciapines]

If you’re still doing songs - song 69 and 138?

im always up to do em lets GO! i'll put both above the cut n then talk below :)

69. It’s Called: Freefall – Rainbow Kitten Surprise

king misses his mom. he misses his sister. he misses his aunt and his grandparents and mari trying to pin him down and luz letting him crawl under her covers and eda hugging him when he grabbed for her and firefly chirping good morning and good night and throwing out her wings to keep him safe.

“kiiiiiiiiing,” the collector whines, flipping upside-down through the air. “you’re so boring, what is your problem?”

“just tired,” king says. it’s hard to look at the collector straight-on. the thoughts that surround him are a messy array, and barely any of them are his, the way they are for anybody else: it’s a weird conglomerate of old thoughts like those that drift through the sky, but so packed together he can’t make anything out. it’s a beach of golden sand the collector runs through, leaving kicked-up grit in his awake.

“naw, c’mon,” they needle, landing right in front of him. “you’ve been tired forever. be fun!”

he misses his family so bad he’s sure it’s a wound spilling out of him. how can’t the collector see that?

“okay,” king says, “fine. let’s play.”

138. Habits – Genevieve Stokes

ask anybody: edalyn-owlbert clawthorne was never planning to have kids.

never really interested her. not the settling-down part, not the needing to keep another living creature alive part, not the having to be a good influence, gag. nah. kids were never going to be her thing, and so she never sought them out.

and then the little buggers found her.

well. she’s technically the one who stumbled across king, the owl beast’s faltering flight into that abandoned ruin he was living in, but king was the one who followed them both and refused to be left behind. plus, that stone-monster was going to kill him. eda wasn’t a fan of kids, but she didn’t want to leave them for dead, either.

looking back she’s pretty sure the owl beast was laughing at her.

laughed even harder when she took in luz. you’re an apprentice, kid, eda had told her, and the girl had squealed, and her daemon had sat there on her shoulder with her tiny chest puffed out, and something in eda knew this was going to be a permanent thing.

oh well. at least she skipped the changing diapers phase of things.

Discussion

for the first one: oh! hey! this one is relevant to for the future which im writing right NOW! ive been thinking a lot recently about how kings gonna be Doing in that entire like, 2-3 months he's basically on his own with the collector, because i'll be expanding out from what was shown in the show, and just...god. poor kid.

its terrifying! im a collector lover but even i'll admit he is Not great with king, especilly towards the start, and thats not going anywhere--king misses his family and the collector has been on his own for so LONG, and has this sense of entitlement to kings time + space. why does everyone else get a lifelong friend with them since birth? the collector wants that! and if they werent born with it they'll find a friend then! like KING!

its just a LOT. it makes for fun writing though kdnfkgdfg king doesnt hate the collector but oh boy is he not actually friends with them.

this one also makes it pretty obvious what im doing in regards to king being a titan lol but ive decided not to talk so explicitly about that unless im asked a question in which i cant speak around it. i gotta keep some of my secrets!

for the second one: MOM EDA MY BELOVED sorry i literally love that trope so much okay. its so so fun to write. eda really tripped and fell into parenthood like ah shit now ive got to be responsible for HOW MANY of these guys now? two? three? am i supposed to count mari and luz as one or two because based on the day that is a WILDLY different answer.

but yeah <3 its also made even more funny that firefly knew 100% what she was getting into. this was a massive shock to eda, but firefly's been a mom from the start!

also ooooh got that owlbert mention huh wonder what that is about...wonder what my owlbert secrets might be....if he shows up at all....hmmmm...

[cottoncandy-cult]

So I'm at the part where Jamil's sister Najma is introduced in the most recent and I gotta say I don't like how Jamil was pressured into including her by his friends, he clearly didn't want her around it doesn't matter if she's family. As the oldest of 4 girls and 2 boys there is only one of my sisters I'd willingly hangout with. The others I don't even think about most days, I'd rather do anything but have to be around them. For 1 of my brother's I don't even like seeing his face, much less having him around me for any significant amount of time. Some people would rather not be around their siblings when it's avoidable and since she delivered her message she could have taken her little self back to her friends and buggered off. Instead his friends pressured him into inviting her, even though he clearly doesn't want to see her for the rest of the event and didn't plan on seeing her in the first place til he had to. Likely once he got home. It's okay for him to not want to spend his spare time around his siblings, much less the time he's supposed to be working. Her inclusion only burdens him further, and it isn't okay that they're trying to impose on him like that when they're already guests. But demanding (and even lightly shaming him) because he wants his sister to buzz off isn't cool, it's obnoxious and I wish we had been given the option to tell them to back off it's Jamil's sister and if he doesn't want to hang out with her we shouldn't force him. He set a boundary, these aren't toddlers they're old enough to understand and respect that. Just because they don't mind their siblings dawdling behind them every time they're around doesn't mean other people want to deal with it on their end. Again I only just started this and maybe Jamil does have a soft spot for his sister, but just because he doesn't mind her most times doesn't mean he wants her around all the time and he clearly didn't want her around to begin with as far as the event was concerned otherwise he probably would have invited her. Cater should have never spoke up and volunteered when he isn't the host, so that's piss poor manners at best and being rude is like being ugly in a louder way. Like I usually like Cater but that was some trash, he had no place speaking up, much less throwing out half baked theories about why Jamil seems upset because he clearly isn't flustered he's frustrated cause everyone is ignoring what he says almost always. Like maybe it's just me but when someone puts a very clear line in the sand about their boundaries, I don't go out of my way to walk over it and then try to tell them why they are wrong and should be glad they ignored him and what he wants.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Multi-Layer Problems

I mean, obviously I love hunting unfeasibly big robot creatures. But a lot of what I love about this game is the little things, and how even a "we're going on a hunt" side quest has ... layers. Not that I started out on hitting a side quest, but ... you know. Limited time, given that I have work in a bit.

Alrighty. Lemme just travel down this coastline hunting up gulls. I need gull feathers.

Well. Lemme get the Clawstriders out of my way first.

And the Snapmaws.

This has been a pretty successful little hunt. I bet that settlement has a workbench.

Tide's Reach, huh? I bet-- Ah, yeah, there's the green exclamation point. But they do have a workbench.

And a hunter kit trader. I can dump some vendor trash!

...You have FROSTCLAW WEBBING! GIMME!

Oooooooh, Utaru Gravesinger armour. Even if I don't necessarily use it, I love the look of it.

(I might use it anyway, though).

Aha! Upgrade 4 for my current armour! And now I just neeeeed ... a ... Frostclaw circulator. Still going to have to hunt one of those little buggers. And Stormclaw bits. Well, at least I know where a few of those hang out.

Okay, now we see about quest. Hey, guys; s'up?

...Oh.

.........Ooooh. Yeah, I have a feeling I know what's up with Garokkah, but a) I doubt Aloy knows and b) that's probably bad in a society that kills the disabled.

Right. I actually set up a shelter near where he was last seen. Good. Saves me the walk.

Okay, Garokkah, where'd you go? ...Oh. Wow. That ... is a lot of traps.

That ... do sod all damage. Why did you use acid traps on Acid Clawstriders?!?

Oh well. Let's save this poor dude. POONK.

You're trying to save ... your squad? From ... an ambush. And ... you don't recognise the term "rebels". And ... you brushed off having stabbed your daughter. And ... yeah, okay, I do know what this is.

...Oh. Ouch. I want to hug this poor dude.

Yes, we will definitely put your memorial back together. I would bet--

Yep. Clamberjaws. FUCK OFF, YOU THIEVING LITTLE MECHANICAL FUCKWITS.

Right. Please don't tell me that you're going to kill yourself to avoid being a burden to your clan (or to do it yourself rather than forcing them to) if I leave you here...

Okay, no. Good. And ... they know about this. And have things in place to deal with it.

See, this is the sort of thing that really makes one think. Because, like they said, in the Tenakth, before Hekkaro and the clans uniting and the Carja raids, life expectancy was minimal. They noticed Alzheimer's in Chaplains because they didn't tend to die in battle, so they thought it was only for Chaplains, and now they're learning different.

Also ... killing the mentally ill ... I guess it depends on the illness. People like Boomer probably not so much, but ... consider. Everything wants you dead - machines, other tribes, the Carja... And then you have someone who's been training for war all their lives, so they're strong and have access to weapons, and if they start getting violent in their own settlements and squads... It's a horrible solution, but without mental health care facilities, what choice do they have? At least now that things are at least slightly more peaceful, they seem to have the leisure to explore more options.

Right. That's settled. Lemme take down a Frostclaw.

Ooh. Rumour. ...Rebel bases. Yeah, I hear you.

Gliiiiiiding down to get that shelter...

Okay, off I go. Huh. What's this?

That ... is a drone. No time now, but I know what I'm doing later.

Right. Hi, Frostclaw! ...Bye, Frostclaw. POONK.

Okay, got my circulator. Gotta hunt some Stormbird at some point. But now I gotta log off for work.

Really looking forward to very long weekend. Mostly because I'm having that "feel like I'm being stabbed" feeling in my left shoulder blade. This is going to be a hard day.