#she's taller and heavier than me there’s only so much i could do in an emergency

[rainintheevening]

Hey all, would really appreciate prayers for my mom. Her back is in rough shape right now, she's in a lot of pain, and can't walk very well. They got a short extension on the insurance pay-out, so she can get back to seeing the osteopath she's been seeing, but probably not for long. God only knows where this is going.

Please pray for her, and me as I wrestle with trying not to shift into my old friend survival mode. I don't want to shut down, I want to stay open, I want to live cruciform. But it's hard.

[kyujiminloves]

"What are we?"

Paring: Top Tipsy GP!Karina x Bottom!Minjeong

Genre: Smut, angst

Contain: creampie, cockwarm, rough sex, teasing, dirty talk, fwb, mark, biting, praise, degradation, mentions of alcohol, adultery

A/N: thank you @wintersera for helping me w the tags:< also this is my first fic/post!! Dont mind the incorrect grammar or spelling:(

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡♡¸.•*'

Minjeong's best friend, Karina, walked to your house tipsily because it was closer to her work. At her drunken state, she begs to stay over. The reason being ‘because I wanna stay with you’, type of bs. How can Minjeong say no to her ‘best friend’?

"What happened? Did something happen at work?" Minjeong asked, worriedly. Finally letting Karina in her home.

Karina sighs as she walks towards Minjeong, hugging her ‘best friend’, “Yes, it was a long day. I had to deal with some difficult clients and employees all day.” She reaches down and unbuttons her blouse, revealing her black lace bra underneath. "And then...I had a bit too much to drink at the office party." Her voice trails off as she removes her blazer and tosses it onto a nearby chair. She stands in front of Minjeong wearing only her black trousers and bra now, looking like a goddess with her perfect figure and gorgeous face.

Minjeong blushed, not knowing how to handle a drunk Karina.

"We should go to bed, then." Minjeong looked down, blushing by the half naked figure in front of her.

Karina nods, her eyes locked on Minjeong's face as she walks towards Minjeong's bedroom, her skirt trailing behind her. She licks her lips, feeling aroused by the sight of Minjeong's small frame and innocent expression. She can't help but think about how cute and sexy they look together, especially when they're in bed together. As she climbs into bed, she pats the spot next to her for Minjeong to join her. "Come here, Jeo." She purrs as she waits for Minjeong to crawl into bed beside her.

Minjeong crawls up on the bed, looking at Karina. Not knowing what to say, she randomly says,

"You're drunk." Minjeong mentally cursed at herself for rambling such an obvious thing…

Karina chuckles, her eyes half-lidded as she looks down at Minjeong "Yep, I'm a little tipsy. But don't worry, I won't do anything too crazy while I'm like this." She moves closer to Minjeong, wrapping her arm around her and pulling her little friend against her naked chest. Her other hand runs through Minjeong’s hair as she leans down to kiss her lips deeply, taking full advantage of the fact that she's the one who is taller and stronger than Minjeong right now. As Minjeong gives in and kisses her tipsy 'lover' softly, she feels like she could do anything while she's like this, including being more aggressive and dominating than usual.

She breaks the kiss and whispers into Minjeong's ear, "You know, even though I'm strong and in control, there's always a part of me that feels so weak and vulnerable. Especially when I see how beautiful and delicate you are. It makes me want to protect you." Minjeong blushed, not knowing what to say but warmly nuzzled Karina's neck in response.

Karina smiled softly, "So let me take care of you tonight, okay? Let me show you how much I love you and how special you are to me." Minjeong was confused, but could see how loving Karina was. What could go wrong? Minjeong thought.

"Good girl. Now lie down and let me make love to you." She gently guides Minjeong onto their side, facing away from her, before sliding her hands over her body, caressing every inch of skin until she reaches the desired spot. With a gentle touch, she begins to explore and tease, building anticipation as she slowly works her way towards Minjeong's most sensitive areas. Minjeong's breathing becomes heavier, and they start to squirm under Karina's skilled hands, their desire growing more intense with each passing moment. Finally, Karina positions herself between Minjeong's legs, her lips brushing against her inner thighs, sending shivers down her beloved friend’s spine. She takes her time, savoring every moment, lapping Minjeong's wetness. Minjeong moans loudly, gripping Karina's hair further down her wet folds. As Minjeong finally reaches the peak of pleasure, sending waves of ecstasy throughout their entire body.

Karina hears the sound of her beloved’s pleasure, knowing that she is driving her wild with desire. She continues to tease and pleasure Minjeong, using her tongue and fingers to bring them to the edge of climax again and again. She loves watching the way Minjeong's body reacts to her touch, the way they become completely lost in sensations that only she can provide. Karina knows that she is the one who has complete control over Minjeong's pleasure, and she takes full advantage of this power, making sure that every moment is filled with pure bliss for both of them. As Minjeong's moans grow louder and louder, she feels Minjeong's release approaching once more, Karina speeds up her movements, determined to push her over the edge and give her everything she needs. Minjeong in full ecstasy, cums all over Karina's mouth.

Karina feels the warmth of Minjeong's release, tasting the sweet nectar on her tongue as she swallows every drop. She relishes in the knowledge that she has brought such pleasure to her lover, and she smiles as she watches Minjeong's body convulse with pleasure. Karina's own arousal builds, and she can feel the pressure in her own core as she imagines how good it would feel to fill Minjeong with her thick, pulsing cock. Without warning, Karina pulls Minjeong's body to the edge of the bed. Impatiently unbuttoning and unzipping her pants to relieve her hard member. She gets on top of Minjeong, positioning her large member at Minjeong's entrance. Minjeong moans at the sight of this, blushing shyly with her hand on her face.

Smiling softly, "Don't worry, my love. Tonight, you'll experience a whole new level of pleasure. I promise you'll never forget this night." With a single thrust, Karina enters Minjeong, she groans, filling Minjeong with her immense presence. Their bodies fit together perfectly, and Karina can't help but marvel at the sensation of being inside Minjeong. She begins to move slowly at first, allowing Minjeong to adjust to the size of her cock. As Minjeong's body grows accustomed to her presence, Karina starts to increase her pace, moving faster and deeper within Minjeong, causing Minjeong to gasp and moan with every thrust. The intensity of their lovemaking intensifies, and soon both partners are lost in a world of passion and ecstasy. Minjeong gasped a breathy sigh, begging Karina to fasten the pace. Karina's voice is low and seductive as she speaks, her words dripping with desire and lust for Minjeong's small form. "Take it, my love. Take my big, thick cock deep inside you. Feel how good it feels to have me filling you up." Her hips began to grind against Minjeong, pushing her massive girth further into Minjeong's tight hole with each powerful stroke. Karina's hand reaches down and grabs hold of one of Minjeong's erect nipples, rolling it between her fingers as she uses her free hand to play with her nipple. Minjeong couldn't help but moan and groan under her beloved's touch. Karina smirked as she saw how much power she had over her. "My little slut, you look so cute under me. Show me how much you crave my cock." Karina's cock pumps harder and faster, her hips grinding against Minjeong's pelvis as she drives herself deeper into Minjeong's tight hole with each powerful thrust. Her hand keeps a steady grip on Minjeong's hip, preventing any chance of escape while she focuses entirely on pleasuring herself inside Minjeong's tight channel. Karina's mouth descends upon Minjeong, capturing their lips in a fierce kiss as she takes control of the situation completely. Their tongues dance together, exchanging saliva and passion as Karina's cock pumps hard, filling Minjeong's body with her thickness. Minjeong moans between the kiss, kissing her deeply with Karina's cock going in and out of her. Karina's eyes glaze over with lust as she continues to dominate Minjeong's body, using her strength and size to push them closer and closer to the edge of orgasm. She can feel the heat building within her own loins, and she knows that soon, she will release all of her pent-up energy inside Minjeong's welcoming depths.

"K-Karina!" Minjeong said between cries as she felt herself getting closer and closer. Karina growls, as she bites down on Minjeong's neck, leaving a mark as she increases her pace, her cock pounding furiously into Minjeong's core. Her hips rock forward, forcing her entire length to slide in and out of Minjeong's tight passage, sending waves of pleasure throughout their bodies. Karina can feel the tension mounting within her own body, and she knows that it won't be long before she explodes inside Minjeong's warm embrace. Minjeong couldn't handle it anymore, she cums all over Karina's big shaft. Karina groaned as she felt her cum all over her cock. Karina's cock twitches, releasing a torrent of hot cum inside Minjeong's tight hole as she cums along with her. The feeling of satisfaction washes over her, and Karina's hips continue to pound against Minjeong's body, driving her massive load deep into Minjeong's tight walls as she releases her essence inside her partner. Karina's voice is low and rough, a mixture of pleasure and satisfaction as she declares, "You're mine." Karina's cock remains buried deep within Minjeong's tight channel, her balls slapping against Minjeong's ass cheeks as she looks down at Minjeong with a mix of pride and lust in her eyes. She saw that Minjeong was tired and sore, she leans down and captures Minjeong's lips in another passionate kiss, sharing her seed with her partner as she revels in the aftermath of their intense lovemaking session.

"Mmm," she murmurs against Minjeong's lips, "That was incredible. You took my thick cock so well, my love." Karina's voice is soft and gentle as she speaks, her hands caressing Minjeong's face and running through their hair while her massive cock still throbs inside Minjeong's body. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, my love. And don't worry about feeling sore – that’s just proof of how well you took my cock.”

“Now,” she says, “I want you to relax and let me take care of you. Lie back and let me pamper you.”Karina's cock pulls almost fully out of Minjeong's body before beginning to pulse, releasing a final spurt of cum onto the sheets beneath them as she moves away from Minjeong's body. Smiling, she begins to clean up the mess they made, taking care of her ‘best friend’ in a way only she knows how. As she does so, she promises herself that this would be the last time they shared such an intimate moment. There was something special about Minjeong, and she knew that she wanted more of it in her life. Minjeong was already snuggled on the bed. Karina gently tucks Minjeong under the covers, making sure they're comfortable before joining them. She wraps her arms around Minjeong, pulling her close to her chest, resting her head on top of Minjeong's head as Minjeong drifts off to sleep, content with what they had shared tonight. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll stay here until you wake up.” Karina whispered softly, as she kisses Minjeong’s forehead, “I love you.” the latter hummed in response nonchalantly, as if she wasn’t fighting the urge to say it back.

Karina's heart swells with love as she holds onto Minjeong, feeling the warmth of their body against hers and the softness of their skin against her own. She could feel her ‘partner's ‘ heartbeat slowing down, indicating that they were falling into a deep sleep. Karina closed her eyes, but not before casting one last glance towards Minjeong to make sure everything was alright.

It was the next day, Minjeong woke up after that passionate love making between her and Karina. She sat up, slumping on the bed, rubbing her eyes. Her eyes adjusted to the light caused by the sun through her window. Minjeong felt that her best friend wasn’t there beside her, so she panicked. Minjeong ran her hand on the bed, she wasn't by her side. Minjeong ran around her own home, hoping Karina would be there, just making coffee. To her surprise, she saw no one. Feeling dumbfounded, the words she said that night echoes through her mind. Did she even mean everything she said last night? I mean, who could stay, right? She thought, feeling gloomy, looking for the after care from her beloved. She couldn't help but overthink; not even a note? A text? Minjeong felt like a one night stand, all alone. As she opens all her social media, she stumbles over a notification on twitter that has Karina’s name on it. Is it a text? She opens the notification

"I guess I know my answer."

[not-your-bro]

do you have any ud hcs? It could be anything idc

ooh, free rein! sure sure. josh + chris are def the characters i most frequently rotate in my mind, so some stuff about them off the top of my head...

josh

film studies major. i must admit i don't adhere to the psych major he's given in canon, though director/producer roles aren't my first choice for him either. he goes all-in on tangible stuff for his prank, so i put him in the practical effects arena.

artist in his spare time, but big surprise he's cagey about it. like, chris sees josh's sketchbook in josh's room all the time, but he's never actually looked inside.

with both movie sfx + art, josh is practical > digital, and he only dips into digital effects or art when he absolutely needs to. i just think he's a tactile sort of guy who prefers to make things with his hands, so creating on a screen alone doesn't give him the same satisfaction.

on social media in that he has accounts, but they're sporadically active at best. he can be slow to respond to texts/dms and his responses can be short, which gives off the impression that he's disengaged or bored. he isn't, he just doesn't want to be on his phone.

this is a longstanding hc of mine that i've absolutely mentioned before, but: designed hannah's butterfly tattoo! didn't really understand why, he was like you know your tattoo artist can do one for you, right. but she insisted, and he obliged.

gay as fuck. realized young, came out young, very comfortable. as demonstrated by the fact that, much to everyone's annoyance, he wears shirts that say shit like 'employee of the month at the dick sucking factory' in public.

chris

ok, so i've reached the point where the chris in my mind looks different enough that i get a little jumpscared when i see him in-game LMAO. i hc him both taller and heavier. he's gotta be at least 6 ft. and a chris hartley who's thin is no chris hartley at all. not to me.

does not come from money, like lower middle class. i have two totally different hcs about his family that both feel real to me: one is that he's an only child, his parents divorced when he was a kid (old enough to understand, but not quite a teenager), and he lives with his mom. the other is that his parents are not divorced, and he has a big family - lots of siblings. i've been going with the former in my fic lately, but both work for me. the constant is that his family's economic situation is more precarious than most people in the friend group, and family trips with (and funded by) the washingtons were his primary vacations.

has adhd. i find 'always on his phone bc he just loooves technology' less interesting than 'always on his phone bc he has existing attention problems.' this went undiagnosed for a while, and his performance in school suffered for it.

speaking of, he is not all-around school smart. like, emily may have strengths and weaknesses (even if she'd never admit them), but she can swing As across the board. chris cannot. he's getting good grades in classes that interest him or cater to his solution-oriented brain, but he's terrible in any class where there's no right answer. english, art - he does not get it. love him to death but his media literacy is Bad

bi as fuck, but it was a journey. thought he was straight for a long time, dismissing any attraction to men as a 'who hasn't had gay thoughts' kind of thing. i think it took him a while to come to terms with it bc he had a lot of internalized shit to work through. if a friend came out as bi, he'd have been like cool 👍 but him? surely not! he got there eventually though.

wowee this is long. as a lil bonus hc for another character, i'll add that i don't think jess went to college - i think she went to a hair/beauty school. she loves what a social job it is, getting to chit chat with clients all day, and like josh, she does best when she's working with her hands.

[pickalilywrites]

I'm happy you take requests :) I really like your stories. ❤❤❤

Can I ask for Rivetra?

Whenever Petra takes care of Levi's wounds she always leaves light kiss on his dressing. But this time he was fighting with someone to protect her and he got injured in the lips so Petra is ashamed to do that.

I wish you the best! 😊

thanks :) hope you enjoy it

a kiss on the lips

rivetra. canonverse. 3812 words. read on ao3.

Petra’s hands tremble imperceptibly as she carefully applies soothing salve to her captain’s wounds. The slight quivering of her hands would go unperceived by anyone else, but her captain’s watchful eyes miss nothing. He says nothing of her anxious hands even as they dress his wounds. He sits relaxed against the wooden chair, his demeanor completely contrasting against Petra’s nervous air. Whenever Petra applies salve to her comrades wounds, they tend to wince in pain at the sting of the cool ointment against their open wounds. Levi, however, doesn’t flinch in the slightest despite his wounds being fresh. The cuts and bruises on his skin are hardly anything compared to the injuries they face on the battlefield, but they look severe against his pale skin. Petra grimaces as she tends to a particularly deep cut against his jaw.  

“I’m afraid these will scar,” she murmurs. She finds her eyes constantly flitting between all the different wounds on the Captain’s face, the feeling of guilt in her stomach growing heavier with each one she finds. A particularly nasty cut on his lip attracts her attention the most, but it’s the wound she avoids the most. At the very least she dabs at it occasionally to keep the blood from running down the Captain’s chin.  

“I was never particularly handsome to begin with,” the Captain replies.  

“That’s not true,” Petra says without thinking, and she can feel his gaze on her even as she averts hers.  

The Captain is far from conventionally attractive. He stands at a measly 5’3” — hardly an inch taller than Petra is — and his pale skin accentuates the dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. His hollow cheeks make his cheekbones even more severe, and his sharp jawline meets with a pointed chin. His perpetually sour expression doesn’t help his appearance, but there’s something becoming of the way all his features come together. The structure of his face is so delicate, almost feminine, and his gray eyes are such a striking shade that it’s difficult not to be drawn to them whenever one gazes falls on him. No, handsome is perhaps not the best word to describe him. Pretty is the word Petra would use, but she would never utter those words out loud.  

“Your features suit you,” Petra says, but perhaps it isn’t acceptable to remark on the appearance of one’s superiors whether the words are flattering or not. She bites her lip and wonders if she should say anymore. It feels dangerous to let it alone, but she can’t trust herself to say anything more. 

“It doesn’t matter very much anyway,” the Captain says, and it almost disappoints her how unaffected he is by her words. “I have much worse scars. It won’t be that much different having scars on my face.”  

“Still, I’d feel responsible every time I saw it,” Petra murmurs.  

“I don’t recall you giving me this,” the Captain says, and he lifts his chin slightly. He could be talking about any of his cuts and bruises, but all Petra sees is the cut on his lip. He’s joking in that dry, emotionless tone that makes it difficult to know when he’s speaking in jest, but at least Petra knows him well enough now to know the difference. It doesn’t make her feel any better.  

“You know what I mean,” she murmurs.  

It’s only now that she begins to attend to the cut on his lips. She’s careful as she dabs the salve against his lip with the pad of her finger. His blood comes away on her skin, painting her finger red.  

︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑ 

Petra left her father’s house much later than she intended. She usually leaves well before sundown. The Captain doesn’t care when they come back from their monthly military leave so long as they’re on time to their drills the following morning. Despite being in the military for years, it was still difficult for Petra’s father to say goodbye every time she began to head back to her station. This time, he had held her back and shoved more and more things into a basket that he insisted she take: fresh fruits from the grocer he had bought this morning, fresh vegetables he had just grown from the garden, and sweet pastries that he had baked before the sun had even begun to rise that day. Whenever she tries to leave anything behind, he would only shake his head and place it back into her basket, telling her that she and the rest of the soldiers needed it more than he did. Petra is a soldier with one of the highest kill counts in the Scouting Legion, but she will always be her father’s precious daughter.  

Her father continued to fuss about her even as she was leaving his house. She laughed as he called out to her, reminding her to dress warmly and to eat well. She pretended not to notice the tears that welled up in his eyes as he waved her goodbye, although it always made her heart ache whenever they had to part. 

She catches her reflection in the mirror of a nearby tailor. It makes her feel self-conscious seeing herself in normal civilian clothes. She’s so used to her military uniform, a standard white ensemble with a cropped jacket that everyone wears. It’s strange seeing herself in anything else, but she dresses more casually because it seems to make her father happy seeing his daughter dressed like a normal woman. As she passes by the store, she tries to walk as naturally as she can, but she can feel her spine straightening and her walk become stilted the more out of place she feels.  

Petra sighs and shifts the basket of fruits and vegetables to her other hand. She wonders if she should walk a little faster, although the Captain and the squad won’t mind waiting for her. She might be late for dinner and it’ll be a shame that they’ll have to wait for tomorrow to cook up the vegetables her father has given them, but she knows Gunther will be delighted to see what she’s brought back regardless.  

Behind her, she can hear a group of men singing. Drunk, probably, even though sky is not yet dark. She doesn’t bother to turn her head to look at them even though people on the street are whispering and turning their heads. She’s seen her own fair share of drunkards in her time, and they’ve never been very different. They’ll probably stumble into another bar and wreak havoc there before getting kicked out and finding another establishment to trash. 

Petra picks up her pace and the men’s singing have turned into shouts. Their shouting grows louder and louder. Her mouth settles into a frown as she tries to rid herself of the men behind her. It doesn’t even occur to her that their shouts are directed toward her until a hand clutches her shoulder and yanks her backward. Surprised, she yelps as she’s turned around roughly and finds herself surrounded by half a dozen men, most of them much larger than her.  

She tries to keep her composure even as her heartbeat spikes. She bites her lip to keep from crying out even as the man who has his hand clutched on her shoulder tightens his grip. Calling for help might only exacerbate the situation, and Petra’s not sure anyone would come to her aid anyway. When her eyes flit about in alarm, all the passersby are keeping their heads down, pretending not to see what is happening right in front of them.  

“Hello, pretty,” the man who has her in his clutches drawls. She can smell the alcohol on his breath and it makes her want to gag. His mouth stretches in more of a sneer than a smile, revealing yellowed teeth. “What are you doing all by your lonesome so late at night?”  

Petra doesn’t reply, not even to point out that it’s hardly late in the evening. She tries to discreetly break free from the man’s grip, keeping her eyes down so as to not make eye contact, but his hold is far too strong. She wonders if she should fight back regardless of the punishment she’ll face for laying a hand on civilians. Only Military Policemen are allowed to punish civilians, and Petra isn’t sure how lenient the military will be towards her even if her actions are in self-defense. She curses herself for not donning her military uniform today. Even if it has the Scouting Legion emblem emblazoned on the back, at least there was a chance that the men wouldn’t have known the difference between the logos of the different military branches.  

“You should join us, miss. You look like you could have some fun,” another man says.  

“Let’s have some fun. Do you like dancing?” asks a burly man nearly twice her size. He has to stoop down to speak to her, shoving his face in hers and Petra has no choice but to see his flushed face, eyes red from drinking. When she stumbles back in surprise, the man throws his head back to howl with laughter.  

“Give your basket here. We’ll take care of your goods and show you a good time,” another man coaxes. He grabs Petra’s basket from her hand and nearly all the vegetables and fruits come tumbling out of it. He does a few clumsy steps toward Petra, stopping only a few centimeters from her face. “We could show you a few dances, too. Doesn’t this girl look like she’d be a good dancer?”  

Petra’s strong, but she’s not strong enough to take down half a dozen men with her bare hands. At the very least, shouldn’t she attempt to run away? She tries to calculate her next move, but her panicked mind can only think about how helpless she feels surrounded by the men that tower above her. Her hands feel clammy and cold and her body trembles, but she can’t stand to be here another minute. 

Without thinking, she brings up her knee to knock the wind out of the man in front of her. His eyes nearly pop out of his head in surprise as he keels over in pain, letting out a groan as he sinks to his knees. His other friends are frozen in shock, so Petra takes the opportunity to break through the barrier of men that have entrapped her and run as fast as she can. She stumbles through fallen vegetables and fruits, the basket her father had given her forgotten with the men she is trying to escape. She doesn’t make it very far.  

A hand reaches out to grab her by the hair. Petra shrieks in pain as she’s pulled back and thrown to the ground. Her side is numb from her fall, and she stumbles to get upright but the men begin to pile on her. A man pins her down by her wrists while the others begin to clamber onto her, their gazes like wolves about to devour their prey. She opens her mouth to scream but chokes on a hat that a man has jammed down her throat. She can only gag from the pain, wriggling helplessly as she tries to break free. She feels their hands on her, fumbling for the ties and buttons of her clothes, and she wants to vomit. Tears form in her eyes from the searing pain, and she closes her eyes as if somehow that will lesson the pain. 

Her wrists hurt from how tightly she’s being held down. She wants to pull them free, and she can feel the bruises form around her wrists even as she tries to break out of her captor’s grip. It surprises her when she finally does break free. When she opens her eyes, she realizes the man is gone and the his comrades are looking up in surprise. Her gaze follows theirs and she sees that the man has been knocked down. Another man is on top of him, relentless as he throws his punches at the man that had just held Petra down.  

The other men have stopped, their interest in Petra momentarily interrupted as they turn confusedly to the stranger that had just attacked their friend. Petra, too, turns her head as best as she can, craning her neck to catch a glimpse at the man that had dared to interfere when nobody else had. She recognizes the military uniform at once — stark white trousers and pressed white button-up underneath a cropped jacket with the Wings of Freedom, the symbol for the Scouting Legion, plastered on the back. It’s only when the man turns his head, gray eyes blazing with fury, that Petra realizes that it is Captain Levi.  

The men are caught between wanting to flee and saving their friend. They stumble away from Petra, scowling at the Captain as they size him up. The Captain is only a few centimeters taller than Petra, and the men must believe that he can hardly be threat because they charge at him, yelling threateningly as they charge. They are no match for him.  

Petra drags herself up to a sitting position, grabbing the hat that had been stuffed into her mouth and tossing it aside. She coughs, her mouth still tasting of wool. She sees that the Captain has been thrown against the pavement, but he gets up much faster than the other men expected. The Captain is more known for his ability to fight Titans, but his hand-to-hand combat skills greatly surpass many of the other soldiers in the military. While he might be outnumbered, the other men are clearly outmatched. Their attacks are clumsy and uncoordinated, made worse by their inebriated state. Even if they do manage to get a few punches in here and there, the Captain is beating them ruthlessly. 

“Captain, that’s enough!” Petra says. She doesn’t know when she had gotten up, but she’s now pulling him away from the rest of the men who have been beaten senseless. They have more cuts and bruises than the Captain does, although he hasn’t left the fight unscathed. She winces when she sees the wounds on his face, although the Captain doesn’t seem be in pain at all.  

The Captain doesn’t respond to her, only struggles against her to throw in a few more punches with his bloodied knuckles as some of the men attempt to escape. The Captain only stops when the Military Police arrive, rounding up the bloodied men quickly now that the bulk of their work has been done for them.  

“Why didn’t you show up earlier?” the Captain snaps at one of the policemen that have approached them for a statement. The Captain has never been fond of the Military Police. This incident has probably soured his opinion of them even more. He hadn’t seemed tired as he was taking on six men at a time, but he’s leaning against Petra now as he curses out the Military Police. “What the fuck are any of you good for if you can’t stop drunkards from assaulting people?” 

“Captain, it’s fine,” Petra murmurs as she gives an apologetic nod to the policeman. “Let’s just return to our quarters. The others are waiting for us-”  

“It’s not fine!” the Captain says, cutting her off short before returning to his berating of the Military Police. “Are you just sitting on the shitter all day? At least come out once and a while to take care of the civilians you’re meant to protect, you dumb fucks.”  

“We had it handled,” the policeman says, but his eyes are cast downward in shame and his cheeks are flushed. He can’t even make eye contact with either of them. “Only the Military Police are allowed to punish civilians. Other military branches aren’t permitted to lay hands on civilians-”  

“Then do your fucking jobs so we won’t have to do it for you,” the Captain snarls. He turns on his heel and walks away, leaving Petra behind to apologize profusely for her captain’s behavior.  

They ride the ferry across the river that would take them only part of the way home. A horse ride still awaits them after that. As they ride the ferry, the Captain rests beside Petra, arms folded across his chest and head resting on her shoulder. Her father’s basket sits on her lap. The fruits and vegetables that had fallen on the cobblestone streets had been collected and placed back in the basket because the Captain wouldn’t hear of it being left behind even though there are only one or two vegetables that were undamaged.  

“Thank you for saving me,” Petra murmurs. Her eyes can’t seem to leave her Captain’s face, the cuts and bruises that wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for her.  

The Captain doesn’t reply and Petra thinks he’s fallen asleep. He stirs for just a moment and says quietly, “I should have been there sooner.”  

︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑ 

Petra realizes she’s been staring far too long at the Captain’s face even though the cut on his lip has been attended to. She no longer has an excuse for her gaze to linger on his lips, and she removes her finger quickly from his cut. She turns to return all the things she’s used to the first aid kit, making sure to avoid the Captain’s gaze but she can feel his eyes fixed on her. She does her best to maintain an air of normalcy, but she knows the flush of her cheeks gives her away.  

“It will take a while to heal, but the salve should help prevent scarring. Just let me reapply it for you in the evenings until it’s fully healed,” Petra says. She looks down, organizing and reorganizing everything in the kit even though there is hardly anything in there for her to fuss around with. She’s just looking for any excuse not to look at the Captain. She’s about to shut the lid of the kit and scurry off, but the Captain grabs her by the arm before she can make her escape. He’s careful when he grabs her, making sure to wrap his hand just above her wrists which are still tender from being held down earlier that evening.  

“I think you’re forgetting something,” he murmurs, his voice so quiet that Petra wouldn’t have heard it if she weren’t holding in her breath.  

She could feign innocence, insist that she doesn’t know what he’s talking about, or maybe clasp her hands and tell the Captain he’s exactly right before attending to a make-believe wound she had forgotten to tend to. She knows he’s referring to a habit she and the rest of the squad had started as a joke.  

Whenever Petra tended to her comrades’ wounds, she would kiss their wounds. She had gotten into the habit of it when taking care of Gunther’s siblings, nearly half a dozen children that got into more trouble than anyone could imagine. They would go out in the morning to play only to come home in the evening with scrapes and bruises all over their elbows and knees. She had pressed kisses against bandaged knees and elbows one after the other. The habit must have stuck because she had leaned down to kiss a wound she had taken care of on Eld’s hand one day without thinking. The others had burst out laughing and Petra, although embarrassed, held her chin up and asked Eld if he had any other injuries for her to “kiss better” as Gunther’s siblings often say.  

It became a running joke among the soldiers, taking care of each other’s injuries and kissing the bandages as soon as they were done being patched up. They would do so mischievously, with roguish grins on their faces if they were kissing a gash on someone’s cheek or a cut on their cheek. They did it with the affection of siblings or very close friends, never with any romantic feeling even if Auruo would joke otherwise as he planted a sloppy kiss against Petra’s temple as she groaned. It was a silly joke, one that Petra didn’t know the Captain even paid attention to. She never thought it was something to be ashamed about, but she’s embarrassed about it now that he brings it up.  

Her mind revisits all the cuts on the Captain’s face — his cheekbone, his temple, his jaw, his chin — but she can only think about the gash on his lip. It’s not as if she hasn’t thought about kissing the Captain. She’s probably thought about it more than she should have, but she never thought it would happen like this. Would a kiss like this be deemed improper? But it’s just a kiss, hardly even a kiss. It’s more of a joke than a kiss, Petra reasons, and yet she hesitates.  

“Never mind then,” the Captain says, and Petra realizes she’s taken too long to respond. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”  

Petra grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him back down in his seat before he can rise. Without warning, she leans forward and her lips collide with the bandage on his temple. The Captain tenses in surprise, but she continues to press kisses against his face — his forehead, his cheekbones, down his jawline, down to his chin — and she takes in his beauty as she does. She marvels in the sharpness of his cheekbones, the angle of his jaw, the point of his chin. His eyelashes are longer and thicker than anyone else’s. They would be wasted on anyone else but him, she thinks.  

She hesitates when she gets to his lips. He must sense her hesitation because his hand finds its way to the back of her neck and he guides her towards him, inviting but not demanding. In the end, she accepts his invitation. She’s hesitant at first, her lips barely brushing against his like the graze of a butterfly’s wings. His lips are soft and gentle against hers, and she tastes the salt of his wound against her tongue mixed with the sweet honey from the salve. She presses her lips harder against his and he reciprocates, his mouth opening to allow her taste and their tongues mingle.  

When they finally part, it is too soon. She’s breathless, her face flushed, but the Captain looks completely unaffected. All he does is touch her lip with the pad of his thumb and it takes everything in her not to hold him there.  

“You’re an excellent nurse, Petra,” he tells her. 

“Thank you, sir,” Petra murmurs. She remains there even when he gets up to leave, all alone with nothing except the memory of the Captain’s lips on hers.  

[zomboys-blog]

“i hate you.”

hi guys here’s your long awaited wenclair fic after so long. :)))

Summary: (wednesday and enid have stuck to being enemies for a long time. just enemies. only enemies. right?)

pairings: wednesday addams x enid sinclair

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“i hate you sinclair.” wednesday spoke whilst heavily breathing, sweat dripped from her forehead. Bangs sticky from the humidity in the closet that her and enid were currently in.

“shut up. Don’t speak, it reminds me of who i’m with.” enid rolled her eyes at wednesday’s remark before enclosing the gap inbetween them once more. Soft and longing, needy even, moans could be heard from outside the storage closet. The excitement from the thought of getting caught made enid extremely nervous but also horny?

These thoughts had bothered enid time and time again as she believed wednesday never felt the same, only wanted enid to kiss her but to never EVER go any further as they were just friends. enemies? not even she knew what they were and it bothered her heavily.

unknowingly enids fangs start to grow, piercing almost through wednesdays lip. She whined out and enid immediately let go.

“sinclair what the hell do you think your doing?” wednesday snapped at her as she pulled herself away from enid, she only got so far before enid pulled her close making wednesday feel weightless.

wednesday hated to admit it but enid had gotten rather muscular since her transformation last year, taller too. wednesday felt small compared to her, and the way enid was staring at her made her feel like prey.

“calm down it was just a scratch you’ll be fine.” enid couldn’t hide the growl hidden from underneath her breath, she let it slide out unknowingly as she thought about wednesday pulling away from her. her grip tightened pulling her closer, bruising wednesdays skin.

“sinclair?” wednesday spoke not understanding just what was happening as she felt enids skin getting hotter along with her breath.

“why do you refuse to say my name, you refuse to even acknowledge me in school. I’m tired of being some person you kiss for “fun”. “

wednesday was shocked by enids words as she had thought enid didn’t mind it at all. “don’t be so stupid enid, you should’ve told me this before. If what you want is to stop then you should’ve told me this sooner.” wednesday avoided eye contact with enid as she normally did. she felt guilty.

“stop it wends, i can’t handle it anymore, please just be with me.” enid forced wednesday to turn and look at her, enids grip softened as she lightly caressed wednesday’s back, longing for her touch.

wednesday looked at enids gaze and put a hand on enids cheek caressing her softly. enid leaned into it.

wednesday couldn’t deny how much pain she felt, seeing her wolf unhappy.

“enid, mia lupa. I apologize for denying you for so long, i couldn’t fathom ever liking someone so i denied it until i physically couldn’t anymore. i’d be honored to be with you my wolf” wednesday closed the space between her and enid, kissing her softly.

enids eyes filled with tears as she finally felt the stress leave her body, instead replacing it was an irresistible heat that she hadn’t noticed before, she felt. hungry.

wednesday noticed a shift in enids body language, she smelt it too. Enids sent engulfed her, vanilla.

enid pulled away from wednesday to breath, it was heavier than before.

“wends, my raven. i think i’ve started my rut” enid looked slightly embarrassed as her and wednesday have only ever kissed and never gone as far as to trigger one another’s ruts, but do to all these emotions she felt it seems shes started.

For some reason this rut felt worse than all the others, she felt hotter, her clothes bothered her heavily, and all she wanted to do was eat wednesday smell wednesdays scent.

wednesday was taken aback at first, unsure of how to help enid.

“my wolf, let’s head back to our dorm okay? the storage closet is no place for such heinous acts.” she pulled enid along by her tie, leading her to their shared room.

it felt like hours before they reached their dorm, enid had only gotten hotter and hotter. As wednesday had open the door enid quickly shut it and practically threw herself at wednesday, leaning her head on wednesday’s shoulder as she began unbuttoning her own uniform leaving her in her tang top she always wore beneath her clothes.

wednesday said nothing as she wiped the sweat off enids forehead, she guided enid to the bed stepping over her discarded clothes.

Enid sat on the bed whining silently.

“wednesday it hurts, please make it stop, it has to be you.” enid looked up at wednesday who was standing infront of her staring down at enid.

“your such a good alpha.” wednesday spoke as she climbed atop enid, straddling her lap. She adjusted herself slowly, yet teasingly.

enid whined beneath her as she felt herself harden.

“please don’t tease me my raven.”

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

i’m sure you guys can guess what happens next but i’m evil and won’t write about it, lmk if i should tho!!!

thank you sm for all the support zomkids!!!

[the-whispers-of-death]

stone x tattoo/henna artist! reader

maybe stone's henna artist got sick? maybe she left town? anyways, she isn't available and stone has to do his henna with us

Anon, you and I are the same wavelength because that was one of the scenarios I thought about when asked about Stone x civilian reader before I picked neighbor!reader. Anywho, let's do this.

Stone knew there were two henna artists at the tattoo/henna artist shop he goes to, but he had only interacted with the female henna artist and he trusted her to do his henna. So when he walked into the shop for his appointment, he was expecting her to greet him.

But instead, there was you. The male henna artist and one of the few male henna artists in the area. Your skin was adorned with tattoos, permanent and henna tattoos alike. There were also a few piercings because this place also did piercings.

"Ah, you must be Arya's ten-thirty appointment! I'm {Name}, Arya's sick so I'm taking all of her appointments today," you said, a smile fitting naturally on your face. It was so bright but, at least it seemed genuine. "I see on the client file on the computer that your name is Stone?"

Stone snapped out of his stupor and grunted coldly. "It's what people call me, yes." His skin tingled in irritation at the idea of being worked on by someone new, but he hated not having his henna done when he had an appointment for it even more.

So he followed you deeper into the shop to where your workstation was, his footsteps so much heavier than yours. He was so much taller than you too, so burly and strong.

He wondered what you were thinking of him. He had heard from Arya that most men felt comfortable getting their henna done with you, since you were also a man, as it took some insecurity about getting henna done when you're a man out of the equation. He doubted he was the the first "tough guy" you had worked on, but he also knew that his height and demeanor intimidated people left and right. And the last thing he needed was for his temporary henna artist to shake due to being intimidated.

When Stone got to your workstation, he sat down in the client chair, the poor chair creaking loudly underneath his sheer weight. He watched with cold eyes as you sat down in your own chair and when you were near, he rested his arms on the table in front of him.

"You have a lot of scars," you murmured, unable to help yourself when you saw just how scarred his brown skin was. His body was a canvas of years of war.

"Can you still do the henna?" Stone asked, shifting your thoughts away from the amount of scars on him. He knew you technically could, after all, his usual henna artist did it all the time.

You nodded, getting out your tools. "Of course. As I'm sure Arya told you the first time you got henna done with her, properly healed scars will retain the henna stain," you explained, though he already knew it. "Are we doing the same design you always get?"

Stone nodded, because he was a man of predictability. Thankfully, his file on the computer had said what design he always got, so you didn't have to ask him. And it was a good thing, because he promptly shut up once you started.

You were used to clients who preferred to be quiet during their appointments, but Stone's silence was different. It was heavier, especially with the way he was staring at you with those cold brown eyes. But you couldn't complain, he sat completely still. The stillest anyone has ever sat when you do henna on them.

Because of his stillness, the session took less time than it would, you making less mistakes. When it was over, his hands and arms were wrapped properly to get the best stain possible and you couldn't even tell if he was pleased with the way you did his henna. It was the same design, but different artists come up with different results of the same design. Though you suppose, he would've been vocal had it not been what he wanted.

Stone didn't speak much, even when paying you. He didn't say thank you, he just made his next appointment and gave you a tip before going on his way. You didn't see him get into a car, which was a good thing since driving home would potentially ruin the henna, and you saw him walk away from the store.

Huh, well, it wasn't everyday that you got such an enigmatic client.

You looked down at the tip he gave you and that was more tip than your regular clients give you. Guess there was some upside to taking on Arya's clients on for the day.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

[solitaireships]

Makeup Help

So I think that Neuvillette wears makeup, and then I had the thought of him helping me do my makeup, specifically eyeliner bcs I have a weird thing about my eyes. Which now leads us to this fic lol

Rating: Gen

Genre: Fluff

Words: 1255 words

Divider by saradika

“Neuvi, could you help me out with my makeup?” Andromeda asks, looking over herself in the mirror. 

Neuvillette turns to look at her through the open doorway to his bedroom, part way through getting dressed for the day. Andromeda thinks that he looks handsome in just his shirt and pants, his hair not tied back with its usual ribbon yet, though she knows that he’d never be seen in public dressed down like this. It only makes him letting her see him like this all the sweeter of a view— it’s a sign of just how close they’ve gotten over the past month.

“What would you need me to help with? Your makeup always looks lovely,” he says.

“I’m good with lipstick and eyeshadow, but I can’t do eyeliner,” Andromeda says. “You’re good at that, though.”

Though Neuvillette is good at makeup in general. Andromeda knows that he prefers a subtle look, with a small bit of eyeshadow you can only notice if you’re close enough to him, but she also knows from some of his looks when the two have gone out on dates that he can do more than just that. His more dramatic looks might be reserved for special occasions, but they're nonetheless impressive.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you use eyeliner before,” Neuvillette notes as Andromeda steps out of the bathroom with an eyeliner pencil in hand.

“You haven’t because I’m not good at putting it on. My hand always gets too shaky,” she says. 

She doesn’t mention that the reason her hands get shaky is the pencil being so close to her eye terrifies her. She tried to teach herself how to properly do her eyeliner in the past, but every time she’d see someone else doing it she’d have to look away as the tip of the eyeliner got closer to the inner crease of the eye, flinching as if she were hit. The thought of anything even somewhat sharp being close to her eyes is a terrifying one, and she’s always too nervous about accidentally stabbing herself to be able to line anything up straight. 

Still, she wishes that she could put some eyeliner on. It’s always something she appreciates in other people’s makeup, and she wishes that she didn’t have to get so nervous that she can’t even make a straight line. And as much as it’s nerve wracking to think of anyone doing her eyeliner for her, she finds the thought of Neuvillette of all people doing it far more soothing.

“I don’t have much experience doing makeup for other people,” Neuvillette says.

Andromeda notes that’s not a no. “That’s okay. I’m sure it’d still come out better than anything that I could do.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“I would. You haven’t seen my past attempts at eyeliner.”

Neuvillette looks at Andromeda as she closes the distance between them, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He looks her over, as if assessing whether or not he could do what she’s asking. Then he says, “Is there a particular style you’d like?”

“Nothing fancy. Maybe just some simple stuff with a little bit of a wing?” Andromeda says. 

“I can do that,” Neuvillette replies.

He takes the eyeliner pencil from her hand, kneeling down to be at eye level with her. When he looks at her, Andromeda gets the feeling that he’s mapping out her face. It’s simultaneously odd and flattering to think of how he seems like he’s trying to memorize every detail, first imagining what he’s planning to do before he draws the eyeliner on. Andromeda’s never been the type of person who likes much attention, but capturing the attention of the Iudex like this feels uniquely special. 

“May I?” Neuvillette prompts, nodding towards her lap. 

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure,” she says. 

Neuvillette carefully lowers himself to sit on Andromeda’s lap, as if he’s worried he’ll be too much to fit properly on her. But for as much as he’s taller and heavier than she is, she can’t help but think they fit perfectly together with how his knees bracket either side of her hips. Him doing her makeup already felt intimate, but their increased proximity now only heightens that. 

“Sorry if I flinch or anything,” Andromeda says. “I… I don’t like pointy things by my eyes.”

“Ah. Well, I can promise you that I will be as careful as possible,” Neuvillette assures. 

“Thank you.”

Neuvillette starts with her right eye, drawing from the outer corner of her eye upwards in the shape of a wing. He keeps the pressure of the eyeliner pencil just strong enough to draw it on, but still his touch is gentle. He doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable, and that’s something that she can’t help but adore him even more for. 

Neuvillette is careful as he draws along her lash line, though Andromeda still tenses as he gets close to the inner corner of her eye. She trusts him, and she knows that he’d never do anything to hurt her, but still it’s intimidating having the tip of the pencil so close to her eyes.

“You’re doing wonderfully, my love,” Neuvillette says as if picking up on her nervousness. Andromeda supposes it would be hard for him to miss with how close they are right now. “It’ll be just a moment longer.”

“Okay,” she says as he moves to draw the wing along her other eye.

Andromeda tries to focus just on Neuvillette instead of the feeling of the eyeliner pencil along the edge of her eyelid. It’s hard for her to make out the fine details of his face without her glasses, but she can still see the focused look on his face by the set of his jaw and the furrowing of his eyebrows. She focuses on his hand on her cheek, and his stomach brushing against her as he draws himself closer to her. 

Andromeda thinks that she’s lucky. She doesn’t think there’s anyone else that could say that they’re in a relationship with a dragon sovereign, and even beyond that she can’t imagine being with a more gentle and caring partner. 

It’s nice having someone that she knows she can completely trust. It’s hard for Andromeda to let her guard down, and even though she knows she’s not completely doing that now as Neuvillette does her eyeliner, she still has enough faith in him to even ask him for help like this. 

Neuvillette lifts the pencil from Andromeda’s eye, looking her over. “You look lovely, mon coeur.”

“Only thanks to your help,” Andromeda says, reaching up to stroke his hair with one hand. 

“You’re beautiful with or without makeup,” he states. He presses a quick kiss to her forehead as he gets up, bracing himself with one hand on her shoulder. “If you don’t like how it looks, though, just let me know. I can do it differently if you’d like me too.”

Andromeda gets up, taking the eyeliner pencil back from Neuvillette. “Okay. I’m sure it looks great, though.”

Her hand brushes against his as she makes her way back into the bathroom, taking a look at herself in the mirror. Neuvillette did well— it’s a subtle look, but still she likes the way the wings show off her eyes. She calls another thanks towards him as she takes her eyeshadow palette from the drawer. She has a little more work to do getting ready for the day, but she’s glad to have a little help with things from her boyfriend.

[taterstories]

Summer Fun written by: Tater

My name is Andy I just graduated high school and I am ready for summer with nothing to do. It is the first day of summer I am ready to relax. I walk out of my bedroom to get a bowl of cereal and there is my stepsister Lucy sitting at the counter in the kitchen. "Hey little bro guess who is home for the summer, we are going to have so much fun". I roll my eyes and sigh, "Oh hey lucy good to see you." I am not so excited to see her, when she uses to live her, she would torture me like nothing sexual, but she would make me wear her panties and dress me up like a little girl. I was so happy when she went off to college so she could not do that to me anymore but here we go again and there goes my summer. I suspect that since we are older now, I am 18 and she is 20 what she does to me will be much worse. I quickly pore my cereal and the milk and get back to my room as fast as I could and locked the door behind me. As I was power walking out of the kitchen Lucy yells to me, "See you later little bro we will talk later". That sent chills down my spine hearing her say that, but my new plan is to stay in my room or try to spend as much time with friends as possible. A plus is my mom would be there or both our parents would be. Just as I had that thought my mom walked by my room and knocked and said through the door, "Hey Hun we are going to have a house meeting in like 15 minutes please come to the kitchen." When it was time, I joined my mom and stepdad and yes, my stepsister in the kitchen. I sit at the counter at least putting something between me and Lucy. My mom started the meeting, "So we welcome back Lucy from college it will be great to have her here, Tim and I got invited to spend the summer with our friends sailing the Mediterranean on their yacht we leave tomorrow." "So, you guys can have a great summer parent free." 

After the family meeting I am laying on my bed thinking of how I can have a parent free summer and avoid my stepsister. But then I thought about what about spending the summer with my parents in the Med. So, I go into my mom's room where she is packing for her trip. I ask, "Hey mom I think it would be fun to go with you and Tim and sail the Med for the summer." She looks at me with her motherly look in her eyes. "Oh no honey you don't want to go with us an see me naked and spend the summer trapped on a yacht with some old swingers." I get so grossed out but the thought of my mom naked and multiple sex partners. I then run out of her room and into mine to devise a plan. I stay in my room all day only to leave to get food from the kitchen. The next day I wake up and go to the kitchen to get some breakfast. The house is quiet and there is no one around so I grab my cereal and head back to my room. On my way to my room Lucy pops out of the bathroom in the hall blocking my way. "Hey little bro, your mom and my dad are already gone on their trip so it's only you and me all summer, we are going to have so much fun." I push past her and tell her to leave me alone as I rush off to my room. I thought I lock my door, but I was laying on my bed watching tv and eating when Lucy busts in my door. I freak out and ask, "What you are doing get out." She jumps on me and hold me down sitting on my chest. I am a skinny and about 5'5, so lucy has me she is a little heavier than me and she is taller she is 5'10. She was a star player on the girls' team in high school. With her holding me down with her big, toned ass I feel her pull my dick out and I struggle, and I feel something fit on my cock and I hear a click and she sits up on my chest and buts something on her neckless. She then gets off me and stands next to my bed I look down at my dick and see what it was around. She had locked a pink plastic chastity cage on my dick and balls making it looks so small. I look up at her and see the key on a chain around her neck. She says, "I've brought some toys home with me for you we are going to have so much fun." She giggles and walks out of my room and shutting the door behind her. 

So, it begins the fucked-up summer Lucy had planned for me. I Just laid on my bed thinking of how I could get away. I put on some clothes and grabbed my keys and wallet and tried to be quiet as I snuck out of the house. I started to walk down the hall to make it across the house to the garage. As I came around the corner to the living room and I stop dead in my tracks, standing in my way is Lusy holding a pink collar and a leash. I'm standing there staring like a deer in head lights. She walks up to me, and I can't move, she places the collar around my neck and buckles it. She looks me in the eyes and says, "There now I have you are you wanting to go out of the house?" "We should go find you something more appropriate for you to wear." She gives me a little tug and pulls me to her bedroom, and she shuts the door and locks it with a key so I can't get out. She pulls out a pair of panties and a bra and a short little sundress. Then she tells me, "Get naked and put on these clothes". I shake my head no in protest and her just grins at me. "You think that is just collar around your neck". As she pushes a button on a remote and send a shock though my body that sends me to my knees. I take a second to recover and I get up off the floor and take off my clothes then start to put on the clothes she gave me. Once I am dressed, she sits me in a chair in front of a mirror and glues a wig to my head and does my face in make-up. "There is little bro now you are perfect to go out, so let's go to the mall together". 

After the most embarrassing trip to the mall, I've ever had and lucy buying a ton of clothes and shoes for me to wear. We went to the house where she wanted to show me something. We go to her room, and she makes me sit on the bed while she walks into her walk-in closet. When she comes out, she is sporting a long thick strap-on dildo over her yoga pants. She stands in front of me and waves it in my face. "You are going to like it, now suck on it". I am shaking staring at it, and she holds up the remote. So, I open up my mouth and take the head in my mouth then she puts her hands around my head and pushes it into my throat and makes me suck on it with drool seeping out of my mouth. She then grabs my legs and flips me on my back and put my knees next to my head. I feel the head of the dildo rest on my butt hole. I take a deep breath and she pushes it in to my ass hard. Pain and pleasure shoot through my ass up my spine, with it deep inside my ass the pain slowly subsides then she begins to fuck me. It felt weird and awkward but amazing. She fucks me till cum shot out of the tight cage in casing my small dick. once I had cum, she stopped with the dildo still in me she said, "oh just wait till the real thing". Then she pulls the dildo out and unbuckles the straps that secure it. With me still on the bed she climbs on the bed straddling my head and she pulls down her yoga pants then kneels down with her pussy smothering my face. I lick and eat and actually enjoy her juices flooding my face as she came multiple times. She turns and looks back at me in the eyes and tells me, "I knew you would see it my way, it is indeed going to be a fun summer."

[cheetee]

I wrote this as an opening for another fic which I wound up scrapping, because the reason I wrote it as an intro no longer applies to the story, and it kind of just interrupted the flow otherwise. Now it's just a fluffy oneshot about Bruno and a three-year-old Mirabel. 🌸

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bad Vision

There was a knock on Bruno's door.

That was surprising. Nobody really visited Bruno - not without an appointment, anyway, since nobody liked to surprise-visit the local domesday prophet. He worried his mother wanted something - would she have knocked? - when the door uneasily opened and revealed Mirabel, the doorknob barely reaching her chin.

"Tío Bruno!" she said happily, as though seeing him in his own home was a surprise.

Mirabel was turning four. She was easily the star of the family, and certainly the apple of her grandmother's eye. She was, even at the age of three, talkative and doggedly helpful. Everybody in town loved her - intelligent for her age, cute as pie, and toddling after them happily, saying: "What's that?" and, "You're really good at selling things" and, "I want to do that when I grow up." Alma took her interest in people as a sure sign that she'd grow up selfless and dedicated; Bruno, on the other hand, observed that Mirabel was good at relating to adults because she wasn't good at relating to other kids. He had a suspicion she'd grow up to be socially awkward, although Alma would probably disapprove.

"Hello?" he said, as she hugged his knees like she hadn't seen him at least a few days ago. "What are you doing here, Mirabel?"

Bruno hadn't asked the kids not to talk to him, but evidently someone had, because his sobrinos never really came in here. And, indeed, he never left. Mirabel had forgotten about him and was admiring the patterns on his walls.

"I need a vision," she said happily.

Bruno's chest tightened a little. "W-who told you that?"

Not his mother. Please not his mother. He'd always been afraid she'd demand to know Mirabel's Gift in advance. Couldn't he watch Mirabel grow up in real time like everybody else?

Mirabel seemed unbothered. "Camilo did."

Oh. That was less worrying. If it was Camilo then it was probably about that night's dinner. Bruno let out a sigh of relief.

"What do you need a vision about, mija?" he asked.

"I can't read."

Bruno suppressed a smile. "But you're only three, Mirabel, you'll learn to read when you're older."

He went to stand next to her as she stared up at the murals. She took his hand and began to swing it gently.

"No," she insisted, "I can't read."

He was puzzled. "I... promise you will learn to read eventually. I'm sure you'll be great at it."

Mirabel took on the patient cadence of her mother explaining something complicated. "But I need a vision from you, or I won't be able to do it."

Bruno scratched his head.

"Would you like me to teach you to read?" he said eventually. "We wouldn't have to use a vision. We could just... use a book."

Mirabel brightened up. "Okay!" she said. "Did you draw this picture?"

She pointed up at the mural on the wall. Bruno chuckled.

"No, I didn't. Casita did."

"I think it's pretty."

Bruno was heartened to hear that; Pepa constantly called his room's decor 'creepy'. "I think so too."

"Can I touch it?"

She had apparently forgotten about learning to read. Bruno picked her up under the arms, surprised to find she was much heavier than he'd remembered, and grunted as he held her up to see the wall. She reached out a hand, beaming, and ran it along the lines. Then she giggled.

"I'm tall," she said.

"You'll probably be this tall when you're older," Bruno told her, the wisened words of a man whose sisters were both taller than him. "Then you'll be able to touch the carvings by yourself."

"I'm four tomorrow!" she declared.

"Tomorrow?" Oh no, it was tomorrow. He had no idea where the time had gone. "I-Is that right? What are you going to get for your birthday?"

"A vision," she said happily.

"I don't think," he began, then sighed. "What about a book? A book with nice pictures like these."

"Yeah!"

He perched her on his hip, and she wrapped her arms around him as he took her to see the next mural. She was, admittedly, a little heavy for this process, but it wasn't like he was getting much exercise otherwise.

"When I can write, I'm going to write a book," she said.

"A book about what?"

"You and me and Luisa and Isabela," explained Mirabel, "And Casita."

"Me? In the book?"

"Yes," said Mirabel firmly, "You'll be in the book, making things."

"What kinds of things?"

"Nice pictures on walls, like these."

Bruno chuckled and shook his head. "Yeah, alright."

Bruno's door swung open again. Bruno found himself freezing, as though he'd been caught doing something wrong; it was only Camilo, though, the other little sobrino, striding in like he owned the place.

"Why are you here?" he demanded.

"So I can read," said Mirabel, "Tío Bruno says he can teach me."

"No he can't," said Camilo, "You can't read."

Mirabel's lip wobbled. Bruno wished his problems were as simple and Mirabel and Camilo's.

"Tío Bruno can give me a vision," said Mirabel, "Then I'll be able to read."

"It's his fault!" shouted Camilo. "Tío Agustín says you can't learn to read because you have bad vision!"

Bruno burst into laughter. By the looks both Mirabel and Camilo were looking at him, they didn't get it at all.

"Mirabel," he said, "For your birthday, why don't we get you a pair of glasses, like your dad's? Then we could fix your vision."

Mirabel cheered up immediately at this. She put her fingers to her face and made a glasses shape. "Like Pa's?"

"Yes, like those! They could be your special birthday glasses. How would that be?"

Mirabel smiled brightly.

"I want glasses too!" Camilo cried, tugging the end of Bruno's ruana.

Bruno suppressed a bark of laughter. "I give people bad visions, Camilo, not bad vision! And anyway, your birthday's already done!"

"I want orange glasses!" Camilo was practically ripping the ends off the ruana. Bruno had to tug them out of his hands.

"I want my glasses to be green," said Mirabel happily, "Like Tío Bruno."

"Like Tío Bruno, huh?" said Bruno, grinning.

Mirabel took Bruno's hand, and Camilo, seeing that he was being left out, took the other.

"We have to tell Pa!" said Mirabel.

"You have to make it happen!" insisted Camilo.

Bruno chuckled and - for once in his life - let the kids pull him out of his room. He had to admit, they were a lot of fun. He could get used to this.

[i-will-change-this-someday]

Is Jon tall or short?

I think he’s short. (I’ll explain why under the cut)

This is to Jon; I think it’d be kinda weird to describe oneself like that if you’re shorter than the person you’re talking to. (I know this might just be about weight, but to me it seems more like it’s all dimensions, including height)

Granted this is from a weird eldritch being, that, I think, can be rather large. So perhaps not concrete evidence.

Again, this a threat, so might just be hyperbole.

Another threat(?), might just be belittling. Edit: Nikola also calls him “little Archivist” in episode 97.

Once again, another threat, so might still be an exaggeration.

You guessed it, another threat, but I feel it at least safe to say Jon’s smaller than the cop.

While it’s not, perhaps, the best evidence; I at least think it’s enough to say Jon’s not particularly tall, perhaps average height at best?

There’s also the fact Jon could barely carry a pipe around, (a pipe Elias could, apparently, bludgeon a man’s head in with). Jon also looks pathetic enough that Basira can’t even fathom him being able to murder someone.

(To be clear, I’m not saying Jon isn’t tall, just giving my reasons for why I think he’s short. Headcanon him whatever height you’d like)

His only concrete description is that he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.

Just for kicks, here’s my personal headcanons on the archives staff’s (and Elias[and Georgie]) height and/or build.

Jon: Tiny. To me, he is the smallest wet cat of a man, 5’4” (162.5 cm) at most. No meat on his bones, just a little guy.

Martin: Like he says, not the smallest guy, I imagine he’s a heavy guy, very huggable. I know there’s the common headcanon that he’s exactly 6’(183 cm), but to me, he’s got 6’2” (189 cm) energy. (Am I the only one that took “not the smallest” to mean absolutely jacked at first, just a total beefcake)

Tim: Average. Average height, average build. Probably 5’9” (175 cm) decently muscular, (from those kayaking trips)

Sasha: canonically tall. Sasha’s tall, I’d say 6’1 (185 cm) I kinda imagine her to be curvy(?, I don’t know if that’s the right way to put it) you know those people who have, like some good arm fat? (I’m sorry, that’s probably the worst way to describe it, but I don’t know how else to explain it) Really soft, kind looking type of person.

Elias: Elias is an odd one, ‘cause depending on the day I might think he’s kinda big, like 5’11” (180 cm) and somewhat muscular (less so than Tim), ‘cause he did bash a man’s head in. But on other days, I might go with the common twink version of Elias, I’m thinking 5’6” (167 cm), so still taller than Jon, but shorter than most guys. (He was also described as a “weird little freak” by Daisy, but that was, once again, a threat, so might just be intimidation)

Melanie: Canonically skinny. Honestly, a lot like Jon, I imagine her to not have much meat on her bones,(although, probably more muscle on her than Jon) she’s all sharp angles. While I do like the idea she’s the exact same height as Jon, I think she’s either one inch taller or shorter, either way she’s intolerable about it.

Georgie: I don’t really have any specific height for Georgie, but I’d probably say somewhere around 5’5” - 5’7” (165 - 170 cm). Like Martin, she gives off very huggable vibes, kinda like that one person you know that’s really nice and soft looking, but can also just verbally destroy someone.

Basira: Average height, on the heavier(?, not sure that’s the right word for it) side. It’s implied that she and Martin are not as skinny as Melanie, so I think Basira’s pretty muscular, but it’s like in a weight lifter kind of way. I feel like she’s probably 5’8” (173 cm).

Daisy: strong. If anyone is absolutely ripped in The Magnus Archives, (other than Jared Hopworth) it’s Daisy. However, I don’t think she’s that tall, probably same height as Tim at 5’9” (175 cm).

[zaebeecee]

Blitzø’s 13 ••

Written by @fletchingbrilliant and ZaeBeeCee

Chapter 2: The Bruiser & the Pickpocket

First chapter | Next chapter

Read on AO3

•••

Mild CW for canon-typical Crimson homophobia.

•••

“Give me the rundown of the current situation.”

“Yessir.” He was so much taller than she was. It was hard for her to keep up as he strode along the long hallway, not even gracing her with a downward glance. She practically had to jog to keep up with him, tablet balanced on her arm and eyes divided in focus between the words on the screen and where she was walking. At least people always cleared a path for him wherever he went, and she could take advantage of that herself.

It was exactly the same here as it was at VoxTek: nobody with a working brain cell wanted to get in Vox’s way, because that was a sure way to get his left eye turned on you. In many ways, Millie respected the drip, not that she would ever tell him that.

“Invitations have gone out t’all of th’ Princes,” Millie said, scrolling through the details and glancing over them. “Positive responses have already come back from Asmodeus, Mammon, Satan, and Beelzebub. His Majesty warned us that Belphegor probably won’t respond at all, but she’ll still show up, and that Leviathan won’t respond until we send three more assurances. Also, selective invitations have been sent t’ th’ Houses of the Ars Goetia, namely House Paimon, House Vinea, and House Belial, with a special inclusion for House Beleth, which recently passed t’ Prince Vassago. We have left an openin’ for House Zagan if he, y’know, finds out they weren’t in th’ first round.”

She could hear Vox roll his eyes. “Of course,” he said. “Well, if President Zagan does attend, we may be able to convince him to turn whatever spilled blood we have into wine.” He opened the door to his office and she followed him inside, closing the door behind herself and standing in front of his desk as he settled in his chair. Millie kept her eyes on either her tablet or the screen that was her boss’s face, keeping her gaze off of the bank of screens behind him and the glass aquarium wall to her left, where she knew several hellsharks were silently swimming back and forth as a threat to anyone who questioned the head of security at Lucifer’s Palace.

Millie cleared her throat as Vox watched her expectantly. “Th’ only affirmative response we’ve gotten from the Ars Goetia is from House Paimon, specifically Prince Stolas, his family, and his contingent, including the arctic marquis. But we’re expectin’ all of them and have accounted for a total of two hundred and fifty hellborn for the event.”

Vox nodded in vague approval. “What about the sinners?”

Millie swallowed. This was the part she wasn’t looking forward to in the slightest. “Well, invitations have been limited t’ th’ overlords at His Majesty’s request. Miss Rosie has agreed to provide caterin’ for us, and requested a finalized menu by th’ end of th’ week. Miss Carmine has agreed t’ send Odette and Clara a month in advance t’ collaborate with your engineers on th’ heavier side of th’ security systems. Mister Zestial sent a real ominous message back that we’re almost positive was a yes. And, of course, Mister Valentino and Miss Velvette are makin’ arrangements for VoxTek’s management while they’re at the event. Mister Valentino asked you t’ call him when you’ve got a minute.”

“Regarding?”

Millie shrugged. “He didn’t say.”

Vox rolled his eyes, grimacing and waving his hand. “Alright, I’ll deal with it. What about the other overlords?”

Millie hesitated. “…there was, um, insistence that invites go out to every active overlord.”

Silence greeted that statement. Vox stared at her, his left eye twitching. “Every… overlord?”

“Yessir.”

“Do you mean to tell me that an invitation has been issued to the Radio Demon, and I was not informed of this immediately?!” Vox snarled, his voice getting louder as he spoke; he rose to his feet, digging his claws along his desktop.

Millie squeaked, raising her tablet as an ineffectual shield between the two of them. “P-Princess Charlotte is a big fan of Mister Alastor’s radio program,” she said quickly; no matter how physically strong she was, she didn’t stand a chance against the television overlord. “She named him specifically when giving her own invitation requests! But he hasn’t responded and we aren’t even sure he’ll receive it at all, much less actually show up!”

Vox narrowed his eyes, then closed them, sinking back down into his chair. When he opened his eyes once more, his expression had been schooled; he was only missing his public relations smile, which he almost never wore without an audience anyway. “If the princess wishes,” he said, and Millie knew that statement had to cause him physical pain. “But you will inform me the moment any message comes back from him.”

“Of course, sir,” Millie said, feeling like she had just narrowly escaped with her head on her shoulders.

“Send me the guest room plans,” Vox instructed. “I want to see to the arrangements myself. I don’t want another situation of Mammon and Asmodeus being placed on the same floor.” He sighed. “There will be sinners among the hired entertainment, correct?” Millie nodded. “Then we’ll have enough to deal with as far as mixed company goes without also dealing with inter-Ring feuds.”

“Yessir.” Millie looked down at the tablet again and tapped a few buttons to send a file to her boss. “I have most of th’ entertainment lined up, it just requires your finalization. Mister Valentino was, um, very involved in the selection process.”

Vox rolled his eyes again. “Fuck’s sake,” he muttered. “Is it that fucking stripper again?”

“He’s… on the request list, yes.”

“I do not understand his obsession with that queer little prostitute,” Vox said, glancing down the list Millie had sent. “But if it gets Val off my back, I don’t care.”

Millie nodded. “Mammon also sent back confirmation for Fizzarolli t’ give at least one performance, so the largest entertainment slot’s booked. Everything else isn’t in our court right now. We’re waitin’ for responses on most of it.”

“Very well. Go ahead and check on the progress of the pavilion and let me know if there have been any delays.”

“Yessir.”

Getting out of that office was a relief, and Millie let out a massive sigh, catching her breath for just a second before heading away from Vox’s office as quickly as dignity would let her move. Without the television overlord leading the path, people didn’t just part the seas for her anymore, but Millie was small enough that flitting around their legs wasn’t too complicated.

Lucifer’s Palace was enormous, more so than she had been led to believe just seeing it from the outside. It was a misleading name; while it sounded like a residence, Lucifer’s Palace was much more like a Hell resort, and one very worthy of the Pride ring. It contained dining halls, ballrooms, a large game room, and floors and floors of deluxe suites. The Morningstar family didn’t actually live within its walls, and as a matter of fact, it had been a very long time since anyone had seen the King of Hell in any capacity whatsoever.

However, Millie couldn’t help but wonder if this would be the time that Lucifer finally entered back into the blood red sun and reinstated his position.

When Millie had first heard about this job, she hadn’t known where it would be or what exactly it was for, simply that it was a security position at VoxTek. Once she’d been accepted, however, she’d been given the details, and she had never felt more in over her head than she did right now.

It was no secret that VoxTek had recently accepted a security contract at Lucifer’s Palace, one that Vox himself was personally overseeing. It also wasn’t much of a secret that, in two months, the Palace would be hosting a large party that would be attended by the most elite entities across all the rings of Hell. Millie had been placed as the head of floor security for said event, which also made her the event coordinator working right beneath Vox.

Then she had discovered what it was: a seven day and seven night soirée for Princess Charlotte’s official debut into Hell society. There were murmurs among the staff of what this meant. Was Lucifer returning? Was he abdicating his throne to his daughter? Was he even still around? Nobody knew anything… except, of course, that it had to be perfect.

The pavilion was coming along fine, and with nothing for her to do, Millie was ecstatic about finally clocking out and getting the Heaven out of there. She didn’t want to hear anything else about parties or catering or strippers or construction for the next eight hours; she just wanted her cozy little apartment, some takeout, and a terrible horror movie before she crashed. It was already almost ten, after all, and she hadn’t even started her unwinding process yet, so she was feeling grumpy.

Despite that, Millie didn’t turn her work phone off, aware that Vox might need to get ahold of her at any time. Reluctantly, she turned the ringer on, then slipped it into her bag and pulled out her own personal phone to turn it back on. It sang a happy little tune as it powered up, followed by a tiny ding to tell her she had a voice mail. She stopped and looked at the screen, but it wasn’t a number she had in her contacts. Frowning, she tapped the message, pleading with any higher demons that might be listening that it wasn’t Chaz needing to be picked up from somewhere yet again.

Immediately, a very familiar voice filled her ears. “What up, bitch. You know who it is. Gimme a call when you get this, I’ve got something that will interest you.”

Squealing, Millie tapped the number and bounced on the balls of her feet as it rang. After a few seconds, she heard the click. “Hey, Millie-Billie!”

“Blitzø!” Millie said happily, shouldering her bag and continuing to the nearest noodle shop. “Holy shit, it’s been forever, hi!”

Blitzø laughed. “It must have been if you’ve forgotten enough about me to be excited to hear from me.”

“Oh, shut up, you negative little whore.” Millie grinned as he laughed again. “What’s up? You causin’ trouble again?”

“Not yet. Just planning it. You still living it up in Wrath?”

“Nah. I got a job in Pentagram City so I moved my ass out here. You still in Imp City?”

“Living out there, yeah, but I’m gonna be in Pentagram City tonight. You busy? I don’t really want to get into this over the phone.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Millie said, filling out a takeout card. “…wait. I mean, no, I’m not busy. This yer permanent number?”

“Nah. Still got the old one. Text me your address and I’ll stop by.”

Millie really wanted to ask why he was calling her from a different number, but she just shrugged. “Okie-dokie. I’m pickin’ up dinner and then I’ll be home. Y’want anything? It’s noodles.”

“Spring roll me, bitch.”

She grinned. “Gotcha. I’ll see you in a bit.”

•

Millie had only been home for about fifteen minutes when she heard the knock, and she launched herself over her couch, wrenching the door open and tackling Blitzø into a hug right in the hallway. “Hi!!”

“Holy fuck—!” Blitzø stumbled under the sudden affection, but he patted her head. “Okay, okay, it’s good to see you too, stop touching me.”

Millie smiled and refused to apologize as she released him. “C’mon in.” She stood out of his way and closed the door once he had passed, taking a moment to look him over. He hadn’t changed much in the year since they’d seen each other, but he looked… different, somehow, in a way she couldn’t put her finger on. “You look good,” she ventured, motioning for him to follow as she headed to the couch and sat down again.

“Do I?” Blitzø asked, sitting near her and accepting the pack of spring rolls she handed him. “Guess prison’s good for me.”

“Oh, fuck’s sake, you got arrested again?” Millie asked with a frown.

Blitzø shrugged, unconcerned. “Got out this morning. Just got back from Greed, actually.”

Her eyes widened. “You were in a Greed prison??”

“What? No. I was in Pride, I just went to Greed for a while. Visiting someone about the same thing I contacted you about, actually,” he said evasively, tossing one of the spring rolls up and snapping it whole out of the air with his tongue.

Millie frowned at him. “…you’ve been out for, like, a handful of hours and you’re already plannin’ a job.”

Blitzø frowned, licking crumbs off of his claws and speaking around the food in his mouth. “When the fuck did I get so predictable?”

“What in th’ seven rings is wrong with you?” Millie asked, exasperated. “Ain’t you got enough goin’ against you without tryin’ t’ get yourself in trouble?”

“Apparently not,” Blitzø said, giving her a bright grin. “But I have a great plan! And I think this is right up your alley.”

“Why’s that?” Millie asked suspiciously.

“I know about your new employment~”

They stared at each other for a few moments before Millie held up her index finger in his face. “No.”

“I didn’t even tell you what it is yet!”

“You don’t hafta tell me more’n you just did. No. If you know my job, you know my boss, and ain’t nobody crossin’ the Vees without endin’ up dead.” Blitzø smacked her hand out of his face and her frown deepened. “Whatever you’re doin’s gotta be dangerous. Can’t you just, I dunno, get a normal job for a while or somethin’?”

“Boring,” Blitzø said dismissively. “Come on, at least hear me out.”

Millie sighed. “…ten minutes. Go.”

Nine and a half minutes later, Millie was halfway through her dinner and listening, enraptured, as Blitzø finished his spiel. “…and we could probably get away with more than just that,” he concluded.

“You’re nuts,” Millie said, awe-struck. “Of everyone you could be robbin’, you wanna knock over Lucifer’s resort.”

“I do.”

“Knowin’ that VoxTek has set up shop there.”

“Yes.”

“And knowin’ that the place is gonna be filled with Hell’s elites while you’re tryin’ t’ pull this off.”

“Absolutely.”

Millie looked down at her half-full container of noodles, spinning some onto her fork and then continuing the rotation without lifting it. Her mind was spinning in much the same way as she considered the implications, the problems, the threats… and also how much she hated her boss and didn’t want to have to kiss anyone’s ass for a living anymore. She was an imp, so it was either a lifetime of being a sycophant… or…

“…what do you need from me?”

Immediately, Blitzø grabbed her shoulders and kissed her cheek roughly. “You are my favorite.”

Despite herself, Millie felt herself blush and giggled, shoving him away. “I damn well better be.”

“Right now, I need basics,” he said. “Guest list. Floor plans. Schedule. Anything you can tell me about the security arrangements. Things like that.”

Millie nodded, thinking. “Most of that’ll be easy to get you. I’ve got access to it, anyway. The hardest part will be figurin’ out how to keep Vox from finding out that I’m makin’ copies of ‘em.”

“You’re precious and perfect and I can’t believe you’re still single.”

Millie snorted. “I ain’t, actually. You gonna tell me who else you’ve got in on this?”

Blitzø stared at her, and she realized that changing the subject had definitely tipped him off. “You’re not.”

She groaned. “Blitzø—”

“You are not dating fucking sexual harassment shark boy again!”

“It ain’t like that! It’s fine, Chaz is better, it… it’s good, it’s fine! Really!” Millie cringed at the disbelieving look he was giving her. “…I barely see him. He ain’t exactly a taxation on my time, iffin you catch my meanin’, and this means I don’t have t’ try an’ muddle my way through a breakup that I ain’t got the time or the emotional capacity t’ handle right now. Besides, I’m serious, it really ain’t that bad.”

“Why did you start dating him again?”

“Look, you ain’t never met him. He’s very persuasive, okay? Now, enough about my love life before I start grillin’ you about—”

“Other recruits, right, got it. Fizzarolli, so far.”

Her eyes widened. “The clown?” Blitzø nodded. “Which is why you were in Greed. …you talked t’ Fizzarolli. How the actual fuck didja swing that? He ain’t exactly overburdened with free time, from what I hear, and he’s Fizzarolli.”

“We’re old friends,” Blitzø said with a loose shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal that he was on speaking (and plotting) terms with one of the biggest celebrities Hell had ever seen. “I won’t be telling everyone everything, but you’re a coordinator, so you’re going to have to know… most of it.”

Millie sighed, setting her food down. “This is heavy. Way bigger than anything else you and I did back in the day.”

“Isn’t it great?” Blitzø grinned.

She laughed. “I gotta be off my rocker if I’m agreein’ with you on that.” When she turned to him, her expression was serious again. “You ain’t just goin’ in with three of us, right?”

“Absolutely not,” Blitzø said. “I’m currently figuring out what all we’re going to need on a team.”

Millie thought. “…I’m in charge of floor security,” she said. “I don’t have authorization for a bunch of the back areas. You’re gonna need cards for that, and if you want cards, you’re gonna need a better pickpocket than you.”

Blitzø raised his finger. “First of all, that’s fucking rude. Second, I’ve got a line on that. Someone low profile by both effort and nature, don’t worry.”

She snorted. “Good, because so far you’ve got the coordinator of the event you’re crashin’ and the most famous clown Greed ever turned out besides Mammon himself. And you ain’t exactly low key yourself,” she said.

“Don’t worry. Let me handle it,” Blitzø said. “He’s a good thief that’ll probably be hard up enough to take any offer I give him.”

Millie raised an eyebrow. “You sure he’s good?”

Blitzø wiggled his own eyebrows at her. “He’s good with his hands, at least, and we love an impressionable and neurotic little twink who’s paranoid enough to keep his eyes out for any threats.”

“Shit,” she said, laughing. “Okay, fine, you have fun with that. What else do you need?”

Blitzø shrugged. “At the moment, to get the rest of my shit together.”

“Blitzø…” Millie frowned at him, but she couldn’t glare. “You sure you’re okay?”

Blitzø’s smile was as cocksure as she had seen it. “As always.”

Millie didn’t push, because it wasn’t her business, but really… that was what she was afraid of.

•••

“You wanted to see me… sir.”

Moxxie stood straight, firm, and utterly defeated in the large and imposing room. No matter how many years he was trapped in this terrible place, it never stopped having a crushing effect on him. And the imp he stood in front of, seated at his huge desk in his huge chair… Moxxie never stopped feeling so small and frightened by him, no matter how far into adulthood he got.

After a bold string of attempts to make things work—both with and without a certain jackass of a boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, depending—Moxxie had no choice but to go crawling back to his father.

Had no choice. That was a laugh. He would have had a choice, if he had ever grown a spine.

The firelight behind the desk cast Moxxie’s father into deep relief as he sat forward, elbows on his desk, hands folded together just below his chin. “That I did, boy,” Crimson said in his most loaded business voice, the one that either meant Moxxie was about to be treated like a real son or that he was about to find his own horns mounted on his father’s wall. “We had a visitor earlier this evening. I’m sure you’re aware; eavesdropping has always been a speciality of yours, hasn’t it?”

He felt a stab; not of guilt, but embarrassment. “...Yes sir,” he admitted. It was better than trying to lie to the man.

Crimson’s expression didn’t change. “I’ll get to the point. There’s going to be a party in the Pride ring a couple of months from now, at Lucifer’s Palace. All of Hell society will be attending. Mammon extended an invitation to our family as part of the representation for Greed. You’ll be coming.”

That wasn't what Moxxie was expecting. He smacked his chest with his hand. “M-me? But sir, I… I thought I was too much of a–” don't say it, don't give it power “–of an embarrassment to be seen at public functions.”

“Why do you think I’m telling you this far in advance?” Crimson asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “Ever since Chazwick’s… departure, I’ve been considering how you can best mend your previous mistakes. We need more cash flow through the family. And you—” he pointed at Moxxie for emphasis, “—are going to make that happen.”

It was way too obvious what Crimson was saying, and Moxxie paled, blurting out a retort before he could stop himself. “You're trying to marry me off?!”

“No shit,” his father said, clearly communicating that he thought Moxxie was a complete moron without having to give voice to the opinion yet again. Crimson leaned back in his chair, watching Moxxie over steepled fingers. “This place will be swarming with nobles, princes, overlords, all manner of worthwhile targets. And there’s bound to be a hundred rich homos there; always is at soirées like this, and a gaudy place like that palace is bound to attract the queers.” The dig at Lucifer was clear, but left unacknowledged. “I don’t care what guy you bait, Moxxie, so long as he has money and you finish out the week at least solidly engaged.”

He felt a tightness in his throat. It was pointless to try and explain to his father what bisexual actually meant; he'd made attempts before. It never ended well. And he knew he didn't have a leg to stand on now, either. But that didn't make him any less bitter.

“Are we that hard up for cash, father?”

“Irrelevant. You haven’t been doing your part since that unfortunate incarceration of yours,” Crimson said, his face unchanged. “It seems that the only way you’re capable of providing a meaningful contribution is as a piece of ass that can bring in someone else who’ll do that job for you. And if that’s all you’re good for, it’s what you’ll do, capisce?”

Moxxie turned his face as though Crimson had physically struck him. He gritted his teeth, but even harder he gripped his palms with his clawed fingertips. They popped the leather in his fingerless gloves and pierced his skin.

“...Yes. Sir.”

“Good,” Crimson said, narrowing his eyes sharply. “Get back to your room. Look at your wardrobe. You’ll need proper clothes for seven days and seven nights of events, so figure out what you need made.” Apparently, that was the only thing he felt Moxxie needed to be concerned with.

Once, Moxxie’s room had felt like a kind of escape. There was a time he could get away with having things in it that he actually liked. When his mother was trying desperately to give him something, anything all, that brought some shred of happiness. Now, it was a stark and cold place, with only the trappings and decor Crimson approved of. Fine and expensive paintings of beautiful (female) demons, one of an overtly sexualized (male) demon was his attempt to accept Moxxie’s sexuality – for his own purposes, not for his son’s sake of course. And then there were the plaques. Many, many plaques, all empty and awaiting trophies. All, that was, but one.

Above his door was a plaque bearing a pair of imp’s horns. They didn't belong to anyone Moxxie knew, and the nameplate was left without an engraving. But he knew why they were there. The poor demon was killed for one reason and one reason only. Their horns had a familiar shape and pattern about them. Moxxie couldn't remove it. He'd tried. It was sealed there. So instead it tortured him every moment he spent in this room.

He stoked the fireplace, wincing as it sparked to life. Green hellfire was too hot, but it was the only thing that would ignite properly in the Greed Ring. The green light was so sickly and wrong. Moxxie sometimes wondered if it would burn more happily if they had a prince who actually gave a shit about any of them.

He sat on the edge of his bed, feeling the heat of the small fire even here, his hands stuffed between his knees and his hooved feet kicking sadly.

Get married. He had to get married. This was what it had come down to. Crimson had finally given up on trying to make anything tangible of his weak sad sack of a son. And what was so sickening about it all was that if he failed to find someone, to actually woo someone to marry him in just seven days, that would be it. His father would have no use for him at all.

But to imagine those who would actually want this, in such a short span of time… they were the last sort of people Moxxie wanted touching him.

His shoulders trembled. His clenched jaw couldn't hold it in anymore. Tears fell from his eyes, and once there was one, the others poured forth that much more easily.

As Moxxie cried in the only thing he could even remotely call a sanctuary, his breath caught strangely. It sounded like a distant rattling, oddly inorganic for a sob. But when he heard it again, he realized it wasn’t him; rather, it sounded like it was coming from outside the window on the other side of his room. Moxxie heard something clatter—maybe there was an animal on the trellis, it wouldn’t have been the first time—before suddenly his window was hauled open and a shadow fell through it with a heavy thud and an “Ow, fuck…!”

“What in Hell?!” Moxxie hopped to his feet, sure that Crimson had decided not to wait for the party and just have him killed now. He backed slowly to the fireplace and retrieved his rifle from where it sat snugly in a compartment beside the mantle. Hands shaking, he switched off the safety, pulled the bolt, and raised it.

“I'm armed!” he called out, careful not to raise his voice too much. “So… so don't try anything!”

“Oh, fuck my throat by way of my entire ass,” the shadow said in distinct aggravation, in a voice that was suddenly… very familiar. Moxxie could see the figure standing, and it looked distinctly imp-like, if taller than he would expect. “I’m not armed, Moxx, take a fucking benzo or something.”

The figure moved into the light, and Moxxie found himself looking at Blitzø, complete with his characteristically ‘sarcastic and unimpressed’ expression, his hands loosely held up in a perfunctory and unthreatened compliance with Moxxie’s stance. He stopped immediately out of the ring of Hellfirelight, and he stayed there.

Moxxie lowered the rifle, staring in total shock. “Blitzø? What the… why are you… what are you… how do you know where I live??”

“I got connections,” Blitzø said, giving Moxxie a lazy grin and lowering his hands. “Didn’t know this was your bedroom, but hey, looks like my intuition makes me cooler than I thought. I came to talk to you, and since I don’t have your fucking number anymore, you get me breaking in.”

Moxxie didn't set his gun down, but let it hang in one hand as he crossed the room to face his former cellmate. “Well I don't know what you want, but breaking in here is kind of really fucking stupid. Do you have any idea whose house this is?!”

“Uh, yeah,” Blitzø said, giving Moxxie a look that said ‘are you a fucking moron or something’. “It kinda came with getting the address in the first fucking place. Why do you think I didn’t knock?”

“Right. How silly of me,” Moxxie said with a flat expression, narrowing his eyes when Blitzø immediately grinned. “So what do you want to talk to me about? Make it quick or Alessio will notice something's not right.”

“Would you believe me if I said I have a desperate need for your extremely talented fingers?” Blitzø’s smile had taken on an undeniably lecherous edge as he leaned forward, just a little.

Moxxie could feel the heat in his cheeks as he hopped backward. His teeth gritted, and he tried not to freak out. And after the evening I've just had! “Th- the fuck are you talking about? I'm not– we're not–”

“Oh, fucking Heaven, your face,” Blitzø cackled, and to his very minor credit, he at least appeared to be trying to keep his voice down. “Chill the fuck out, Moxx, I wanna hire you for a job. Not for a sex thing.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” His cheeks were glowing now, that soft bluish color that his father hated so much. “What… what kind of job?”

“Y’know, standard shit. I’m planning a heist and I need someone who can lift. Specifically, and don’t let this go to your head, I need someone who can lift like you can.”

Moxxie finally stashed his rifle, folding his arms and frowning. Nothing good had ever come from his brief time spent with Blitzø. He reminded himself of that very firmly. He had to. Otherwise… it really was hard to want to say no to him. Not that I'll ever—EVER—admit that to him or anyone else.

“You're either trying to butter me up with that compliment, or it's actually not standard shit and is something that's probably going to get us both killed.”

Blitzø let out a long breath, looking upwards in that ‘okay hold up lemme think’ way that he did. “Okay. No. It’s not standard. But your part wouldn’t be anything you’ve never done before! You know, security keycards, codes, that’s all!”

Moxxie sagged his shoulders and rolled his eyes. “Okay, just… When is this job supposed to go down? Because I've got kind of a… busy schedule coming up.”

“We have a while to prepare,” Blitzø said, looking at him sharply, calculating, clearly immediately interested in prying. “Couple of months.”

Immediately the math played out in his mind and Moxxie frowned, growing evasive. Somehow whatever nonsense Blitzø had in mind sounded way better than what his father was forcing him to do. “Not sure I’m gonna be of any help. I’ve got a… a pretty big commitment in two months. No getting out of it either.”

“Oh yeah?” Blitzø tilted his head, one hand on his waist. “Your dad throwing your debutante ball finally?”

He glared at the taller imp. “Cute. No, my dad’s making me–… he's gotten an invitation to an event. It's a big deal, you've probably heard about it. At Lucifer's Palace. He's demanded that I be in attendance as well. It's a weeklong thing, real fancy.”

“…no shit,” Blitzø said, his eyes widening. The next moment, one of his more manic grins cracked his face and he was suddenly in Moxxie’s space, his hands on the other imp’s cheeks and squishing his face. “Oh, fucking yes, Moxxie, that is perfect! You have an in!”

“I hav a wut now?” Moxxie said, his voice distorted into a nasally mush. His eyes widened. “Yoor wobbin Woosifur’s Bawiss??”

Blitzø made a weird, long snort-laugh low in his throat and chest. “Oh my fuck I wanna keep your face like this forever if it makes you talk like that.” Despite the fact that it really did sound like a threat, Blitzø released him. “And keep your voice down. See? It’s not a conflict at all! It might even make your whole obligation bullshit a lot more bearable!”

Despite his growing hysteria, Moxxie did lower his voice (while internally cursing Blitzø for his hypocrisy). “You are not going to rob Lucifer’s Palace, and I am certainly not going to help you get an invite!”

“Oh, I am robbing Lucifer’s palace,” Blitzø countered with a grin, putting his hands on his knees to get eye level with Moxxie. “I’ve already got people signed on, and I’ve got a meeting scheduled with a potential backer! But I can get my own invite, I’ve got plans in that regard. So come on, you’re going to be there anyway, why not have a little fun and also possibly get a massive fucking payout?”

“Because…” He crossed his arms and looked away, his expression darkening. “...Because I'm going to be… busy. My father's going to be on my ass all week.”

“Busy,” Blitzø repeated, leaning back and folding his arms. “You’re gonna be at a seven-day hedonism orgy, how ‘on your ass’ could he possibly be?”

This is a nightmare. I’m dreaming, it's just a nightmare… a nightmare from which I can never awaken. Moxxie gave his former cellmate as severe a warning look as he could. “If I agree to help you as much as I can, will you agree not to pry into my personal business?”

“…mmmmmnnnnnnrrrrrrfhghfine,” Blitzø groaned, closing one eye and rolling his head. “Fine, fine, I’ll respect your personal boundaries so hard they’ll feel like we’ve been married long enough for all the passion to go out of our relationship. That good enough for you, Moxx?”

“Ugggh you are the worst,” Moxxie snapped back. But then he sighed. There would never be a good way to describe Blitzø. Never a good way to define what nebulous thing existed between them. Not one that he'd be able to cope with contemplating. “Yeah, we're good, Blitzø. Now… now get out here before Alessio makes the late rounds.”

“Perfect.” Blitzø grinned deviously and grabbed Moxxie by the shoulders, dropping his voice into a near-comedic gravel. “Don’t worry, baby, Daddy’ll call you soon,” he said, right before he kissed Moxxie on the cheek. He then released him and hopped away to the sill before the other imp could retaliate, swinging his legs out the window. He cast Moxxie a grin over his shoulder, saluted with two fingers, and then vanished into the darkness.

Moxxie watched Blitzø’s tail whip around the glass panel, then waited several more minutes to make sure he was really gone before crossing to the window.

What the fuck am I thinking? Why did I say yes?? There's no way he's gonna pull this off, and even if he does, it's not going to make my position any easier. And if Crimson figures out I'm doing anything other than whoring myself out to some rich asshole…

His fingers curled around the windowsill so tightly they dug into the wood. Blood pushed against the tiny wounds he'd stuck into his palms and threatened to break the clot.

“I'm such an idiot!”

Moxxie growled and slammed a closed fist into the window frame, grimacing in pain at the same moment an alarm began to blare.

How the fuck did Blitzø get in without setting it off???

In moments his door flew open and Alessio charged in, tommy gun raised.

“Where's the intruder, sir?”

Moxxie sighed and slumped against the wall, too tired to freak out. “It was just me, Alessio. I ah, I bumped into the window frame.”

The familiar bodyguard shark paused, blinked a few times, then lowered his gun. “Oh. Well, that's fine, Mister Moxxie. But you gotta keep that window closed. You know how much it worries yer pop.”

“Right.”

Moxxie pulled the window shut while Alessio left him alone. He'd gone out this window a few times throughout his life, seeking an escape. That was why Crimson put such sensitive security sensors in his window. He was just a commodity, and his value was teetering on the edge of a plummet, and after that, he wouldn't be a commodity anymore. And to Crimson, anything that wasn't a commodity was a liability. His mother had become a liability. The display above his door was meant to always remind him of that.

Mom… I don't wanna do this anymore.

•••

Fizzarolli. Millie. Moxxie.

That isn’t anywhere near enough for this. Even if I can get the Radio Demon on board, there is way too much to cover.

Fuck. Who do I even know who isn’t mad at me? …or, at least, not mad at me enough to agree to talk to me?

Blitzø had always prided himself on being the kind of guy who could get what he wanted. It was a unique skill that he had—disgustingly, unfortunately—inherited from his father. Cash Buckzo was a thousand detestable things (Blitzø assumed, anyway, since he had no reason to expect the universe had done him a favor and his dad was dead), but he was also a fantastically persuasive speaker, and Blitzø had apparently taken after him in that regard.

Looking at his criminal and interpersonal record, probably in more ways than just that.

Blitzø’s sigh was labored as he trudged up the stairs towards his apartment, his mind still on how heavy Moxxie’s expression had been the entire time they’d talked. He’d known the younger imp had some home difficulties, particularly regarding family expectations and their mysterious ‘business’, but fuck, he made it sound like his father didn’t care what happened to him as long as it meant money for the family.

But what could Blitzø even say to something like that? That he was sorry Moxxie was going through something so hard? That it was bullshit, abusive, manipulative? That he knew how Moxxie felt, at least to a point? None of those things were him, not anymore.

I could offer to shoot Crimson for him. That’s pretty in character for me.

It was almost two in the morning, the trip from Greed back to Pride always feeling longer than going to Greed in the first place, but Blitzø wasn’t even positive he would be able to sleep. His mind went back to the letter that was stashed away in his desk, along with two of Stolas’ feathers and that… photograph. Whenever Blitzø found out who the fuck had sent it to him, he was going to gnaw their face off. He pressed his forehead against the wood of the door as he dug out his keys, unlocked the apartment, and let himself in. He was hungry again. There were frozen meat-of-some-kind nuggets in the kitchen. Did he have to cook them first? Would he die if he didn’t?

He was contemplating the potential consequences of putting mystery frozen meat lumps in his face hole when the front lock clicked again, and the door opened. Blitzø heard a familiar low feminine sigh, and the even more familiar sound of large paws padding over hardwood.

The door swung closed, then the walking stopped.

“Holy fuck. You're home.”

Blitzø turned around and found himself staring up at Loona. It had been optimistic of him to hope she was already asleep, he supposed. “…yeah. Hi, Loonie.”

She looked largely the same. Her huge swoop of silver hair was a bit less well kept than he remembered, and she looked really… really tired. She had a take out bag in her hand, and her old messenger bag over her shoulder. “...Hey.”

This is awkward.

Blitzø clapped his hands together once, which was supposed to alleviate the tension but just served to underscore that awkwardness. He cleared his throat. “Got released today. Er… yesterday, I guess, at this point. I thought you might be sleeping or something.”

“Oh. Yeah. I'm not.” She looked at her feet, scratched the floor a little with one claw. Then she raised her bag. “You, ah, you hungry? I got meat.”

“That’s a lot better than frozen something nuggets, yeah.”

Their apartment didn’t have a dining table of any sort—never had, mostly because they didn’t have the space, but partly because they wouldn’t have used it for anything but stacking and ignoring mail—so they ended up on the couch. Blitzø brought two beers over from the fridge and used his claw to pry the caps off. “So…” He offered one out to Loona. “How’ve you been, sweetie?”

She raised an eyebrow at him while she accepted the beer. It was definitely about the ‘sweetie’ thing. But then she just shrugged, taking a swig. “It's been whatever. Been hanging around. Working.” Her eyes darted to and from his when she said that.

“Working, huh?” Blitzø raised an eyebrow at her, putting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his fist. “Please tell me you’re not charging less than a hundred fifty an hour, these assholes’ll try to rip you off at every opportunity.”

“I'm not a prostitute, Dad,” Loona growled, tossing a styrofoam container at him. It smelled like spiced meat that was definitely only lightly cooked.

Blitzø gasped as he caught the container with both hands, holding it to his chest. “You called me Dad!” he said with all the enthusiasm he could muster on such short notice, even as he felt a pang of guilt and unsuitability, the same as he did every time.

“You're getting meat juice on your jacket,” she said in lieu of any further complaint, opening another container as he cursed and put the container on the coffee table, using his blanket to wipe his jacket clean. Loona started picking chunks of roast out with her fingers and cramming them into her mouth. “What are you planning to do now that you're out?”

“Oh, y’know, the usual,” Blitzø said in a way he hoped wasn’t obviously evasive, opening his own container and skewering a piece of meat with his claw. “Gonna pick up some jobs here and there. Keep the cash flowing and all that fun, capitalistic shit.”

He could feel Loona squinting at him. “You already have something planned. Something… something fucking stupid.”

“What? No,” Blitzø said immediately, not making eye contact. “Come on, I haven’t even been out for twenty four hours, why would I do something stupid?”

“Because you are stupid.”

Blitzø gasped dramatically, looking at her. “That is so unfair. I have done at least four smart things in my life.”

“That so?” She smirked then, the expression unexpected and almost… soft. “Must've all been before you adopted me then, huh?”

“Adopting you was the fourth one,” Blitzø said, dropping back into his casual tone as he smirked at her. “Think the effort ate my last brain cells. So,” he skewered another piece of meat, hoping his demeanor had avoided further emotional burdening for Loona’s sake, “you gonna tell me what this sketchy work of yours is, or do I get to keep guessing? I can make it pretty outlandish, believe me.”

She sighed, but the tension was lifting. “It's not a big deal. Just playing guard dog for some courier setup. It's kinda inconsistent but it pays well… I upgraded our internet.”

“Oh yeah? That’s pretty sweet. You get to knock some heads around, protect important packages and that shit?”

“You're real good at making shit sound more fun than it actually is… So what's your big idea that's gonna get you thrown right back in prison?”

“I’m not gonna get thrown in prison, Loonie,” Blitzø said. If I fail, I’m definitely not going to live long enough to see prison. “…It’s just a basic smash and grab, and I won’t be alone. Okay? It’s nothing to stress over.”

She leaned in right up to his face, eyes glowing, and she flared her nostrils and sniffed. “I smell bullshit.”

“Buy better takeout, then?”

Her free hand—covered in sauce—was grabbing his lapel. She pulled him forward so that their noses were crushed together. “Tell me what you're doing or I'm gonna be on your ass every second of every day until I find out.”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Blitzø tried his best to lean away from her, but god damn she was strong. “Okay! Okay, you win! Just— just take a couple of breaths, Loona, I’ll tell you.”

Once she sat back, still glaring daggers at him and looking ready to launch herself at him again, he began cleaning his lapel off. Gross. Meat product.

“I just got a line on someone who’s looking to pay a pretty high price on a well-protected artifact. It’s not for a couple of months, I’ve got a great plan, and it’s… just kind of a thing at Lucifer’s Palace,” he added in a quick mutter, looking up and away as he prepared to launch himself away from her if she attacked.

“What, for real?” Loona didn’t attack, she didn’t move outside of blinking her wide eyes, but then she barked out a laugh and she grinned. “Dude, you are so totally dead.”

“I’ve been doing a great job not dying so far,” Blitzø said. “Besides, I wasn’t lying about not going in alone, I’ve already got some people convinced and I’ve got a line on finances. But it’s so sweet that my widdle Woonie-Woo is so worried about me~”

She growled, but it was without heat. “I won’t have to worry about you if you let me in on it.”

“Oh. Ohoho,” Blitzø said, and it was his turn to laugh, though it was more disbelieving than her bark of dark mirth. “Oh, fuck no. You’re not coming.”

Immediately she fell into her typical teenage complaining mode, the one she still hadn’t quite grown out of. “Oh come on, I handled myself just fine in all the time you were gone! All on my own! And I wasn’t beaten or kidnapped or murdered or anything!”

“Uh-huh, you weren’t, and I’m very proud,” Blitzø said sincerely. “And at no point, when I was gone, did you attempt to rob the King of Hell. Look, Loonie,” he said, hoping to cut off any further protest (even though he knew it wouldn’t), “you want in on a job sometime… fine. You’re right, you can handle yourself, you’re old enough, but I wouldn’t start you out on this job if Asmodeus gave me his entire harem for it. Absolutely fucking not.”

“I'm so much not a kid anymore, Blitzø,” she said, punching the couch in just the way a kid would do. “You implied that you're gonna need all the help you can get, how many people do you really think you're gonna find who are actually willing to go along with this?”

“At the very least, people who’ve done more than lift a candy bar at a corner store and immediately feel a nagging sense of guilt because they think the count will be off and the cashier will get in trouble.” Blitzø sighed, putting his head in his hand. He knew he was being too harsh. He knew. “Fuck. Loona, I just— you’ve never done anything like this before, and I’m not going to be able to keep an eye on you. Nobody is. I can’t drag you into Lucifer’s Palace. I won’t drag you into Lucifer’s Palace.”

“Tch.” Loona folded her arms and looked away. She wasn't acting out, or hitting him. She looked… pensive. “...If you die I'm never forgiving you.”

“I’m not gonna die, Loonie. I promise.” Blitzø rubbed his hands together as he looked at her. “And like I said, it’s not going to be for a couple of months, okay? I also promise that I will get into minimal trouble until then.”

“You better.” Loona set the food aside. “...You, ah… you hear from anybody since you got out? Like, besides your cohorts, I mean.”

“Talked to Fizz yesterday,” Blitzø said, looking away. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then blew out a breath. How did he say ‘I wasn’t expecting anything else’ in a flippant way? “Got some pretty familiar robo-calls from Greed trying to sell us tickets to an event they had six years ago.”

Loona nodded, appearing to accept what Blitzø offered, a silent agreement to take it at face value that there were no feelings attached to anything. “Cool, cool.”

Then there was silence. Neither of them ate anymore, but neither seemed able to come up with anything else to say. The pattern settled in, the one he and Loona had been forming since he first adopted her: both of them having a multitude of thoughts and no justification to let themselves open a single one of them to the outside world, let alone to each other.

But this time, it was his daughter who broke the silence.

“...You wanna watch a movie?”

Blitzø felt that warm bubble inflate in his chest, the one that emerged out of a box labeled ‘Loona wants to spend time with you’, and he always had to metaphorically shove it down before he got too enthusiastic and she changed her mind. “Hell yeah! Whatever you’re feeling is good with me.”

She actually smiled, her lip curling in that way it did when she wasn't too self conscious, showing off her back teeth (that she always complained were too big and bulky). “Get ready to cringe then, Dad, cuz this is gonna be the lamest flick you ever saw.” She turned on the TV.

“Oh, you’re gonna have to go a long way to find something more cringe than I can handle,” Blitzø said with an excited grin, only bolstered by the fact that she called him ‘Dad’ with no sarcasm or immediate retraction. He wouldn’t point it out. It needed to stay exactly like it was: somewhere that he could remember it, and where he could never touch it, because touching it would lead to nothing but ruining it.

I’m sorry, Loona. I really am. I know how you feel, but this thing is dangerous. And I already might… He could—…

Fuck. I can’t risk losing you, too. I just can’t.

•••

Next chapter

[lured-into-wonderland]

Continued from [here] with @ensxrcelled

She was observing an unexpected interaction between the tall man in front of her and the girl (whom she met earlier), who - although seemed much younger than Nunnally - was not that different than her. Both were thin and pale; Nunnally being only a few centimeters taller (but she seemed not much heavier). They both had blue eyes (although the girl’s were more green in a way); and it was only a hair colour which was distinctly different. The deep blue compared to light blond, almost white in that light. As if Nunnally’s hair lost all these colours. Perhaps a stranger would even consider them (distant) family members.

The stranger did love and care about the girl (it was obvious), but i Nunnally's eyes he was doing it wrong. Protecting (or sheltering) was important, but giving some freedom to make (and learn from) mistakes was equally crucial. And Nunnally knew something about it. Most of her life she was a bird in a cage. Loved and protected, but also imprisoned.

The demon girl had only joined the blue-haired girl, because she thought the little one was lost. And needed some assistance to find her path home.  Or at least that was Nunnally's initial reasoning. But then she realized (or thought she did) that the girl cared about her being lost in the forest. So, she let the girl help her, although Nunnally didn't truly need any help. She just wanted to get away from humans before she could hurt them (on purpose or accidentally). It was not even that Nunnally didn’t like humans; they were interesting creatures, but obviously many of them found her weak and an easy prey, and wanted to take advantage on her (or perhaps even hurt her) not being aware what kind of creature she was.

“You shouldn’t talk about her as if she was not here…” – she muttered under her breath; the words were certainly directed at the red-haired man, though she pretended they were not. Nunnally had experienced too much of similar treatment (or so she assumed). And -- although it was probably rooted in a genuine care (as it always had been in her case; she believed) – it was still wrong and sometimes hurting the other person.

“It’s all right…” – Nunnally said in the louder voice – “I can find my way back. You don’t have to…worry about me.” – oh, she knew the man was not worried about her. He was clearly annoyed with Nunnally’s presence, but it sounded nicer. To say that?

“It was lovely meeting you…” – she addressed Lavina getting ready to walk away when the man apparently changed his mind. The girl seemed to getting her way with her father? Caretaker? They didn’t appear too similar to each other, but Nunnally knew better than to assume something based solely on the appearance.

“T-thank you…” – she accepted the invitation; more for the girl’s sake than for her own. Nunnally liked bad weather. She liked storm and rain. It had no real impact on her – “B-but I would still appreciate if you could…”

“Just don’t curse in my company.” – she finally stated. Simply.

Nunnally followed, smiled to Lavina, and waved her back.

“So, where are we going?” – she asked trying to catch up with the man, but it was difficult.

“Could you please…walk slower? It’s too fast for me.”

[mitano-omori]

SUNKEL WEEK: Day 3

This is definitely a little late, but... For SunKel week (on Twitter and Instagram), I'll be posting some oneshots for our Mitaño Mod!! These writing snippets are canon events for our mod, it's just typically behind the scenes! Eventually, I'll be posting these oneshots to an ao3 fic to keep them all together, but for now... They're here!!

Anyway, Day 3: EARLY MORNINGS / LATE NIGHTS

Sunny walked back and forth across his room, picking up pillows, blankets, and various objects to put in the center of the room between his and Mari's beds. When was the last time he made a pillow fort like this? It had to have been before they lost Hero. After that, the group of friends never really hung out together. So it felt kind of right to be doing this again after all this time.

The dark-haired teen glanced behind him when he heard the door open, expecting to see his sister. But instead, it was Kel. The corner of his mouth twitched up just a bit. It was a bit jarring to be around Kel at first, what with how different he looked and how much he was clearly trying to emulate his past self. It was fine for him to be different now. No one was expecting him to be okay after losing his brother like that. But despite that, Sunny was getting used to this new version of him. He may be different, but he was still Kel.

"You're already starting on the fort, huh?" Kel asked as he approached Sunny, who nodded in response. "Mari's still talking to your mom by the way." He grabbed some of the random objects Sunny accumulated to use as support beams and started to put together the frame for the fort.

Sunny quickly walked up to him, grabbing his hand to stop him. "Wait, you're the guest. You don't have to help with this. I can do it," he told Kel, who only grinned in response. It lacked the light it used to have.

"Yeah, but you never liked putting together the forts," Kel retorted. That may be right, but things were different now. Kel and Hero were usually the ones to built the forts, and now... Things were different. Besides, it was just Sunny, Kel, and Mari this time. That meant a smaller fort, and Sunny was capable of taking care of it. That didn't mean he liked it, but it was worth the effort for Kel.

The taller teen must have noticed the hesitation still remaining on Sunny's face, so he spoke again as he continued to work. "Look, you're not gonna be able to stop me, so might as well let me help you, right?"

Sunny sighed, but he finally gave in. The two then worked on the fort together quietly. Being near Kel of all people and working in silence was still a very strange situation to Sunny. For once, it made him want to fill the silence, just as Kel would have done when they were kids. But Sunny didn't know what to talk about, so he didn't say anything. At least he could still enjoy Kel's presence.

Today was difficult. If Mari hadn't arrived when she did, Sunny might've shoved Basil into the water himself. And Kel and Aubrey... Sunny tried not to think about that. What mattered was the fact that Mari did show up, and she fixed everything just as she always does. At least with Sunny alone with Kel, he felt his earlier rage towards Basil slipping away. He didn't like being furious. He didn't like feeling any particularly strong emotions, actually. It felt nice to just be calm.

"Do you think Aubrey's okay?" Sunny asked, finally finding something worthwhile to talk about.

Kel seemed to stop for a moment as he thought about the answer. When he looked back at Sunny, he was smiling--Sunny wished he could see his real smile again. "Yeah, I'm sure she's fine. Aubrey's always been tough, right? She can handle anything."

Sunny lowered his gaze and sat down on his bed. "Aubrey's...different now," he told Kel.

Kel lost his smile and kept working, his back to Sunny. "Yeah... I know."

"I don't think she's okay."

"I know."

There was a pause between them, this silence much heavier than the last. Sunny was happy he was able to help Mari and eventually Kel out of their darkness, but Aubrey still pushed everyone away. He tried to be her friend again, but she didn't seem to want him. She wasn't alright... But now that Sunny, Kel, and Mari were together again, they could help her too, right? Then they could be friends like before. But... Could they really do that before Kel moved away? They'll have to check on Aubrey tomorrow. Maybe they could get her to join them like Sunny did with Kel today and the day before.

"I'm glad you came outside," Sunny said as he watched Kel.

"You already told me that," Kel replied as he glanced back at the shorter of the two.

Sunny fidgeted with his sleeve just a bit. "I mean it. It's nice to have you around again. I missed you."

Kel paused his work and turned to face Sunny. For a moment, Sunny could have sworn the smile that tugged on the edges of his lips was genuine, or at least a sliver of what it used to be. It made Sunny feel warm inside, seeing that smile. Kel may be different now, but Sunny really didn't mind that. He knew Kel was different. He just wished he was more open about those differences.

"I missed you too," Kel admitted. Sunny could tell that there was more to it than just that, something he knew Kel would never elaborate on. Who knew what went on inside his head? But that's alright. At least Sunny knew that it was genuine.

So, Sunny felt himself smiling just a bit back at his friend. Maybe Kel's sunlight was dimmer now, but it was still there. That's all Sunny needed.

[autopsy-club]

DUNGEON MESHI BAG WEIGHTS

Basically, this is my personal headcanons on what each character's (out of our main party) bags' weigh with calculations included. There's probably official sources on this, but it's fun to think about! I'm basing this off the dungeon meshi character wiki (i know not always accurate but best I could find), a couple backpacking blogs, the NIH BMI calculator website, and my own thoughts. Without further ado, let us begin! LAOIS: Laois' stated BMI is 26 (according to the character wiki), which is what I would headcanon him as (a bit lower than the average powerlifter BMI). This puts him at 195-200lbs, the average pack weight should typically be around 20% of your body weight, making his bag ~40lbs. BUT HIS ARMOR!! I hear you scream very dramatically at your screen, assumming his armor is on the lighter end, it would be around 30-35lbs, and his sword 3lbs..... MAKING LAOIS CARRY AN AVERAGE OF 75-80lbs !!!!! THATS A LOT..... I assume Laois would be encouraged to carry more of their supplies like food and such, and would do so willingly. We can assume none of them carry cooking supplies other than Senshi, making everyone's packs a bit lighter on that regard. MARCILLE: Marcille is a bit easier, her stated BMI is 20 which seems accurate to me given her low muscle mass. Also she's only 5'3?? I always assumed she'd be taller than me. Anyways that would put her at 110-115lbs, and her bag at ~22lbs, I'd argue her spellbook would be similar in weight to a textbook, which range 2-6 pounds. Her's would likely be on the heavier side so........ MARCILLE CARRIES AROUND 25-30lbs !!!!! Not too shabby, especially for someone so thin. CHILCHUCK: Chilchuck is probably one of the easiest, his picklock tools wouldn't be too heavy so I'm not adding them to the calculation. His stated BMI is 18.... but I'd consider it closer to 20 given he has to have some muscle to walk around all day and be able to carry stuff like the pot of oil Senshi had him heat up. This puts him at 45-50lbs, and his pack at 10lbs. I really don't think he has any extra weight to carry............. CHILCHUCK WOULD CARRY AROUND 10lbs !! He's doing his best okay?

SENSHI:

Senshi's BMI is a 36, which feels accurate given how dense he is. This makes him 150-155lbs.... I think I could pick him up on a good day. That makes his pack around 30lbs... but he probably wouldn't have a typical pack. I don't think he really carries around extra clothing and amenities, but he does carry the cooking supplies. Sleeping bags only weigh around 1lbs, and anything extra would likely only be 1-2 extra pounds I can't even begin to do the math on what his pot would actually weigh given the metal...plus his other pots/bowls/etc, but to be generous (on the low end) i'm gonna say 30lbs for the big pot, 10lbs for other cooking supplies, 2lbs for spices and oils, and another 20lbs for food? This is definitely going to the most far off estimation.......

SENSHI CARRIES 65lbs????????? MAYBE???? IZUTSUMI: The wiki says her BMI is only 17, but that feels really low given her muscle mass, sure she's thin but do you know how much muscle a cat has?????? I'm putting her at a lean 19.5, not quite underweight but close. This makes her 95-100lbs. I think her pack would be lighter than everyone else's, she probably doesn't carry anything other than her sleeping bag and supplies others made her carry......... ESTIMATING HER PACK TO BE AROUND 10lbs !!

[kanamori-kamper-moved]

predictable as FUCK but 💪🏼 or 🩸 for Aztecshipping please?

I’ll do both since they both work well with the scenario I’m imagining, since we briefly spoke about the Prince Yuma and Trey Knight au in DMS and I think that works well with them!!

Also this DOES have trans girl trey propaganda because fuck you

-

Yuma was, admittedly, a person who failed to practice self-preservation. If he wasn’t a prince, he was sure he’d be called stupid, an idiot, frankly a moron. And because of this fact, he’d met Trey.

She was a knight, but if you asked anyone she was more like a bounty hunter, slaying dragons and beasts for the little amount of money she could get from it. Her brother, Quattro, fit the description more, saving ladies from the village whenever they happened to get into danger. Although that was impressive, there was nothing as impressive as seeing Trey swing her sword, to slay a dragon, and wipe the blood off of her face as if nothing had ever happened.

But, of course, The day went as normal, he had planned to pick some berries and visit the Arclights cottage to bake a pie with her. He always enjoyed spending time with her, and how couldn’t he? She was the most beautiful women he knew, and no matter how delicious her pies were, she was always sweeter than it could ever be. The only issue was, Yuma tended to attract danger, almost as if he were a lightening rod for it, and before he knew it, he was being dragged off by a dragon to be ripped limb by limb and eaten.

But the silver lining was that Trey always came riding in on her beautiful white horse to come and save him, she always open carried her sword, already reaching out to get it, before throwing it at the scaly winged beasts neck. Of course, it instantly dropped Yuma comes its claws to recoil and growl in pain, leaving just enough time for him to get away and get away from it.

The way Trey fought was always mesmerizing to him, always memorizing his beloved knights steps. She was always quick on her feet, taking the time that she needed to retrieve her sword, gripping it firmly in her left hand. She was always left handed, never held anything in her right, just another thing to admire about her.

Landing back on her feet, it lunged for her, reaching out its razor sharp claws for her, and Yuma was sure she would evade it.

He was sure.

He was so sure.

While Trey was taking the time to swing her sword at the claw the beast was throwing at her, she barely had the time to process the fact that it was reaching its other claw for her, painfully, deeply scratching her in her abdomen. “Trey!” Yuma called out, “Yuma, stay back! I’m fine! You’ll only get hurt if you try to interfere.”

But as she always did, she had slain the dragon, and all was well.

Except.. it wasn’t.

Trey was bleeding all over herself, blood seeping out of her armor and onto the once green grass. Yuma ran towards her, hugging her tight. “Yuma..” She smiled, almost falling over. “Trey, I have to get you to a doctor! You’re bleeding all over yourself!”

“No, Yuma. You can’t bring me to one of your doctors, they’ll ask me how it happened. I can’t trouble anyone with that.”

“Then I’ll take care of you.” Trey lightly squeaked feeling Yuma pick her up with both of his hands. Trey was older than him, and just a few centimeters taller, SHE was supposed to be the one carrying the cute prince away from danger.

“You know, girls are a lot heavier than they look-“ Yuma grunted, trying his best to hold her up. “But It’s a necessary sacrifice!”

Yuma was minimally athletic, but the adrenaline rushing through him didn’t stop him from running at full force towards the Arclights cottage.

Yuma slammed open the door, helping her upstairs and laying her onto the soft mattress of her bed. “Yuma.. you don’t have to do this..”

“I can’t just let my knight do so much for me, and not do anything in return. That would be selfish of me.”

Yuma lifted off her chest plate, then her pants. “Uhm.. I’ll try not to look too much, of course-“ He blushed, well, he’d never really seen a girl without anything on, well Trey did have something on, but the fact still remained. He failed to understand girls, especially their bodies.

“You’re too cute, it’s fine.” Trey softly smiled, once more. “Just do what you will, my prince.”

Her soft white camisole was completely soaked in blood, Yuma having to lift it up and put it to the side. Her abdomen had 3 nail shaped gashes in it, and even above this fresh one were old ones from previous battles, and of course the wounds weren’t big but she was still bleeding. They were absolutely oozing with blood, bubbling and starting to turn partially black because of the buildup. Yuma had never seen so much blood in his life, but he supposed this was the noble sacrifice a beautiful Knight like her had to make. It’s the job she’d chosen by herself, after all.

He’d fished out some gauze from one of her cabinets per her instructions, wrapping her up and stopping the flow of it dead in its tracks.

“Thank you.. honestly..” Trey breathed with a sigh of relief, although still a tad bit woozy, “Really, it’s nothing! I just didn’t want you to die out there, anyone would want that, I’m sure.”

“Honestly, you should hate me by now. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be getting hurt so much just because of me.”

“Yuma, If I were to hate you, I would’ve already left you a long time ago.” Trey sat up, touching Yumas shoulder. “I choose to save you because If I don’t, who will? If I don’t get hurt at least once, you would never know how much I care for you.”

“I guess thats true…”

“I’m sure Quattro will be angry with me when he comes home and sees me like this, but it’ll be worth it, I think.” Quattro never did like Yuma after all, to be honest he was never fond of boys who’d go in the pursuit of his darling sister, “But, let’s go downstairs. I saw you were picking berries earlier, let’s make a pie. I liked the way you carried me up like that, almost like you were my knight, you can do that again, if you’d like.”

“O-Of course!”

And so they did, and maybe, even if the day hadn’t gone as planned, she still remained as sweet.

[tipsslight]

Random Parallels and Headcanon for Shane and Emily

Shane’s feelings toward Emily can be best described as love-hate. A lot of things in their lives are so different; it couldn’t be any more clashing. Emily is bubbly, energetic, content with life. Shane is… not that. Emily has a job as a barmaid, in a saloon that Gus admits is financially struggling, but she feels like she’s still needed there to help and seems to enjoy the work. Meanwhile, Shane either is working at Joja, which both he and the company doesn’t care at all if he gets fired or quits or ends up in the hospital for drinking too much alcohol, or he’s unemployed and ends up drinking his life away at the saloon. Emily’s relationship with her younger sister Haley is quite tight-knit despite how different they are. Even though Haley acknowledges how weird it is that they’re related, she’s still able to acknowledge that they do truly love and care for each other, and it’s rather effortless, albeit somewhat understated. Meanwhile Shane really has to *try* to show Jas how much he cares about her. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t, nor does it mean that Jas doesn’t care about him, it’s just a much heavier disconnect and showing that love isn’t natural for them, but when it does come through, hoo boy does it warm the heart.

Whenever Shane goes to the bar and grumbles out his daily order of a beer, he’s always greeted with a massive smile from Emily as she hands him his first, his second, his fifth beer. He can’t help but to feel a little bitter about it, because to Shane, Emily’s got everything that he’d want. Happiness, a strong familial bond, a reason to live. She’s even a couple of inches taller than him! As he takes another swig, the jealousy grows. He just can’t help but to feel how unfair life is, but he’s resigned to that fate. He can’t change his meaningless life, there really isn’t anything for him to-

Suddenly, Emily places another drink on the table in front of him, snapping him back to attention. Gus is busy helping Pam on an otherwise quiet night at the Saloon. As per usual, she beams a massive smile. Looking down, it’s just a glass of water. Shane looks up to meet her sparkling eyes. “I always felt like there isn’t a lot to life either, you know? We live our lives until we join those that also moved on. But until then, we just do the best we can to make our lives meaningful. Whether it’s to be at peace with the spirits and beings we can’t see, or to love and cherish those we have in our lives, or even to do the fun little things that makes us happy. All of it is what makes life worth living, even if we don’t think about what’s next. Life’s like a rollercoaster: it’s fun and it’s scary, but it’ll lead us to the end of the ride no matter what.” With that, she turns away to make a drink for Clint, without a glimpse of regret or hesitation on her face. Shane grumbled something under his breath, and drank half of the glass of water before leaving. The kind and understanding words she said hit his chest like a knife and he wanted to stop feeling whatever it was that he was feeling.

As he left the Saloon uncharacteristically early, the thought of her words came spiraling back to him in his drunken state. Emily’s future was just as unclear and unfocused as his. Was she really content with just being a part-time bartender at a saloon? She didn’t have any romantic prospects, aside from Clint but her actions towards him didn’t exactly scream “date me.” What does she want to do with her future? Was it really as fuzzy and unknown like his, a deadbeat uncle that only wishes anything in his life meant anything to him? Even he couldn’t believe it, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized how similar that aspect of her life was to his. But, Emily was somehow still so happy in spite of it.

He could feel his stomach turning into knots, and fluttering into his chest. Maybe he should have eaten something or finished the glass of water he was given. Shane curled up into his bed, and tried to sleep through the pain, knowing tomorrow will just be the same, ordering a first, second, fifth beer from the barmaid with the thousand-mile smile.