#so i might be willing to share wips of them

[millermouth]

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Your honor, there are bite marks on my laptop. tags: daryl dixon's slutty little lap, no smut but def naughty, grinding, kissing, dry humping. inexperienced daryl, premature ejaculation, mentions of arachnophobia, alexandria, no use of y/n yes I know I have like 50 other wips to work on but cmonnn masterlist

It started out as innocent as can be, honest to god.

The first time, it was a run gone sideways—one that started with two cars. The Camry you drove had broken down, leaving the only option of cramming into the single bench truck cab with Rick, Glenn, and Daryl. The rain was coming down in sheets, loud enough to drown out any conversation, hammering the truck’s metal roof like an unrelenting drum. There was no choice but to pile in, no time to hesitate, so you climbed in after them, waterlogged and exhausted, and sat in the first lap by the door.

You barely had time to register anything before strong hands slid around you, stiff at first, then settling firm against his own broad thighs. You looked up, blinking between the three men, before realization hit.

You were in Daryl’s lap. 

Rick and Glenn didn’t seem to mind, too preoccupied with the flooded dirt roads, but Daryl? Daryl was rigid beneath you.

All sharp edges and silence, he wasn’t the type to give much away. The most you’d ever shared were quick words on hunts, muttered confirmations on runs, but that was it. He never looked at you long enough to let you wonder if he thought of you at all.

But now… now you were in his lap, warm and close, his body solid under yours, and for the first time, you were thinking about him in an entirely new way. He was handsome, sure. Very handsome, actually. But he never seemed to give any inkling of interest in anyone, really. So you never pushed.

Then the truck hit a pothole.

Your body lurched, and before your head could hit the roof of the cab, Daryl grabbed you. Big hands, rough palms, a reflexively strong grip. The sudden pull forced you to shift against him, dragging across the solid expanse of his thighs, and the feeling of him beneath you hit your stomach like a strike of flint to steel.

He hauled you back down hard, fingers digging in before they quickly jerked away as if he’d been burned by your skin. But the movement had you suddenly very aware of his body under yours.

At first, it was just heat. The firm muscles of his thighs, his body wound tight as a steel cable. But then the truck jolted again, another deep rut in the road, and this time, it sent you rolling forward, your hands pushing up into the dash to keep yourself steady.

And that’s when you felt him.

Thick. Heavy. Hard beneath you.

A sharp breath caught in your throat. Even through layers of damp denim, even with your own clothes separating you, there was no mistaking it.

Your stomach flipped, thighs tightening instinctively, trying not to react, but your body betrayed you—your fingers twitched against the dash, a slow, creeping warmth settling between your legs.

Daryl was fighting it—you could feel that too. His fingers moved, palms rubbing against the side of his own thighs, but he didn’t push you away. His breath turned uneven, hitched like he was trying and failing to keep quiet. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his head tilted back against the window, jaw clenched so tight it might crack. Every muscle in his body was locked up, like he was willing himself to stillness, willing himself to not react to the feel of your ass against him.

Another bounce knocked you forward, and when your body shot forward again, you had to push your palms flat onto the dash and into him to keep yourself steady, an unintentional drag of your hips that made his breath punched out of him. The sound he let out was barely audible over the rain–a deep, guttural noise stuck somewhere between discomfort and something far more dangerous.

A slow, unbearable heat curled in your stomach, spreading low, making your breath shaky. Your body was already acting of it's own accord, your thighs clenching on instinct, your pulse hammering so loudly you swore it would give you away. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to breathe through it, to ignore the way this felt, the way your hips itched to move just a little more, just to test—to see—

And then his lips were near your ear, his voice barely more than a gravelly rasp, thick with something like desperation.

"Quit squirmin’."

A soft, helpless little whimper slipped from your lips.

You clamped a hand over your mouth immediately, but it was too late. Daryl had heard it. You knew because his whole body jerked beneath you, his hands suddenly at your waist, squeezing so tight it almost hurt. His breath came out sharp and unsteady, his thighs twitching under yours, like every muscle in him was coiled so tight he was about to snap.

When the truck finally rolled to a stop at the gates, you bolted.

You didn’t even look at him, didn’t dare risk seeing what was in his face—shock, confusion, regret, want—whatever it was, you couldn’t face it. Your heart pounded as you threw the door open, practically jumping off his lap, ignoring the way your legs trembled when your feet hit solid ground.

But later—in the solitude of your room–you found yourself lying in the dark, breath heavy, fingers slipping between your thighs as the ghost of that feeling came back with a vengeance.

The second time it happened, it also started out innocent, thank you very much.

For someone who had survived this long into the apocalypse, you sure were damn afraid of spiders. So afraid that when you and Daryl were paired up for a run, you’d nearly died when a nest of them made themselves known. One second, you were reaching into a cupboard for an old can of green beans, the next you were screaming, stumbling back, and then—out cold on the floor.

Daryl had freaked. He’d never seen someone just faint before, not outside of blood loss or injury. He crouched down fast, tapping at your cheek, muttering your name, but you were completely gone. Before he could even process that, a sound outside made his stomach drop—low, guttural hisses, the unmistakable snarl of the dead, drawn in by the sound of your scream.

He didn’t have time to wait for you to wake up.

So, in the most awkward, uncomfortable way imaginable, he scooped you up, hauled you onto his bike, and realized real fast that an unconscious person wasn’t exactly great at holding on. You were too slack, too limp—one wrong turn and you’d slide right off.

Daryl swore under his breath, already sweating at the thought of what he was about to do.

Before he could think too hard about the repercussions of it all, he repositioned you in his lap, facing him, legs hooked around his thighs, arms lightly folded in front of you and against his stomach. His arm curled around your back, holding you upright, while his other hand gripped the handlebar. It was awkward as hell trying to steer while keeping you from slumping sideways, but he managed.

Then you started to stir.

At first, it was subtle—your fingers twitching against his chest, a faint murmur against his shoulder. He prayed you’d stay out just long enough for him to get back to camp because if you woke up like this…

But of course, that would’ve been too easy.

A slow, unconscious shift—your body adjusting, pressing closer, your hips shifting forward right against him.

Daryl tensed so hard he thought he might snap in half.

His arm around your back locked up, his grip on the handlebar nearly crushing it. He forced his focus on the road, on anything but the slow friction against his lap. But then you sighed—soft, barely there, breath warm against his neck—and fuck, he felt it. The heat of you, the lazy drag of your hips as your body instinctively sought comfort.

His jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.

This was not happening again.

But it was.

And it was so much worse than the truck.

Because now, you were asleep. Unconscious. And your body was doing things that you weren’t even aware of, things that made him ache in ways he didn’t know how to deal with. His skin burned, his breath turned shallow, and goddammit, he was getting hard. Again.

Daryl felt like the worst person alive.

This wasn’t supposed to happen—he wasn’t supposed to react to you like this, not when you weren’t even aware of it. But every little shift, every unconscious roll of your hips, every soft breath against his neck was making him suffer.

By the time you finally started to wake up, Daryl was already gone—face burning, heart racing, his body so tense it felt like a live wire. He didn’t even realize how hard he was gripping you until you let out a small noise, your fingers flexing against his shirt as your lashes fluttered.

As you stirred, instinctively clinging to him, your arms beginning to wrap around his middle for better support, your body pressed closer. He felt your hips shifting just enough to grind against him, forcing another sharp twitch beneath his jeans.

Daryl went rigid.

Your body tensed against him as awareness settled in, your breath catching for just a second. Daryl knew the exact moment you realized where you were—what you were sitting on—because you stiffened, fingers gripping at his shirt, but you didn’t pull away.

If anything, you leaned in. His entire body locked up, his grip on the handlebar going white-knuckled as the warmth of your breath brushed against his neck. The hum of the bike beneath him did nothing to drown out the pounding in his ears, the way heat licked up his neck as your lips barely skimmed the sensitive skin on his throat. He felt you move against his lap too, a gentle rocking of your hips against him. His stomach flipped, his fingers twitched, and for a split second, he froze, completely unsure of what to do, how to stop this without making it worse.

“Stop,” he muttered, voice rough, barely above a breath.

You didn’t.

The vibration of the bike only made it worse. He was so goddamn tense, his entire body fighting against the instinct to react. He was barely breathing, just trying to focus on the road, but it was impossible with your mouth teasing at his skin, the warmth of your body curled into him, the weight of you pressing down in a way that was too much.

It was all he could do to hold you still against him.

"Stop," he said again, but this time it was louder, less like an order and more like a plea. 

Your lips lingered for a second longer before you finally pulled away.

Daryl exhaled shakily, heart hammering, body strung tight, but he still didn’t push you off, didn’t pull his bike over to switch places and get you off of him. He just sat there, stiff and locked up, trying not to let his hand shake where it pressed into your back.

But then when you pulled away, finally listening to his pleas and he looked down at you for a moment, he saw the flicker in your expression—the way your gaze dropped, the way your lips pressed together, the way your hands loosened their hold on him like you suddenly weren’t sure you should be touching him at all.

His chest ached instantly, sharp and unexpected. That wasn’t what this was. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you—it was that he did. So badly it scared the hell out of him. But the way it had happened, the way he had put you in this situation. You hadn’t been fully aware, hadn’t made the choice, and the last thing he wanted was to take advantage of something your body did before your mind had caught up. And the way you hesitated now, the way you pulled back, made something in him panic.

"Sorry," you murmured, voice softer now, any sense of teasing completely washed away.

Daryl swallowed hard, but his throat felt tight, his jaw locked up so bad he thought it might snap. He wanted to say something, to explain, to tell you that this wasn’t about not wanting you.

But he couldn’t.

All he could do was keep his grip firm on the handlebar, eyes locked on the road ahead, his arm still braced against your back as he forced himself to focus on anything but the way his body ached for you to come back.

Now…the third time it happened…you couldn’t say it was all that innocent.

The Alexandria watchtower stood separate from the rest of the town, white and quiet, a lone structure overlooking the entrance. It was meant to be a defense point, a place for vigilance, for keeping the people inside safe.

Right now, it felt like a goddamn confession booth.

You sat on the window ledge taking first watch with your arms draped over your knees, the darkened treetops sway in the night breeze, pretending not to notice how tense Daryl was inside behind you up against the opposite wall. You had been up there for nearly an hour now, and he had barely said a word outside of the occasional grunt, playing with an arrow in his hands like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

You knew why.

You had been avoiding each other even worse since the bike incident—both of you too flustered, too unsure of what the hell to do with yourselves. But it wasn’t sustainable, not in a place like this, where the community was small and jobs were assigned. The universe—or more likely, Rick—had decided it was time for you to deal with it.

So here you were.

You sighed loudly, twisting around to face him.

"I'm sorry," you said, tilting your head back against the window frame, eyes drifting to the ceiling.

Daryl stilled across the small room, the moonlight catching in his hair, but his features remained shadowed, obscured in the dim glow of the lantern that sat on the floor nearby.

“Fer what?” he finally asked, twiddling the arrow between his fingers, rolling it absentmindedly. 

“For everything,” you said, a humorless laugh making your shoulder shake.

His eyes finally flickered up to you, uncertain, but it was enough for you to want to keep explaining yourself. You felt stupid, so so stupid.

“I mean it,” you said, hands pushing against your cheeks, trying to scrub the redness already creeping up your skin, “It won’t happen again. Even if we get stuck in a crowded truck together, even if I faint from another god damn spider attack. I swear to you, Daryl, I will stay far away from touching you,” you glanced at him, and trying to ease the tension, you added: “Next time I’ll just sit in Rick’s lap,” 

Daryl’s eyes flickered away for a long moment, something ghosting through them that he was clearly trying to push down. His gaze shifted toward the corner of the room, where nothing but overturned boxes and dust sat in the dark, like he could find the right words buried somewhere in the silence.

You let out a slow breath, thinking that was it, that he’d let the conversation die the way he always did. But then, suddenly, he spoke up.

“Don’t.”

Your brows furrowed. “Don’t what?”

His jaw tensed, fingers flexing as he set down the arrow, “Don’t sit on nobody’s lap.”

The words came out gruff, like he hadn’t meant to say them, and the way he turned his head slightly, like he was bracing himself for your reaction, made something in your chest tighten.

Silence settled between you again, heavier this time. The only sound was the wind rustling through the leaves below, the distant hum of Alexandria behind the walls until he spoke again.

“…I liked it.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Daryl shifted, uneasy, fingers finding his mouth, chewing weakly on the skin of his forefinger like he was regretting opening his mouth. “When you… did that,” he mumbled, gaze flickering toward you before dropping again. “I liked it.”

Your stomach flipped. You studied him, the way his shoulders curled inward slightly, the nervous twitch of his fingers, the pink creeping up his neck. He was avoiding your gaze, embarrassed, like he expected you to laugh, to brush it off, to tell him he was imagining things.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you pushed off the ledge, moving slowly, deliberately, making your way over to him. When you knelt down in front of him, his breath hitched, his fingers clenching, his entire body going still.

You reached out, fingers brushing over his jacket, trailing up toward his shoulder. His breath shuddered, his muscles tightening beneath your touch.

“You liked it?” you murmured.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Yeah.”

You bit your lip, tilting your head. “Which part?”

Daryl’s eyes darted to yours, filled with something uncertain, something hesitant. “What do ya mean?”

“Tell me,” you said, voice softer now, a little breathless. “Which part you liked.”

He didn’t answer right away. His skin was growing pink even in the dim light of the tower, the tips of his ears burning as his fingers twitched against the floor He was looking everywhere but at you, like he was trying to will himself out of this conversation.

You took that moment to shift forward, climbing into his lap without hesitation. His breath stopped, his body going rigid beneath you, hands jerking up before he forced them back down like he didn’t know where to put them.

Your thighs bracketed his hips, your hands settling on his shoulders, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin.

“Did you like when I sat on your lap in the truck?”

Daryl felt like he wasn’t even breathing beneath you, his hands splayed beside him, fingers curling against the wooden floor as if itching to touch you. His eyes finally caught your gaze and stayed there, flickering between hesitation and something deeper, something you knew he was fighting against.

His voice was barely a murmur, thick and hoarse when he answered.

“…Yeah.”

A slow smile curled at the edge of your lips, and you leaned in, close enough for your nose to brush against his.

“What about the bike?” you whispered.

Daryl swallowed so hard you heard it. His hands finally moved, gripping your thighs where they rested against his, unsure but there, fingers flexing as if he was testing his own restraint.

“…Yeah.”

You could feel the heat of his breath against your mouth, the tension so thick it was dizzying. His body was wound so tight, his grip tightening slightly on your thighs, his entire frame burning beneath you.

“Daryl,” you breathed.

His fingers dug in slightly. His eyelids were heavy, his mouth parted like he wanted to say something but couldn’t force the words out.

Then his blue eyed gaze dropped to your lips.

Something in your chest tightened, anticipation coiling low in your stomach as you leaned in, testing, waiting to see if he’d stop you again, if he’d push you away like before, tell you no in that reluctant way that left you aching even worse than before.

But this time, he didn’t.

This time, your lips brushed against his and he sucked in a sharp breath, his hands flexing hard against your thighs, fingers gripping like he was trying to ground himself. Then his lips molded to yours, hesitant at first, like he was still trying to figure this all out. 

But the moment you let out a small, contented sigh against his mouth, he made up his mind. 

Daryl grabbed at you, rough palms sliding from your thighs up to your hips, and pulled you into him in one desperate, instinctive movement. You gasped softly, fingers tangling into his hair as your body pressed flush against his, the warmth of him searing through the fabric between you.

The pure thickness of him beneath you, solid muscle and broad strength, sent heat rushing through your veins, and then—fuck.

You felt him. Hard, heavy, and pulsing between your legs.

Another shaky whimper slipped from your throat, muffled against his lips, and Daryl groaned at the sound. It was deep, wrecked, vibrating through his chest like he was a man starved of this for far too long. When his mouth parted, panting from the overwhelming friction, you seized the moment, sliding your tongue past his lips to meet his. The taste of cigarettes and something undeniably him flooded your senses, warm and intoxicating, making your head spin.

The friction. The push, the pull, the way his body fit against yours—it was maddening. You rocked again, just enough to feel the way he twitched beneath you, just enough to make his hands clench as they reached back to grip your ass, his hips jerking up in response. The sharp, choked noise he let out sent heat flashing down your spine, turning your thoughts into nothing but molten, aching need.

You ground down on him harder, the steady roll of your hips chasing that friction, the ache building between your legs as his hands dug into your denim clad flesh, guiding you into him like he couldn’t help himself. The obscene noises of lips and tongues and heavy, desperate breathing filled the still night air, drowned only by the distant rustling of leaves outside the tower.

Daryl was unraveling beneath you.

His lips only parted from yours to move hungrily against your neck, dragging over heated skin, sucking at the sensitive flesh beneath your jaw. Every press of his mouth sent shivers racing through you, made your fingers clench tighter in his hair as your hips rolled against the hard length straining beneath his jeans.

The brush of his scruff against your throat had you moaning, a sound that made his hands twitch where they held you, gripping tighter, pulling you down against him like he was chasing it.

You weren’t even thinking anymore.

Not about Alexandria, not about the watchtower, not about anything except how good he felt, how his hardness was aching perfectly beneath you, rubbing just right against the throbbing need building at your core.

Daryl sucked in a ragged breath, dragging his mouth back up to yours, capturing your lips again like he was ravenous for it. His tongue met yours in a messy, desperate tangle, his hands flexing against your hips as he rocked you down into him, his groans spilling into your mouth, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding back.

You could feel it. The way his muscles were wound tight, his hips bucking beneath yours, his breathing turning ragged, uneven. He was so close. He was overwhelmed, so overstimulated, so completely lost in the way you were moving against him that he didn’t even realize he was chasing it, rutting up against you like he needed it.

And then you rolled your hips again, slower this time, more deliberate, grinding down just right, and Daryl broke.

His whole body seized beneath you, hands clenching at your ass as his hips stuttered up into yours, a wrecked, choked noise tearing from his throat as he came apart. His muscles locked up, every part of him going rigid as the pleasure overtook him.

You pulled back just enough to watch his beautiful face scrunched up, long, greasy hair pushed back just enough for you to see everything—the deep crease in his brow, the way his mouth fell open on a desperate, shuddering groan, the sheer helplessness of it as he twitched beneath you, his release spilling warm under his jeans. His grip on you was bruising, fingers digging in so tight you knew you’d be wearing the marks of him tomorrow.

His chest heaved beneath your palms as you released his long locks from your hands, his whole body shuddering through the aftershocks as reality slowly returned to him. When his eyes finally blinked open, dazed and so beautifully wide, his sweat-slick face somehow managed to flush even redder.

“I—I’m sorry—”

You didn’t let him finish.

Your finger pressed against his lips, silencing him as you tilted your head, watching him freeze beneath you again, all flustered and wrecked, like he was seconds away from bolting if you let him. His wide, desperate blue eyes stayed locked on yours, waiting for something, bracing for the worst.

But you just grinned.

“Don’t—” you began, voice full of warmth and maybe a little teasing, “Don’t ruin the single hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my entire existence.”

Daryl didn’t find it amusing. If anything, he went even redder under your gaze, his entire body tensing as he turned his head away, looking anywhere but at you. Like if he avoided your eyes long enough, maybe the last few minutes would magically undo themselves.

“Hey,” you murmured, reaching out to grip his chin, forcing him to look at you. His skin was burning under your touch, his breath shallow, his pupils still blown from what had just happened. “I’m not done with you yet,”

Daryl swallowed hard, his jaw shifting under your fingers. “But I—”

“You just got to have your fun,” you cut him off, voice dipping lower, slower, as you leaned in, letting your mouth brush against the outline of his lips, “What about me?” You rolled your hips against his lap, slow and teasing, making him shudder beneath you. “Gonna leave me hangin’, Dixon?”

Daryl’s hands slid up, moving with more intent, his palms splaying over your ribs, fingers flexing just beneath your breasts. He wasn’t just reacting anymore—he was choosing this. He looked up at you, eyes dark, lips parted, voice just barely above a whisper.

“I wanna…” He hesitated, his brows furrowing like he was trying to find the words, trying to ask for something without knowing how. But then, his hands moved to your back, gripping you firmer, like he was realizing what he wanted even as he said it.

“I wanna make you feel good.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Daryl swallowed, his thumbs skimming over the soft skin beneath your shirt, his gaze locked onto yours, searching. “Tell me how,” he murmured, his voice raw, thick with something desperate. “Show me what you like.”

Something hot and deep coiled in your stomach at the way he said it—so eager, so earnest, his hands shaking slightly like he was aching to touch you but needed you to let him.

“You sure?” you murmured, voice barely more than a breath.

His grip tightened. “Yeah.”

You smiled, slow and wicked, leaning down to kiss him—soft at first, then deeper, hungrier. His breath hitched, and when you rolled your hips again, this time he wasn’t just taking it.

This time, he was meeting you halfway.

[vapolis]

would you be willing to share a bit of what's on your Wip Doc™? i love your brain

currently, I have like 5 wips written down I might tackle one day and am obsessed with so! here are 3 that haunt me now.

revenge IF (no title yet) wherein you come back to a place that's no longer home but a poor imitation of it. with your brother dead and your father remarried, it's hard being back at the scene of the crime and having to deal with the smug faces of the group of people that killed your brother running around town so you decide to take matters into your own hands and get the justice your brother never got when investigations have been shut down and money changed hands. the town you return to is divided between the filthy rich and the trailer park you remember spending long sumemr nights in, your brother by your side before he fell in with a crowd that has their own best interests at heart and ended up tearing your family apart. your mom left. your father took you away and yet you're not sure you ever left the cemetery after your brother was laid to rest.

we go down together (berlin, 1988 during the wall), where you play an independent operative hired by the MI6 to get a rogue agent across the border from east to west. it's gritty. dark. you get tortured within an inch of your life before the MI6 liaison sweeps in and gets you out. you've been burned before, however, and there's more to them than you first thought. decide whether to become a lone wolf or stick with them, hoping to get out of the city alive.

vampire if (no title, 1920s), you're approached by a stranger at a speakeasy and are immediately hooked, taken by their allure, the way they look at you like a difficult puzzle to solve. one thing leads to the next, and you agree to go home with them and end up at an estate you've only seen glimpses of before. a show is planned. the night wears on, and a great hunt is announced. who are they hunting, you might ask. and well, the answer is you and five other strangers that have until dawn to survive and flee. you're cunning, had to survive the streets of the city you call home and manage to make it to sunrise, but vampires aren't creatures sticking to their word, and you've been so entertaining all night! so you're turned. made to be the consort of your sire, waking up in a tomb of their making with their blood in your mouth and a hunger you can only satiate by becoming one. by surrendering to your new desires. it's fucked up and you're groomed into being obedient. there are vampire hunters and the struggle in the coven becomes more aparent the longer the days get.

[idreamofcrackinglocks]

Young Royals Textfics and SMAU's

I have had this sat in my drafts for ages and thought I might as well publish it and I can just update it as I find/read more. There is something about SMAU's that scratch my silly little millennial brain so below is a few I have enjoyed/currently reading. I don't use twitter but have an account just to read these - some of the links may not work if you don't have a twitter account. And if anyone has any multimedia fics they have really enjoyed please send them my way and I may add them!

Fanfics

Call me up late - the best of the best of text fics and one of the first things I read when I joined the fandom!

and it's steamy sequel "mi cotufita" started sharing their screen

Completed SMAU's

pukemon - simon and wille are going to the same uni as they rest of the gang, Simon and wille had one bad interaction and they hate each other's gut because they're 5 years old (gonna get to the reason). - this is a great place to start!! sooo good!

We'll start over again now - canon Wilmon SMAU starting in S3 then running past canon

Truth or Dare - Wille and Simon have never gotten along. Not at Hillerska, not after they graduate, not as young adults. Their lives diverge, heading in different directions. They meet again, against their will, one night at a birthday party, & their stubbornness is their undoing. - When I tell you i was OBSESSED when this was being updated, I will be rereading

Royally Gone - Simon Eriksson, popstar on the rise, always had a little (fat) crush on a certain spare prince. A crush so fat he still uses a stan account he set up when he was 16 after a dare. One day, he messes up... - I need to catch up on this one but I have it bookmarked so assuming its good

WIP SMAU's

Your the risk I want to take based of the incredible original fic on AO3

Royal Retweet - Prince Wilhelm has spent months admiring Simon Eriksson from afar, hidden behind a secret fan account. But one accident changes everything. The internet is spiralling, Simon is questioning everything, and the royal palace is in full damage control mode...

I deserve a great love story - Simon is a music student at Hillerska University, and has a pretty normal life between school and shifts at a library-café. Until one day, a post is made just for him, and he starts a hunt to find out who loves him so much - Currently obsessed with this one the TWIST

Take your Mark by @princequeerik- After he and his sister move schools, Simon finds himself joining the swim team - the only place he found for himself at his old school. Meanwhile, Wilhelm is the best distance swimmer on the team. - this one is on Tumblr yay

If any of the authors above are on Tumblr and want to be tagged then please ping me a message!

[joeyalohadream]

Happy Valentine's Day - Here's a Snippet from a WIP instead of a box of chocolates ❤️

I'm spending my day today with my kitty, and with my Coolerverse Buckies....

It's been a while sense I've shared anything from part three, but I figured it was time seeing as I spent today heavily editing what I'd already had written and then actually writing over 2k new words. I'm optimistic I'll have it finished and published before the end of February. 💕

So here's a snippet from relatively early in Part 3 as my Valentine to you, 'Coolerverse' readers! (Putting some below a cut because their is an allusion (not graphic, it's still me) to possible sa)

----

The sun has almost set and he’s just noticing smoke on the horizon in the distance when Gale stumbles next to him.

He’s been staying close enough that their arms brush while they walk. They started out close to the front of the column, but they’ve drifted back since they left the town. Bucky has tried to convince himself that it was both of their dwindling energy that caused them to slow, but he knows that he’s been matching Gale’s pace since they started.

Now, Gale stumbles and Bucky grabs his sleeve just as one of his knees hit to ground. His heart climbs up into throat when the other man doesn’t immediately raise himself back up.

The men skirt around them, avoiding looking at Gale and Bucky can’t help but wish he hadn’t lost sight of their boys in the sea of bodies when they’d started falling back.

“Gale?” Bucky bends at the waist, gets a hand under Gale’s armpit. “Come on, up you get.”

He tugs and releases a breath when Gale’s body follows his instructions, getting himself to standing with a grunt of effort and a pained look stealing across his features.

“Sorry,” Gale says low, breathe crystalizing in the space between them. “Tripped.”

Bucky grimaces, skeptical of the explanation but doesn’t press.

“Move!” The loud voice startles them both and Bucky grunts when a rough hand shoves at his back, pushing him forward. The motion sends him stumbling away from Gale. He catches himself and turns, panicked, not willing to let him get lost in the gaggle of a thousand men.

But Gale’s still right there. Only the guard that had pushed Bucky has a hand fisted in the front of Gale’s coat and he’s in his face and Bucky sees red. It takes two steps to get back to them and one more to shove himself between the two men. He doesn’t look at the guard, just tugs Gale with him and starts moving forward.

“Better stay off your knees, Major,” the heavily accented voice, ugly words spit in broken English raise the hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck and his muscles tighten with the urge to hurt someone.

“Don’t.”

Gale’s quiet voice and his trembling hand grasping his sleeve brings him back to reality and he knows he can’t do a damn thing. Not with the krauts as trigger happy as they are. But he turns the words over and over in his mind and thinks his teeth might crack with how tight he’s clenching his jaw.

“That was the same guard from the line-up,” he grits out. “The one from the cooler?”

Silence greets him and he turns his head to look at Gale, who is stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes.

“Buck,” he pushes. “Give me something here.”

“Just leave it, Bucky,” Gale finally answers, shaking his head.

“I can’t,” Bucky admits. He feels like he’s going to be sick all of a sudden as the implication of the words turn his stomach into a knotted mess. Now isn’t the time for this. But he can’t even breathe properly with these thoughts in his head. “Did he-”

“No.” Gale finally turns his face enough to glare at him. “Whatever you’re thinking. No.”

Bucky swallows, feels his eyes sting from more than the wind as his mind rolls over images that he wants to vanquish from existence. Too terrible to imagine. Gale must see something in his eyes because his glare falls away and his features soften.

“John, I swear,” he says. “If what you’re thinking happened had happened, I wouldn’t be here. ‘Cause I’d have killed him. And then they would’ve killed me.”

The words don’t make him feel better. They just conjure another horrible, unfathomable image that he tries to physically shake out of his mind. He believes him. But something happened. Something with this guard. Something that Gale doesn’t want to talk about.

“What can I do?” He finds himself asking, feeling useless as he watches Gale concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. Tired blue eyes find his and Bucky watches him shrug.

“No matter what he says,” Gale says, looking over his shoulder. Bucky follows his gaze and sees the guard keeping pace with them on the edge of the column. Watching Gale. “Don’t do anything to get yourself killed. He likes to talk.”

Bucky flexes his fingers and glares ahead, jaw working. Not understanding but wanting to.

“Promise me, John.”

“Sure, Buck.”

“John.” Gale sounds tired, frustrated. Bucky feels the same way.  “I learned to drown him out in there. You gotta do the same.”

He thinks of Gale hiding himself against Bucky’s chest, making himself small every night when the krauts were talking outside their window before they slammed the shutters closed. Remembers the flinching, the tightly coiled muscles, the trembling he’d feel when the accented voices grew in volume, shouts drifting through the walls of their hut.

Their eyes meet and they can read each other plan as day.

Even if he never touched him, that man hurt Gale. Scares him still.

And he can tell Gale see’s the truth in Bucky’s eyes, shining back at him. He won’t let him hurt him again. No matter what.

[simonsapelsin]

Young Royals Sports AUs

🏒 Hockey

futures we should try to make by @royalwilmon (WIP)

Simon’s rookie year playing hockey in the NHL is off to a slow start. That is until the troubled son of a former hockey legend gets traded onto his team. With explosive chemistry on and off the ice, Wille and Simon have a good shot of taking the league by storm.

Et c'est le but! by @piebingo (WIP)

An AU where Simon moves in with a host family when he gets chosen by a new hockey team, halfway across the globe. While he gets along with his host parents, their son isn't too happy about this new living situation.

⚽ Football

The Twelfth Player (series) by @malinowaj

When professional footballer Wilhelm Andersson meets popstar Simon Eriksson, he doesn't know just how much his life is going to change. But how much is he willing to lose to win?

Coming Straight Home to Me by willefroggie (WIP)

Wille is a soccer player for the Swedish men's national football team and Simon is an international pop star.

🏀 Basketball

can i take a shot at your heart? by @theaviatorthatcouldnotfly (WIP)

Simon and Wille may be teammates on the Hillerska boys' basketball team, but that doesn't mean they get along. After a video destroyed their friendship, Simon's been determined to avoid Wille at all costs. But when they're forced to work together for the sake of team bonding, Simon finds himself having to confront some truths about what really went on between them- and whether he really hates Wilhelm as much as he once thought he did.

🏊‍♂️ Swimming

Like a Flipturn, You've Got Me Head Over Heels series by @invisiblewille

Normally the main fight at the Olympics is to see who gets first. But ever since Simon took the swimming world by a storm during the Rio Olympics in 2020, it's not been a question of who would get first, but who would join the Venezuelan swimmer and his equally accomplished Swedish rival on the podium in third. Gold and silver belonged to Wille and Simon. Everyone else could only hope to fight for bronze.

🤸 Gymnastics

Win The Meet-verse (series) by hillerskabrainrot

An alternate universe where Wille isn't a prince and neither of them go to Hillerska. They're both on Sweden's national gymnastics team and meet when they're made roommates during a national team camp.

The Winner Takes It All by @iwouldnevergetintofanfic

It's the Stockholm Olympics and Prince Wilhelm expects to be bored out of his mind watching the Men's Artistic Gymnastics. He does not expect to leave the event with a big, fat crush on gymnast Simon Eriksson. Nobody expects him to show up to another artistic gymnastics event. And another one.

🌊 Diving

hold on to what you believe by @leojfitz (WIP)

Wille and Simon both qualify for the Olympics. They have to share a room, and Wille is not too happy about it. Until he kind of he is.

🥊 Boxing

Down for the count by @iwouldnevergetintofanfic

Prince Wilhelm is known for his notoriously dangerous hobbies. He might be compensating for his pointless job but who's asking. So of course he jumps at the chance of participating in the "Celebrity vs. Pro Boxer" reality TV show. He's a bit surprised when his trainer, boxing champion Simon Eriksson, famous for his mean left hook and his burning ambition, meets him with baseless, blatant hostility. But then again, this might be just the thrill Wille so desperately seeks…

⛸️ Figure Skating

Hope and Legacy by @malinowaj (WIP)

Simon Eriksson has been skating nearly all his life and has a dream. To make that dream come true, he agrees to help Wilhelm with his skating. Little does Simon know that in doing so, he's getting more than he bargained for.

🎾 Tennis

now we're knee-deep in this mess by @prplewille

Simon and Wilhelm are friends. Then they have sex, fall in love, play tennis and ruin each other's lives. In no particular order.

[ecstarry]

marauder's wips - thank u for the lovely tag @emlovessid

Jegulus

trempé de sueur by @futurequibblerjournalist // E

"After spending most of his summers reading and simply lounging around as a way to distract himself from the heat of France and the intensity of his family, Regulus finds a new distraction in the handsome stranger his brother brings along one particularly eventful summer. Even a summer that seems to last forever will eventually come to an end and what then, when Regulus no longer finds himself satisfied with the romances he's gotten so used to reading about but never quite experiencing?"

get him back by @sixlane // E

"Regulus only has eyes for James. He can’t stop staring at him across the room, like maybe James will feel the heat of his gaze across the back of his neck and finally pay attention. He wants James to feel jealous, wants him to finish what he started. Or at least try to. Regulus would love nothing more than to turn him down when he’s begging.

- Or, Regulus Black has never liked James Potter, but he's drawn to him all the same. When the two share a heated moment that leaves Regulus hanging, he vows to rip James' heart clean out of his chest. Needless to say, it doesn't all go as planned."

past traces by @staringathesunbabe // E

"March, 1942

Falling in love with James Potter is easy for Regulus.

It feels natural, inevitable. They are both young, carefree. Invincible.

Growing up in the English countryside, with James always by his side, Regulus never stood a chance. From the day they met, James had filled his days with kindness, bright smiles, and laughter.

But loving James with a war on the horizon, and the world trying to pull them apart, is not easy, and Regulus isn’t sure they’ll survive it."

free the celestial body by @c0mbatchameleon // E

Regulus doesn't know anything about the universe or what love is supposed to look like. James knows a lot about the universe and he might know a bit about that love thing, too—even if he's still figuring it out.

Wolfstar

a vow to the dark by @orchideous-nox // E

“Evan…” Remus whispered, and that was the confirmation he needed. The fighting stopped. Anger still lingered, but he gave James a look and the hands clamped on his shoulders let go and he rolled them, stretching his neck. He took a step towards Remus and James went to move forward and grab him, only stopping when Remus lifted a hand in his direction without looking at him.

“I’m gonna kill him, that’s why I’m here. Peter Pettigrew. I’m going to kill him.”

preacher's dog by @del-stars // E

These crosses all over my body / Remind me of who I used to be / And Christ forgive these bones I'm hiding / From no one successfully

-

haunted by a string of tragedies in his family, sirius black sets out across america to escape the past and his reputation in his small town. along the way, he stumbles across remus lupin, a lonesome cowboy looking for love who's willing to help sirius make it out west. grappling with his own trauma and grief, sirius struggles to accept that he might be more than the preacher's son, after all.

Rosekiller

are we dating, are we fucking? by @v7lgar // E

“I didn’t know we were exclusive.”

Evan snorts, “I figured when you fucked Regulus behind my back, Barty.”

----- After sleeping with Regulus, Barty fucks up his relationship with Evan due to a misunderstanding. He wants Evan back more than anything, and nothing is going to stop him.

Bartylus

Same Boat (adding myself here as self promo oops)

Regulus and Barty meet at seveteen and everything changes. Throughout the years, the tension of their 'almost' first kiss lingers and grows.

---

5 times Regulus and Barty almost kiss and 1 time they do.

i wanna know what everyone is reading !!! more love for wips pls pls

np tags: @sixlane @v7lgar @velanavis @bloodbruise

@star4daisy @angel-daydreams @pretentiouswreckingball

@doomedtokill @del-stars @loonsloon @lavenderhaze

@c0mbatchameleon @orchideous-nox @futurequibblerjournalist

@solsticesage @arkieve @ultravioletbrit @moon-seas

@static-radio-ao3 @arcturism @staringathesunbabe @royalthorned

[antlered-prince]

The ValRayne Faeu Masterpost

Decided to finally make a masterpost for @owl-bones and I's fae au! This will be updated when I remember and contains all the relevant info and designs you might want (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

You can find more under the #valrayne-faeu tag on both of our blogs. Feel free to also use this tag or tag either of us in anything you make!

Last updated: 2/7/2024

Designs

Finished Dream (full body soon) Blue (will get a slight revamp) Ink Nightmare Killer (will also get a small revamp) WIPs Horror Dust (wings) Cross Error (wings)

How tall is everyone?

World Building

Designing OCs/Self-Inserts - ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR Can a human become fae? And visa versa? What kind of insect wings are associated with each court? What determines which Court you end up in? Rejecting becoming fae What if a fae tears off their own wings? Trying to return to the mortal realm early after being trapped Primary rules of interacting with the fae How big are the fae? What does the fae realm look like? How do you get to the fae realm? What might the fae find intriguing enough to take someone to their realm? Is there something unpleasant about the fae realm? Why wouldn't people enter the fae realm willingly? What would happen if you trick and fae instead? If a fae steals a concept can you trade it back? Iron, rowan and four leaf clovers What if a mortal manages to escape? Can fae and humans have children? Changelings Can fae be killed in some way? Do the Courts overlap our world? How knowledgeable is the average mortal? How do fae feel about Integrity souls? What is the aspect of Integrity souls that fae share? Why do fae trick people? Do fae normally have so many names? Enemies/Predators of the fae? How is a fae born? How were Dream and Nightmare born? Who is the most dangerous? Where do Dream and Nightmare stand in regards to each other?

Character Specific Asks

Dream If you can't lie, why avoid eye-contact? (Art) How can we trust you if you could be lying? Some insight on Fae Dream If Dream finds humans so interesting, why does he change them? Bird MC Drabble (ft Dream & Nightmare) Bird MC Drabble - Does Dream feel remorse? Bird MC Drabble - Can we make him understand the culture difference? Bird MC Drabble - Is there anything we can say to change his mind? What would Dream do in exchange for affection? (Art) Why is affection a big deal? Anonymous Dream Drabble He's totally non-threatening guys (Art)

Blue Blue and his conflicting values and nature (Art) I'd let him trick me (Art) I want to hug him! (Art) Who did this to you? (Scar)

Ink I'd use him as a model for painting (Art) What can I get with..... (Art)

Nightmare What is Nightmare's goal? Does Nightmare have a favourite trick? What would happen if he met his match? What's the best deal Nightmare has made? (Art) I would die to get my hands on that book What flowers are in the book? Nightmare's favourite flower? What would he want in exchange for a kiss? (Art) If we stay, would he be willing to give us information instead? If I stay for the (eternal) evening, where would I stay? What happens if we fall asleep in his library? (notes on Dream's garden & library) Nightmare would move us? (Library) If I asked for a hug, would he give one? Can I pet his wings? What is Nightmare's favourite noise/sound? Nightmare's wings (Art)

Killer What's Killer's favourite trick?

Dust What is Dust like?

Multiple Characters Who stole the ability to lie? Who is the liar theory (Art) Who would appreciate mortals being hard to trick? Names that Dream and Nightmare have collected Any Papyrus-type fae? (OG AUs design ideas) Can I hug Dream and Nightmare? Dream and Nightmare - Someone who didn't want to leave (Abusive family) Which fae are most likely to accidentally in-debt themselves? Someone staring while they talk because their voice is pretty (Reactions)

Other helpful refs

Beetle wing origami

[bogor-o]

Please share the rambles about how Lana eventually kills Ovidia? Pretty please?

ORGEHRTGRT i love that pretty please oerghag u got it lemme gather my garbled thoughts,,,

im super wishy-washy on whether i want that to commit to that being the end, but it certain is an end. Because theres a build up that leads into lana being ovidias end that i feel needs to be mentioned first

as i think more on ovidia as a person and their history, a lot of it shapes their perception on a perfect life including a "perfect" family and i think they end up subconsciously projecting a lot of it onto Lana and she does try to mold herself into this image of a perfect child for her Baba

but because ovidia isnt being truthful about even to themself about why they do what they "have to" whether its leading their followers the way they with a lot of manipulation and making them believe in this image of a perfect Mother and family that they've carefully curated, or even how they specifically talk to and treat their children and why there is almost a clear sense of favoritism that is kind of always there

this denial is also the reason their ascension is slow and unpleasant, because a process that would not normally take more than maybe a century or two to even begin is being stretched out because theyre actively fighting the crown against it. it isnt apart of their plan, of ovidias plan. so any changes that come from ascending are painful and slow and its entirely because ovidia is so deep in denial of their true self

they dont want to think theyre playing favorites, and its not obvious to anyone but Narinder at first that they view the kids very differently from each other and while hes tries to talk about it ovidia just has a way of icing him out because they just flat out will not admit it.

and this is the point i realized that there are two diverging paths for them, and if they accept and realize where it comes from and why theyre doing this they have the capacity to at least start to mend the damage theyve made which at that point wouldnt be until Lana is already an older child (like 10-12)

or they never address it and never change, they stagnate in their ability to ascend and unbeknownst to them, the crown had always taken a liking to Lana and her innate interest in death and murder, and naturally has been putting thoughts into that childs head for longer than ovidia would have guessed

(wip of something i might finish eventually but u kno, just 2 emphasize that lana adores the crown)

and it wouldnt be until lana is older, and is acknowledged by her baba to be a grown and capable person that its basically the final nail in the coffin. Lanas mental check list is finished for the developmental part of her own life, now all thats left is to become an usurper, just like their idol!

because shes always wanted to be just like Mother.

the method of murder would involve the years of honing in all the inherited abilities that come with being the kid of a god, but them still being a god it'd be hard wouldnt it? not if the crown is so willing to betray its master, and when its got a guaranteed new head to sit on its not that hard to imagine itd turn coat and reveal the secret to killing a god huh

[gtlurker]

Chapter one

Pin

Each thunderous footstep outside my hiding spot sends a brand new wave of fear coursing through my body. For the past six months I have been coming to this highschool, after finding a herb in the garden of the house I live in that lets me grow to a human size.

And it had been without incident! I'm absolutely great at acting like a human, after all, I had been studying them the majority of my life. I know that humans like conversing with strangers, so I was sure to introduce myself to every human I met. People talk about me constantly, which must mean I'm pretty well liked.

And I'm sure that if any of my classmates found me like this, they'd be kind since they already know me and enjoy my presence. Still, it's not a risk I'm willing to take, it would not just jeopardize my own safety, but also the secret of my kind as a whole. I'd rather not be the reason for my entire race. And that leaves me in my current predicament, alone, hiding behind something I heard someone called a “resickle bin” trying to figure out a way to get home.

The bell rang close to an hour ago, most students had left. Once all the lights go out, I'll try to find a way into the walls. If those herbs grew in the backyard of my home, they should probably grow around here too! Plants do grow outside, and there's a garden in the school. So logically there should be some here too. Until then though i'll camp in the walls, hopefully close to the cafeteria in order to get some food. A sudden, loud,

BANG “fuck.”

Falls next me, unmistakable, terrifying, and all to close. A human, and from the curse and loud crash, I'm assuming he fell. My chest tightens, nails digging into my palm as I start to back away until I hit the wall. Humans, while fasictating from afar and interesting when at the same height. Are terrifying beings who can, and probably will hurt me, or try to capture me if one sees me like this. I've seen what they do to the frogs in the labs, will the human do the same to me if he sees me?

Will he pin me down by my hands and ankles to drag his scalpel over my flesh? Will he have the mercy to kill me first? I start to pull at the threads of my dress as his head turns, tears prick in the corner of my eyes as I turn to run, hoping to move before he notices me. I duck behind the second bin, the grey one i've heard people call the “garage bin” hoping, praying, that he doesn't see me. My prayers go unheard or unanswered, a quiet whisper. “No way. . .” leaves the boy, and I know I'm screwed. I press my hands to the baseboard, hoping to find a loose board I can use to get into the walls, to safety. A loud scraping of the bin against the floor makes my blood run cold and my ears ring. I'm frozen, feet stuck in place while I scream for them to move, to run. To do anything to get out of here and away. This whole thing was a mistake, thinking a borrower could live amongst humans was insane and foolish, and it's going to be the reason I die. Ill be the reason the entirety of my kind will be discovered, killed, captured. It will all be my fault. All because I was curious. “Um, hello? Little one… wait is that offensive?” I flinch and wip around at the sound of the human voice. Our eyes meet, mine wide with terror and his sparkling with wonder. A moment passes, a long, painful moment where we just stare. And then I see it in his eyes the moment it hits me. Recognition. He recognizes me. Elliott wood. Him and I share a few classes together. He's the one who comes over and pulls me away silently from conversations with the kids who make comments or question my clothing or actions. He's kind, yes. But curiosity tends to kill kindness. “Holy shit- pin? Why are you. . . small now? What happened?” he asks, voice too loud, i take a step back as he leans closer. I can't bring myself to answer. He does not seem to realize I'm not human, and I might be able to use this to my advantage. I keep my mouth shut so I don't verbally screw myself over. “Okay, um, okay. Should I take you home? Your parents probably would want to know their daughter is uh, four inches tall.” he says. Actually i think they'd be quite relieved i'm still this height. Shit, what do I say? I don't have a conventional home to go back to. And I don't have parents he can give me to. Timidly I shake my head no, fingers crossed in hopes he'll leave me be now. He opens his mouth to say something, but it is cut off by the click of heels against the floor. “Elliot? Schools over, what are you still doing here?” the voice of an older woman, most likely a teacher asks. Elliot turns his head to face her. “Oh um, I just lost my earbud. Trying to find it.” he says. He glances at me, an apologetic twing in his eyes. Before his hand reaches out. I barely have time to react before his fingers are wrapping around my torso and pulling me up. My hand flies to my mouth as I bite back a scream. The rest of the conversation between him and the teacher is muffled to my squirms and fight for freedom as he tucks me into the front pocket of his backpack. He zips it shut, leaving a small hole for air not big enough for me to climb out. I'm sent tumbling to a corner as he lifts his bag and ungraciously slings it over his shoulder. The wind is knocked out of me and I'm left gasping for air. Nausea soon hits as I'm aggressively jostled around in the bag. Everytime i think I've gained balance I'm knocked off my feet. Bile rises in my throat, and I'm quick to force it back down. Each step he takes rattles me to my core. It's like being thrown into a dryer put on the highest setting as he sprints down the street to what I can only assume is his home. This is bad, this is so very, very bad. Getting caught by a human is already a shit situation, being taken to a second location? Way worse. And the head injury I'm going to get if he keeps running only adds to the hell of this. Luckily though, there is a positive. He knows me already, and he thinks I'm human, a very small human.

But human nonetheless. Reaching to either side of me, I grab the shifting fabric of the bag to stabilize and pull myself into a sitting position. Finnialy, I hear a door open and shut, before he sets the backpack down with a thud that forces me to yelp involentarly. I hear him mutter an apology, followed by three more apologies that i dont pay attention to.

Im to busy stealing my nerves and preparing myself to face my classmate, without him figuring out my secret.

[rendiamberspirit]

Thanks @sanska for tagging me!

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fics, and then tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don't be shy and share anyway.

I went with my most recent WIP's because I don't have any new chapters started on my longer fics or I'm working on them with someone else.

@oneplotthickens @doveywovy @domoz-writes @iznlover @sinaprime @littlemiss44 @justsomeoneunordinary @gatodongem @flor-of-desert

Title pending (Tobirama and Hashirama)

Tobirama wasn’t home. He should be home by now. Hashirama was panicking. Tou-sama had ordered Hashirama not to go after Tobirama but it’s been two days since Tobirama should have been back. He feels so hopeless. It’s then he feels a pull from the tree’s. Like they are speaking to him.Hashirama really wasn’t sure about listening to the tree’s, there were legends about other Mokuton users that had been turned into a tree because they connected too deeply with them.

Soulmate Body Swap (MadaTobi)

Madara wakes up slowly in agony, he feels drugged. But that can't be right, he had a boring night in last night. The most interesting thing he did last night was playing Go with Izuna. He tries to run his forehead and find his arm shackled. That woke him right up. With a groan he forces himself to sit up and address his surroundings.His first realization is that this is a cell. A dark one, he had assumed the darkness was from his black out curtains but no. Great.

The note (TobiIzu)

Tobirama walks up to his door and sees a note taped to it. It's a message from Izuna, he pulls down the note and reads it aloud. “Grabbing dinner with Madara, eat without me. Love you <3” Tobirama glares down at the note in his hand. What the fuck? Less than what 3? Madara is no surprise, but who are the other two?Maybe Hikaku? They are cousins after all and pretty close. He's okay with being less than Hikaku. They are family after all. But who is the third?

Arranged Marriage FemMadara (MadaTobi)

“Listen I know any man will have trouble submitting to his wife, but I have no intention of being a submissive housewife at home. I will rule my household the same way I rule my clan. So I think with that in mind it might be best to see if you have any women in your clan who would be willing to marry another woman. I don't care about status, higher will obviously appease the elders more, but I know that will likely be difficult.” “Do you even like women Madara?” "I could find them attractive."

Shifter AU (MadaTobi)

Obviously Madara was aware that Tobirama was a shifter, all the Shinobi in the village were so no one ever mistook Tobirama for a giant wolf and tried to attack him. But until now Madara never had the chance to see him shifted, he just knew a general proscription of what his shifted form looked like. His imagination was woefully lacking. The wolf in front of him is massive, it's coloring somewhat similar to Tobirama though it has darker fur in some places. Most interesting though is the fact that the wolf had the same red markings on his face.

FemTobirama (TobiIzu)

Tobirama always had wild hair, sticking up at odd angles, looking like she just rolled out of bed. Not the most attractive look. Also to be honest Izuna wasn't into the haircut she had. Sure her face was pretty, but her haircut made her look like a teenage boy with her soft face and wild short hair. At least that's what Izuna has always thought. Apparently he had her pegged all wrong. Usually when visiting the Daimyo it was both clan heads and the heirs stayed home to protect the clan.

Soulmate AU (TobiHika)

He stares down at his hand in shock. The hand connected to his pulls away and clenches, leaving a red hand print in its place. Tobirama's eyes follow that hand as it's pulled up to its owner and slowly opened. There too is a red hand print. Tobirama looks back at his hand. Still red. He finally regains some composure and looks up to meet the eyes of his soulmate. They've never spoken directly to each other. The only reason they shook hands today was because he sat in Izuna's place while he stayed back at the compound for some clan matters.

A/B/O AU (TobiHika)

The mission was straight forward enough, honestly Hikaku probably could have done it by himself, but missions were always done with a minimum of two shinobi. That and Tobirama just wanted to get out of the village and stretch his legs, get into an actual fight where he can go all out without risking anyone getting hurt. Well anyone that mattered.It was always an upside to these missions when he got to go with someone whose company he enjoyed. Hikaku definitely fell under that category.

Nystagmus (MadaTobi)

Eye contact has always been important to Tobirama. It's a sign of respect, and a reliable way to build trust. So once peace is made Tobirama decides he will give up a decades worth of training telling him not to look an Uchiha in the eyes. Except they won't look him in the eye. At first he thinks maybe they just make a point of not making eye contact as a clan, perhaps it's disrespectful, or perhaps something to do with the Sharingan? Except he quickly realized they do it with everyone else.

Time Travel AU (Hashirama and Tobirama)

Hashirama sits in a silent room filled with all of his brother's worldly possessions. It was supposed to be Tobirama's room. Only he died before they even moved into the village.In fact his death marked the first death in the village. Tobirama had gone with a group of Uchiha and Senju builders to frame the layout of the village, but unfortunately they were attacked. Tobirama always put others before himself so it wasn't a surprise when the combined group had shown up on Senju lands.

[quibbs126]

So as sort of mentioned last night, I wanted to try and improve my human designs somewhat, and D-16 was the character I wanted to try that with, so here he is

Well actually, the main crux of this drawing was just to give him freckles, but it helped in the human design aspect too

The idea for giving him freckles came from a WIP I saw on Twitter, where due to the texture of the brush for either shading or lighting, it looked like the person’s D-16 design had freckles, and I liked that idea. They replied that it was just the brush, but the idea stuck in my head, so I wanted to give him a little freckle

I don’t know how noticeable they are in this final drawing, maybe I could have made them darker, but he’s got some freckles now

Also I didn’t get any replies for good freckle brushes, but I decided to just go looking for some and imported a set of brushes for it and found one I liked

But honestly, aside from the freckles, I’m well aware that design wise, there’s not really any originality to this, I kind of just did take elements from other human designs I liked. I’m willing to admit that

Also, I don’t really know how to draw this type of hair, I should probably work on that. I’d say it’s because I don’t know anyone with this style of hair (I live under a rock, especially during the summer where I basically can’t leave the house for 4 months outside of the occasional trip), but that’s probably not a good answer, nor am I sure it applies. It might just be that I’m too lazy to draw textured hair, not sure if that’s the correct word

But anyways, moving on from design things. I will say, I think I improved on the details of the face, at least compared to my usual

Quite literally the trick was to just take how I now draw the TF One, or for the most part, Transformer faces, and just put it on a human

Now the two main issues are ears, because I don’t have the robots as a previous reference, and applying this to non-Transformer characters, because again, no references to draw from. But oh well

But yeah, I just wanted to share this, overall I think the goal of this drawing was achieved, and the design isn’t bad for my standards

[the-kingshound]

And I know most people are not silent out of disinterest, but rather because they are busy, stressed, or shy. But please, please, understand feedback is what we neeed to keep writing. Every little comment makes a difference, I swear.

I don't know why but I feel a little guilty because I'm the one who asked what you'd like to know more about my MC but I haven't gave it yet. It's mostly because I tend to headcanon a lot, and the thing with headcanon is I'm not sure if it fits the story. Even if it's a headcanon, I'd like to put it in the context of the story.

Don't get me wrong though! Uhh, I'm a little awkward with sharing MCs, or in my case OCs in the TKH universe as the MC. I'm really not creative with names, so it gets a little awkward when I share MCs from different IFs and they all have the same name and looks...

Ahahah.... Little ramble there. But I really like your work and I'm excited to see how it goes! I check often when you post something, mostly the asks and especially the scenario asks because they give me more glimpses of the character that the WIP hasn't discussed yet.

I'm also a little awkward with rambling, but I'm willing to yap about your work if you're okay with it! I mean, of course you're okay with it, but I still want to make sure.

I'd like to say, again, that I'm excited for any upcoming updates because your story is really cool so far and I can't wait to see how it goes, especially how slow burn (soft or not) it will be because your characters do have something going on and I wonder if there's soft healing somewhere in there. Also, I'd do anything for Mordred (the kid right?) no cap.

I hope you don't think I'm doing this out of pity or anything. I want to try talking a little more and letting the authors know how I feel because I'm usually a silent reader and I read completed, physical works most of my childhood (so y'know I can't really give any comments)

And I'm rambling too much. Pls take care of yourself dear author and keep up the good work :)))

Much love,

Ryn

Hi Rin❤️ thank you so much for the lovely ask (honestly even if you do this for pity I don't care, I'm kind of a slut sucker for asks)

Noo please don't feel guilty! I feel guilty on my end for not answering for all the asks I get, and it's not a great or constructive feeling. I totally understand feeling awkward or shy, but I am going to confess something: I don't get upset at all by headcanons, even if others might consider them awkward or "cringe". They just denote the love for my story, and so that's what they mean to me. And I love readers rambling. I adore it.

You could send paragraphs of text to me and I'd read it all multiple times happily, like a plant with water I get fed every time someone sends me a long ask.

Oh the slow burn is indeed the default situation, even if MC and/or RO catch feelings early. Because the situation is complicated, and each character has their own things to deal with. I am happy to have you along for the ride (even if it will probably take years :,))

[oldfashionedmorphine]

mondays have become my new wednesdays (for wips) since i work on wednesday instead of monday now lol…so with that said, here’s a wip for my byler + henderhop 10 things i hate about you au :)

it’s much longer than i would usually share but i worked a lot on these scenes the past two days and i wish i could start posting this story already, but unfortunately i keep writing everything out of order and there’s a lot that still needs work for the first chapter 🥲 but for now, please enjoy my two favorite schemers; dustin and lucas <3

—————

“Dude, you’ll never guess what happened!”

“What?”

Dustin looks around at the bustling hallway. “On second thought—not here, too many ears,” he says, then he leads Lucas into the nearest bathroom. And Lucas sighs at him when he checks under the stalls to make sure the coast is clear first. “Okay, so get this—she didn’t say no!”

“Huh?”

“I asked Jane out and she didn’t say no.”

“Wait—she actually said yes?”

“Well, no—she still isn’t allowed to date, just like you said—but stay with me a moment, ‘cause here’s the kicker—her dad just changed the rules! She told me she can date once her brother does. Can you believe it?! All we have to do is find someone for him and then it’s a done deal!”

“Uh…we?”

“Yeah, well, I thought since I don’t exactly know enough people around here that maybe you’d have a better idea of who’d be up for such a challenge. ‘Cause Jane said Will’s kind of a—”

“Dick?”

“Yup,” he says, nodding. “So?”

“So, what?”

“Do you know someone who might be interested in dating a difficult guy?”

“Uh…yeah, so here’s the thing…Will’s—”

“Gay? Yeah, I know—Jane told me that already.”

“Right, but that’s the problem—I don’t know of any other gay guys in school. He’s kinda the only one.”

“Oh—shit. That sucks."

“Sorry.”

“No, no—it’s fine. Like every other problem there’s always a solution. We just have to think outside the box.”

“Uh-huh.” Lucas checks his watch. “Well, we only got five more minutes until class starts, so maybe we should—”

“Hold on, I just need a sec—it’ll come to me…” Dustin taps a finger on his bottom lip as he starts to pace back and forth while Lucas folds his arms and leans against the wall. Think, dammit—if no one else in this school is gay, and finding someone outside of town would be too much of a logistical nightmare to try and arrange, then how could we get this to work? It’s not like we can force someone to be gay…but maybe—maybe someone could just pretend—yes! That’s it! He snaps his fingers. “I got it! What if—what if we find a guy and we convince him to pretend he’s interested in Will?”

Lucas furrows his brow. “What?”

“Think about it—we don’t need them to actually be gay, they just need to pretend they are.”

“And how would you convince someone to do that?”

“Easy—with money. Everyone has a price, right?”

“I don’t know about that—would you fake being gay for money?”

“I’m not a potential suitor, so my own personal answer to that question is completely irrelevant to the point I’m making.”

“In other words; no?”

“What?! I never said that! All I’m trying to say is that there’s gotta be one guy in this school willing to date Will for a couple bucks!”

“Well,” Lucas shrugs, “I guess…potentially there is at least one guy I can think of who’d maybe be up for it if the money’s good enough—I mean, I don’t know him that well, I’ve just heard some stuff, so no guarantees—but I definitely don’t have enough money to convince anyone of anything.”

“Me either…” Dustin hums, then he snaps his fingers again. “Which means we’re also gonna need someone to help finance the operation—someone rich, but also stupid enough to believe it's all their idea. Know anyone like that?”

“Actually…yeah.” Lucas grins. “You remember Troy, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, the other day after practice, I overheard him in the locker room talking with some of the guys…about Jane.”

“Oh yeah? What’d he say?”

“They were kinda ragging on him a little about how he’s never had a girlfriend and he mentioned that she was the only girl in school he was interested in and how much it sucked she can’t date anyone. So…it’ll probably be pretty easy to convince him to try and pay a guy to date Will if he truly thinks it’ll give him a chance with her.”

“Okay—yeah. We can work with that,” Dustin says. “Think you can get him on board?”

“I’ll talk to him during lunch, but we gotta get to class before—” the bell rings, “—and we’re late.”

“Shit. Sorry.”

“Man, you owe me a soda.”

🟦🟨🟩🟦🟨🟩🟦🟨🟩🟦🟨🟩🟦🟨🟩🟦🟨

Halfway through lunchtime, they get the ball rolling on their ploy with Troy.

Lucas hangs back for a couple minutes while Dustin gets into place. He slides into a seat at a table adjacent to Troy and his friends as nonchalantly as possible—Lucas told him the plan would work best if he didn’t hover, so the compromise was for him to sit within earshot while pretending to study his chemistry textbook. So far they hadn’t noticed him. He gives Lucas a thumbs up from across the cafeteria, then he watches as Lucas signals back before he moves to approache Troy’s table.

“Aye yo, Troy,” Lucas says with a casual upward nod.

Troy looks up at Lucas, seeming mildly annoyed at the intrusion. “Sinclair,” he replies.

“Got a sec?”

“For now. What’s up?”

Lucas takes a seat in one of the empty chairs. “So, uh…couldn’t help but overhear you talking the other day,” he says, then lowers his voice to a whisper and Dustin can barely hear him, “about Jane Hopper.”

He huffs. “Yeah, what about her?”

“I just…I had a thought—figured it couldn’t hurt to run it by you, you know, just to see if it’s something you’d be interested in.”

Troy shares a quick look with one of his friends—James something, from what Dustin can remember—then he looks back at Lucas, shrugging a shoulder. “Shoot.”

“Okay, so, basically, the situation seems to be that you wanna get with Jane, but her dad won’t let her date anyone until her brother starts dating, yet the odds of that ever happening are practically zero, since you’ve got two major factors working against you when it comes to Will Byers; obviously, everyone knows he’s gay, so the—”

“Are you planning on telling me something I don’t already know anytime soon, Sinclair?”

“Dude, let me finish.”

“Then spit it out already.”

“Hire someone. Pay a guy to take him out—ideally someone not afraid of a little challenge since he’s a bit of a headcase.”

Troy frowns, and when it seems as if a cat had got his tongue, his friend James speaks up, “Got anyone in mind?”

Lucas scans the cafeteria, then he points to the guy he told him about earlier—Mike Wheeler. “Him.”

“Frogface?” James says, laughing as he nudges Troy in the arm.

“Yup. He’s the one you want.”

“Okay, but why him?” Troy asks, brow still furrowed.

“Well, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but the word is that his parents cut him off after he got sent to juvie during sophomore year, so he’s always strapped for cash now—my friend Greg said he was even bragging to some guys in his English class about how he sold part of his liver on the black market to buy a new bass guitar last summer. So I highly doubt he’d say no if you make it worth his while. Plus, he’s clearly done way worse shit than having to date someone like Will Byers—just seems like a solid investment to me.”

“Right,” Troy says—he doesn’t seem convinced or all that interested. “If you say so.”

“Hey—all I’m saying is it can’t hurt to see if he’s willing. You’ve really got nothing to lose if he says no, but everything to gain if he says yes. He gets paid, you get laid—just sayin’.”

Troy’s face turns the slightest shade of pink. He glances around the table at his friends, then looks back at Lucas, nodding. “I’ll consider it…but why the hell are you even telling me this anyway? What’s in it for you?”

“Simple. You get Coach to let me start for finals. I’m tired of being kept on the bench until the last five minutes of the game in the hopes I’ll score him a Hail Mary. Because it’s complete bullshit. You know full well we wouldn’t even need a Hail Mary if he gave me more time on the court, but for some strange reason Coach doesn’t see it that way, and we all know you’re the only one who can change his mind—seeing as he’s your dad and all.”

“Fine. But I swear, Sinclair, you better not choke if—”

Lucas snorts, then he gets up from the table. “Trust me, I won’t…anyway, I’ll catch you ladies later at practice.” He starts to walk away and nods at Dustin, signaling him to follow him, and then they both head toward the cafeteria exit.

“Are we sure we can trust him though?” Dustin asks once they’re in the hallway.

“Man, I wouldn’t trust Troy any farther than you could throw him…but if he can’t convince Mike to take out Will, then it won’t even matter anyway. Right?”

“True…”

tagging some of my fans: @boahey @total-serene560 @magentamee @greenfiend @foodiewithdahoodie @smalltownwheeler @stranger-things-yapper

[deadly-diminuendo]

WIP Wednesday

Time to share another snippet! And it's actually happening on a Wednesday this time! The lovely @amoremagnificentbastard tagged me this time, so thank you! 💖

I've unfortunately had a bunch of things getting in the way of my writing time lately, but here is yet another piece of the upcoming third chapter of A Fitting Reunion. And we're starting to move into NSFW territory, so check it out under the cut!

"Let me state the obvious because it seems obvious is what you need: I love you." How new to your ears those words still are and yet you already think the sound of them sweeter than any song. You beam at him, because of course you do, and he beams right back, because of course he does, because this, this togetherness, is what you both want, what you both need, what you both deserve. That look, so full of adoration, beckons you forward, and so you move in slowly, kiss him softly, hold him sweetly. He does the same, at first, an arm wrapping around your back, the opposite hand snaking its way down to cup your backside. Not that you resist. Nor do you resist when, unexpectedly, he pulls you hard against him, laughter bubbling out of you from the surprise and the clumsiness of it. And yet, here you are in his lap, and here he is guiding your legs to straddle him, and it dawns upon you just how suggestive this new position is. Even the slightest roll of your hips might have… well, quite the arousing effect. Oh, he knows exactly what he's doing, the sneak. And, if this is how he wants you, then that must mean— "And," he says before you can finish the thought, "I'm willing to explore anything and everything that loving you means." Anything. Everything. Never have those two words sounded so sublime, his voice like velvet, his implication indisputable. Your imagination runs rampant, unlimited and unsuppressed, your mind opening itself fully to passion and possibility. And you hope imagination will blossom into beautiful reality. Astarion buries his face into your neck, peppering it with little kisses—maddeningly where you know he knows it tickles—revelling in every giggle he draws out of you. Vexing though it is, yes, the levity of it amuses you, calms your nerves. You did, back in those early days, feel most ease with him whenever you would let yourselves be silly. You remember it well. Perhaps so does he. And then—when tension fades, when you are limp and pliable in his arms—the mood shifts. Then, he kisses you where it doesn't tickle. Then, those sounds spilling out of you are decidedly not laughter. His mouth moves to meet yours. A heady mixture of love and lust swirls about in your mind, and you succumb to it, to him, to every brush of his tongue and graze of his teeth. Almost embarrassing how little it takes to make you squirm about in his lap—but his body answers yours just as readily, the twitch of him against you leaving no doubt to his burgeoning desire. This is really going to happen, isn't it? "And"—you mourn the loss of his lips—"if all of this is somehow not obvious enough"—but his husky tone has you enraptured—"then let me be clear: I will not be satisfied tonight unless and until I've fucked you thoroughly."

No pressure tags (and my apologies to anyone who has been tagged recently already!): @strixamans, @denesmera, @goodgirlgonebard, @verbenaa, @larvasmoon, @vividiana, @inkymoonbunny @dramatiquechipmunk, @khywren, @roguishcat, @larvasmoon + anyone else who wants to share something! ❤️

[rebelfell]

please I've gotta ask about Never Have I Ever skinny dipping with Steve! Any crumbs you're willing to share I'll gladly eat up!!!

Hi, darling! You get a lot because I actually have quite a bit of this one written 🤭 Enjoy!

“Steve, seriously?!”

Everyone else’s heads turned, whirling around onthe host of your gathering who was still holding up the same number of fingers and looking none too pleased about being called out for it.

The tips of his ears burned bright pink, standing out against the chestnut locks of hair that curled around them in messy disarray as he looked down at his lap. You slapped a hand over your mouth trying (and failing) to stop your own laughter.

“Sorry, sorry—I didn’t mean to…” you giggled, swaying in your toasted state. “I just meant, you have that beautiful pool and you’ve never—”

“Why’s that weird?” Steve snapped, his harsh glare turning on you. “Just because I have a pool, I automatically have to float around in it with my junk hanging out?”

You shook your head and rolled your eyes, hardly phased by his outburst. For someone who’d been so eager to play at the start, the sour look he was sporting indicated the game wasn’t going quite the way he must have envisioned.

It seemed the former king of Hawkins High wasn’t quite as experienced as his reputation might have lead one to believe. He was practically a prude.

Really, things had been going downhill ever since Argyle’s turn when he admitted never had he ever ‘wined, dined and 69-ed’ and Steve had to watch Nancy and Jonathan both drink while his own beer remained untouched in front of him.

Even Barb had lost more fingers than Steve.

Only one, but still.

“It’s not weird, it’s surprising is all,” you amended, a pacifying tone only making his hazel eyes flash with more indignation as he licked his lips and parted them to argue back.

“We used to do it all the time,” Heather suddenly chimed in from her spot in the circle.

“All the time?” Steve scoffed in disbelief, his head whipping in her direction. “Really?”

“Fucking Billy always scheduled us to close down the pool,” Chrissy explained with a grimace. Her pillowy pink lips curved into a wily smile, seaglass eyes twinkling with mischief as she raised her cup again. “So we tried to make the most of it.”

The group erupted in a mix of woos and chuckles as Chrissy and Heather bent their heads together, strawberry blonde waves brushing against tight, brunette coils as their noses nuzzled.

Steve’s eyes almost rolled to the ceiling. “Okay, but you guys work at the pool—”

“And you have one in your backyard!”

Eddie jumped in next, his voice booming and beer sloshing as he gestured wildly. The grin on his face made you smile, but the look on Steve’s had your chest twinging with regret. You hadn’t meant for everyone to start dogpiling on him.

“Yeah, but—”

“Forget about it! Nobody cares!” you groaned. “Just go already, it’s your turn.”

Steve’s eyes rolled again and he huffed slightly, but abandoned his attempt to defend himself.

“Fine,” he said, zeroing in on your lone finger.

You cringed inwardly at how vulnerable the last round had left you, but remained cavalier as ever on the outside, shooting him back a challenging smirk. Steve’s eyes narrowed as he thought and then lit up as a shockingly evil smile spread across his annoyingly handsome face.

“Never have I ever…kissed someone over ten years older than me.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

wander through my wips

[aldisobey]

WIP WHENEVER

Got tagged! So hello @heylittleriotact that new chapter was so damn good love to you and that soon. @holdingontojupiter my god after hours and priest fic I’m melting and @xxnashiraxx okay you tagged me and I am entranced by your prose but this is spoiler territory for the game and I know you just started playing lol so skip if need.

taggin to smooch your forehead I figure you’ve been tagged for this game already: @emmg @ollypopwrites @caffeinatedmunchkin @razildor @thepalehorsevictoria @by-ilmater @lavenderprose

This is an old WIP. This story is still in progress. Sharing some of what I’ve got before I disappear to keep chewing on that Foolproof chapter. This would be while SPOILER Rook is trapped in Fade and Emmlich has gone to the Necropolis for assistance and the like. But this bit is mostly how Emmrich met Rook.

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

Charmed

Was that all he said? A single word? Emmrich recalled the warmth, Rook’s smile, the polite curiosity, the flash of terror at the piercing scream. The lich turned a look down the Necropolis hall. The exact same. The first steps joined.

Perhaps he could find a trace, a sign, he adjusted sight, the Fade pressed close here, and the memories haunted his steps. Whispered images, strong impressions. His own mind played out the real as he recalled. Like ghosts they moved with him.

Would you two mind accompanying me further into the Shrouded Halls?

Toward that screaming?

Fear from the start. And yet never a complaint. Emmrich folded his hands behind him. Kept walking, followed the conjured images recalled by environment and gentle weave of magic pushed by a thought. Hopped down a ledge, passed through archways, finally looked long at the space where the despair spirit had appeared.

Fascinating, isn’t it? The confusion, the continued polite smirks, Take your word for it. Ah. Yes. Not many would consider a ‘demon’ fascinating would they? The ghostly Rook threw back a smile.

Emmrich flinched. And an image of his mortal self strode through him to meet that grin. Something caught. Recall of a flutter, a buzz, scratched across bone. A heart might have jumped, skin sport sweat, the lich tensed his hand. Watched that flashing smirk charge towards the memory of cold despair.

Plenty of swearing, plenty of dodging and still more getting hit by blasts of frost. The lich watched the old mortal self, the eyes gone wide, the jaw a bit slack, echoed a gasp. A small tired tilt to the skull, the first impression had been correct. There was no rhythm, no flow, no thought…

Careful, Rook! It’s singled you out! A swear was cut off as the rogue disappeared, but near moments later Rook appeared alone. Triumphant and bleeding from the skull. He’d been excited, laughing at Davrin that he was up in the count. His fellow warden complained, that last one wasn’t fair. Emmrich silenced them both by rushing over. The lich watched the mortal ghost stride towards Rook. Back him up towards a short waist high wall to sit with a tut.

“What?” A shaky grin at first, a few hesitant steps back, but Rook separated from Davrin befuddled, but willing, “Professor Vol…?”

“Just, Emmrich, please. Sit?” Rook did sit, but he threw a look over the necromancer’s shoulder to Davrin, and as one the Warden’s shrugged in confusion. Then he turned to look up at the mage leaning over him, shrank back at the closeness. Cleared his throat and looked straight ahead, eyes searching for Davrin. “Emmrich, I’m fine we should keep moving.”

“The Shrouded Halls need clearing but lives are not in danger.” The towering man ignored the haste of the patient below, had already completed the visual assessment required, “We’re not moving on when we have a moment to spare for a head injury, Rook. Especially one I didn’t witness.” The first crook of brow, the first use of that tone, “You’re downplaying the severity as well,” he nearly pressed a hand to forehead, peered instead, could see the skin flap down, bone below. And sighed. The memory of Rook gulped, dropped weight on the wall and looked anywhere but into the hazel.

“Fine. Quick yeah…” his…his face had gone flush. He hadn’t noticed in the past’s truth, so focused on checking the edge of the cut, the integrity of the skull.

“Please hold still a moment.”

The rogue still looked askance, calmed the flush, voice lighter, “So uh, thanks for the warning back there too.”

“Mhmm.” Emmrich was taking the Warden’s distraction to do a full once over just in case. Thankfully nothing pressing presented itself, but he did clean the cut on the forehead. Treated the edge with care where that frost might set. Then held his hand hovering over the wound, barest brush of a fingertip moving hair out of the way. Low muttered incantation, a hiss of almost seafoam green coated the necromancer’s hand, and then he moved it forward to skin. And where that color touched flesh knit whole again, until bone was hidden and bleeding ceased. The spell ended with Emmrich’s palm resting where the injury had been, and when he pulled away no sign of it remained. Though the previous scar that crossed over the spot kept place

Rook’s eyes were wide, still stared far beyond the mage. Emmrich didn’t seem to note or mind, only busied himself with checking once more that his work was complete. Spoke as a doctor might to a recurring patient.

“Now I understand the need for urgency, but not at the expense of your well-being.” That caused a blink from the rogue, and when lids opened eyes focused finally on Emmrich, “At the very least consider that you’re giving your enemies an extra weakness to exploit.”

Rook grinned wide, chuckled low once, and let grin fade to smirk as he leaned in for the breath of a moment to Emmrich’s ear, “That’s the point.”

Emmrich’s eyes went wide this time, moved back with a hushed, “What?”

“If I give them a good target they’ll usually go for it. Predictable enemy is an easy one right?” Laughing now Rook patted the necromancer’s shoulder. “Nah but thanks this one stung.”

Rook hopped off the wall. And what the lich could perceive, as audience to scene, that the mortal memory remained blind to, was the scarlet red now coating the rogue. Davrin had a front seat. No wonder he’d laughed so when Rook squeaked out a, “Your turn!! Go on if I have to get a once over so do you!”

A waggled brow from the elf, “You sure…” And Rook slugged him in the shoulder before anything further could be said. That broke Emmrich from the daze with a grumble.

“Rook!” The rogue’s ears went red, his back remained turned to the necromancer, “As this group’s new ‘de facto physician’ I would kindly ask that you refrain from injuring any of my patients.”

The rogue winced, head dropping shoulders rising. Davrin laughed again and sat down in front of the Professor for a quick ‘check-up’. Rook was running off, muttering about hearing something and scouting ahead while he waited on them, ducked round a corner some yards off.

Another sigh from the mortal he’d been. “He best not wander far, newcomers have had altercations with our skeletal attendants before.” Emmrich muttered more to himself than to the new patient at hand.

Davrin, countenance serene, kept perfectly at ease. Shrugged, “Oh he’ll make fast friends if he finds any.” And he spoke friendly, overly so, voice carrying far down the hall, “Rook loves old bones, can’t keep him off em.” A hint of a chuckle deep in his chest.

“Shut up!!” The retort was immediate. Rook had barely moved, kept just out of sight and his hand shot out from around the corner to throw a bird Davrin’s way. Howls of shared laughter echoed in the Necropolis.

That faded memory of a mortal remained silent. Looked after the space where Rook had disappeared. Already finished in glancing over the pristine warrior in front of him. How long had it been? Laughter like that here?

The pleasant thought disappeared as Davrin went running after Rook, the two still laughing despite the noise it might draw from forces around. Emmrich sighed, followed, pinched the bridge of his nose as he turned the corner to see a jostle from the warrior nearly send the rogue tumbling into a pool, far off words sounding a bit like ‘need to cool off?’ but there was Venatori to take care of by the time he caught up for chastisement or clarification.

The lich wrung his hands, turned from following the conjured scene. Rook wouldn’t be found in the Necropolis would he? No press of the Fade here would draw him.

“Young Volkarin.”

Emmrich froze.