#thank you so much for your wonderful patience

[tame-the-lion-writes]

alpha!slasher!königx omega!reader

CW: implied murder, (and in bonus thoughts) implied kidnapping, non-consensual drug use

Damn pheromones.

If it weren't for petty social sensibilities, König would be clamping a hand over his nose to stifle the thoughts--and scents--running through his mind. In the past, it wasn't so bad. Alphas like him were drawn but could otherwise stand their existence(--at least until the addicting whiff of a heat). But omegas smelled so artificial these days; sickly sweet, like candy, or even worse--chemicals. Perfumes made to amplify the already-overwhelming smell of sugar. More like cough medicine hacked down with two bottles of water. And even a spoonful was far too much.

But the woman across the table seemed to flaunt that.

Silly thing--he thought. Pretty, by all standards, as omegas often were, but silly. Sure, he'd agreed to court her and bring her to a high class restaurant, just as his salary and rank could provide, but that cherry red smile on her lips seemed as plastic-ridden as the patch on her neck. Artificial enhancers. As he's learned in the past three and a half decades of being mate-less, it had become a staple.

No matter, though.

He'd get rid of the scent soon enough.

His date is going on and on about some topic he doesn't care about. Maybe commenting on the scars cutting through his face (though she doesn't seem to mind). Cherry red lips parting and teeth shining, but he doesn't hear a word. There's a gag waiting for her at the back of his car, anyway--and scent blockers ready to be forced down her throat. Did the police ever think about that, he wonders?--how scent blockers made it so easy to disappear without a trace? Stupid creatures hadn't learned to investigate without relying on their nose.

(And even if they had, he'd left no paper trails; he was a dead man walking, at least on paper, thanks to convenient career aspirations.)

But before he could reach on over, suggest an escape to elsewhere--(from life itself)--up came the sweet young thing holding a notepad in hand, apron around the waist, apologizing that the other waitress had clocked out for the evening, and that she was here to take over. And König's hand stops, hovering over the edge of the table, a light, unnoticeable tremble to it as he finally breathes in.

Subtle. Subtle.

Almonds. Cinnamon. Warm bread and butter.

He licks his lips subconsciously, tasting the warmth as he swallows.

König leaves the restaurant that night, still letting the other omega cling to his arm, but he returns a week later--(it's all he could wait)--alone because, "things just didn't work out." But of course, you take him at his word: he looks surprised to see you again, and squints as if to re-read your nametag. But really, he's learned your schedule, the make and model of your car. The license plate, registration number--the address of your apartment. (Of course he has--why wouldn't he?--) Not once have you left his mind. Because you're something new to him, new to occupy it--how strange; how precious.

-- And not too sweet.

_

Bonus Thoughts:

König continues to visit, and though you find it strange he goes alone--the restaurant is more popular with couples after all--you start to look forward to seeing him now and then. König's patient the first month or so, upping the frequency only little by little, because at first, he's convinced that seeing you from a distance every night is enough.

But patience only lasts so long.

He finally asks you out on a date, and you agree.

There's a few dates, really. (Can't have you disappearing from your friends' lives the moment you mention going out with him, after all.) A few dates before it happens.

You can't recall going to his house, or even his car. And you certainly don't recall getting into a bed that smells just like him (--cold metal, maybe iron, maybe from him--maybe from something else--)

You're about to unwind from the (admittedly warm and comfortable) bundle of sheets around you when König walks in, carrying a tray of freshly cooked food, and sets it down nearby. Before you can ask any questions, he's shoving his face into the crook of your neck. Brushing his nose against your scent gland--almost purring.

"K-König? Where am I? What are you doing--"

"Shh, Mäuschen. It's alright. You're home."

[tuiccim]

We're Gonna Burn (Part 2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Smut, Sex Pollen, Non/DubCon (because sex pollen), enemies to lovers.

Summary: When an exposure to a strange powder makes you feel as if you're burning to death, your only relief is in the person you hate the most. Now dealing with the aftermath makes you question everything.

A/N: Hi friends! Thanks so much for your patience. We lost my mother-in-law last month and it's been a difficult time. But, I've got part two up and have got a good head start on parts 3 and 4. Hopefully updates won't be so far in between. As always, I have to say a special thanks to my beta reader @whisperlullaby who is also my hype princess and most darling friend. I hope you enjoy!

We're Gonna Burn Masterlist

In the two days since you returned to the compound, you had rarely left your room. Your body was incredibly sore the first day but it had started to lessen. You were glad the medbay kept a supply of morning after pills. Dr. Miles, your most trusted doctor, had examined you after the fact and said that you should be fully healed in a few days. The examination was a necessary requirement but it had felt like yet another invasion. 

Your emotions were a mess and the doctor had suggested a visit with a counselor to help you work through them. Now, you were starting to wonder if she had been right. Compartmentalizing wasn’t working, you had strange dreams, and your mood was all over the place. You had avoided everyone while you were off-duty to heal. The thought of facing any of them,  especially Bucky, made you sick. By now, you were sure they all knew what happened. Bucky had probably gloated that he had-

You couldn’t even finish the thought and shake it away. When you filled out the mission report, you had simply stated that there was an exposure to an unknown substance that had caused a short-lived fever. Quarantine and a battery of tests had cleared you to return home to the compound. The only person who knew what happened was Dr. Miles and Bucky, of course. Your gut clenched whenever you thought of him, which was often now. Hell, it had always been often. You had been enthralled by his story and excited to join the team. Unfortunately, he had proven to be nothing like you imagined. He seemed to hate you from the moment you were introduced. His comradery with your other teammates was fun and friendly, but with you, he was always scowling and defensive. You had given up after a few attempts at striking up a conversation. He had shut you down and moved away every time. 

And now, you’re a notch on his belt. Not that either of you had chosen it. It was just horrible luck- or was it? Had he purposely led you to that lab? Had he known what was there? What would happen? No, you stop yourself from spiraling. Even if he was a jackass, he wasn’t that kind of person. He had been just as surprised and affected. The thought of how affected he had been made you clench. You hated him but, fuck, that had been the most amazing sex of your life. You wondered if it was the drug or that thick-

Stop it! You hate him! You yell at yourself in your head. You felt concurrently turned on, ashamed, and angry. It was frustrating and eating at you. 

Thinking of eating, your stomach rumbles. It was late and you thought it would be safe to make a quick trip to the kitchen. You had exhausted the supply of snacks in your room and needed some real food. Peeking into the hall, you find it empty and quietly make your way to the kitchen. You make yourself a plate and raid the pantry for more snacks. As you were tip-toeing back to your room you saw Bucky coming out of his room at the other end of the hallway. He froze when he noticed you and watched as you made a mad dash for your room. Inside, you try to calm your rapidly beating heart. Tears streamed down your face for some reason you couldn’t pinpoint. You set everything on your desk and crumpled into a ball on the floor. You rocked as you tried to calm yourself while also berating yourself for your weakness. It was just sex. It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like you wanted it or even asked for it. It was just a mutually agreed upon need. 

All your rationalizations did nothing to stop the surge of emotions taking over. So, you decided that maybe Doc was right. You needed to talk to someone. Someone to help you sort out your own feelings. You just hoped that you could feel normal again because, right now, you are not yourself.

–

Bucky stared at the space you had occupied a minute ago. He hadn’t seen you since you���d returned from the mission. You hadn’t been able to look at him in the small amount of time you were together during exfil. You’d both been put through quarantine and testing. He had no long lasting effects from the exposure but he knew you had to be bruised and sore from the experience. He felt immensely guilty about that but he could no more have stopped what was happening than you could. Sometimes he wondered if he could have even if it wasn’t for the pollen, it was the best thing he’d felt in seventy years. You were so soft, wet, and perfectly tight. 

Berating himself as he felt his body react to the memories, he reminded himself that you hate him. You had good reason to. He had been an absolute ass since you joined the team. Hethinks about his terrible behavior. He didn’t like new people to start with and then, out of seemingly nowhere, you were put with the team. It roused his suspicions and he viewed you as a potential threat. So, he had questioned your every motive, idea, and process. He wanted to hate you but the more he saw your work with the team and interactions outside of it, the more he found you intriguing. Rather than apologizing or correcting his behavior, he had doubled down. He couldn’t explain it but some small, stupid part of him had hoped that this incident would create an opening for him to reconcile with you but now you couldn't even look at him.

Who could blame you after the way he had treated you? Both before and during. He had been lost in the feeling and had stopped fighting the effects of the pollen the first moment he entered you. Hell, he hadn’t really fought it from the beginning. He had burst into that bathroom as if he had every right to enter it. You had to hate him even more now with what he’d done. He felt the need to talk to you, to apologize, to ask you to forgive him. He hadn’t told a soul what happened and had been deliberately vague in his mission report. He hadn’t wanted to make it any worse for you. 

Retreating to his room, Bucky paces trying to figure out his next move. Should he approach you or wait for you to come to him? He shakes his head. You wouldn’t approach him. Not the way you, no doubt, feel about him. You probably never wanted to see him again. What did you think? Did you hate him even more? Most likely. Did you think he had done this on purpose? That he had taken advantage of you? The drug had taken both of your ability to really consent. Did you feel… What are you feeling? He couldn’t stand the thought that you hated him even more or that you thought he hurt you purposely. 

He grabbed the doorknob, determined to speak with you but his hand slipped from it before he could turn the knob. You needed more time. He shouldn’t push you. He’d wait until you were at least healed. That was a better idea, he decided. It wasn’t that he was chickening out, he was just waiting until the wounds weren’t so fresh. That was the best thing to do, wasn’t it?

–

You nervously bounce your legs as you wait for the office door of Dr. Victoria Montesi to open. Dr. Miles had gotten you an appointment within thirty minutes of messaging her that morning. You wonder if she already had Dr. Montesi on standby. It wouldn’t be surprising with how well Doc seemed to know and anticipate your needs medically. 

When the door opens, you turn to look at the woman smiling softly at you. She was lovely with dark hair and eyes, and she radiated a calm demeanor that immediately put you at ease. 

“Hi. I’m Vicki Montesi,” she introduced herself.

Giving a polite smile, you give your name but don’t extend your hand. Touch was too intimate a thing to do currently and Dr. Montesi seemed to instinctively understand your body language. You felt so weak and hated it. You had been through major disasters, espionage, a host of events that would fell another person. Why was this the one thing that affected you so deeply? 

Dr. Montesi motioned for you to follow her and closed the door behind you softly, “Sit wherever you like. Do you mind if I take some notes?” 

“Uh, no, that's fine,” you shrug.

She grabbed a pad of paper off her desk and took a seat across from where you had settled on the couch. You fidgeted with your hands, glancing up occasionally. You knew she was waiting for you to start but two could play at-

“What brings you in today?” She interrupts your train of thought. 

“I, um,” you stuttered, thrown that she hadn’t followed the pattern you expected. “What did Dr. Miles tell you?”

“That you needed someone to talk to.”

“Oh…” you trail off suspiciously. 

“Your privacy is tantamount to both of us as your doctors,” Dr. Montesi says gently. 

“Right. So, I, um, we, I,” you stop yourself. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you begin again, “I was on a mission with a teammate. We were exposed to a powder that… forced the need for, for. Fuck! It made us burn up with fever and feel intense pain unless we were actively having sex. It felt like we were dying if we weren’t fucking. And of all the people in the fucking world it had to be with Bucky fucking Barnes. I can’t stand him and knowing that we- goddammit.” The words had become rushed and your frustration grew as you tried to explain. 

“So, you were put into a situation you had no control over, and your only relief was provided by someone you don’t like? Am I understanding you correctly?”

“Yes and hate. I hate him. He’s such a jerk, He’s probably told everyone who would listen.”

“Why do you think that?” Dr. Montesy probes. 

“Because he always undermines everything I say, anything I bring to the table. What better way to knock me down a few pegs than to tell everyone that he got me in bed?” You explain. 

“Have you spoken with him since it happened?”

“No, I haven’t really spoken to anyone since, ya know.” You look down at your hands. 

“And you feel that Bucky has after what happened?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” You scoff.

“Do you think the situation was different for him?”

“Yes! No, I… I don’t know,” you look away for a minute gauging what he could possibly be feeling. In your mind you think through your prejudices towards him, realizing many were sexist assumptions of what men are supposed to feel and others never took his past into consideration. Most of your thoughts had centered only around the hatred you felt for him and his constant attitude towards you but underneath all of that was a real person who was probably struggling with aspects of this as well. You admit in a near whisper, “Probably not.”

“It’s good that you’re able to look outside yourself. Can you tell me how you feel about the situation aside from him?”

You nod, taking a moment to assess that yourself, “It sucks to not have control over a situation to not have any good choices. I didn’t want it to happen but it’s part of the job. Sometimes you end up in these situations where no matter what you do, you’re going to come out on the other end with regrets. This one was just much more intimate than most. I want to blame someone and I keep blaming myself. That I couldn’t control myself, that I led both of us straight into that trap, that I used him and allowed him to use me. I just feel ashamed.”

“That’s common in situations like this but you did the one thing you were supposed to do. You survived.”

–

You saw Dr. Montesi again a couple of days later. She was helping you process and you appreciated it. She had a way of pulling things out of you that surprised you. Like when you continually called him Barnes rather than his first name and anytime she said his first name, you corrected her immediately. 

“There’s something more here. What is it about his name that bothers you?” She asks. 

“He… made me say it during,” you shrug, looking away. 

“Why does that bother you?”

“I never call him by his first name. It's always Barnes or asshat. Never Bucky.”

“And he made you call him Bucky?”

“Yes. He wouldn’t, you know, um… let me-”

“Orgasm?”

“Yeah, until I did. It felt… awkward,” you finish softly. 

“Just awkward?” She pushes. 

“Infuriating. Like a violation, another way control was taken from me. I mean, why? Why would he do that? What possessed him?”

“Well, the pollen for one thing, but have you considered that might have been the way he found some control in the situation?”

“So, you’re saying I shouldn’t take it personally? It wasn’t about bringing me to heel but about him finding a modicum of control? But should that negate how I feel?” You ask, confused.

“Not at all. Your feelings are valid but what I want you to understand is there is a why for him that may have had nothing to do with you. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“Why have you never called him by his first name?”

“Because I hate him,” you shrug. 

“Can you elaborate on that?”

“It’s like I told you before, he treats me like a subordinate. Like I didn’t earn my place and I don’t have anything to offer.”

“Even after you’ve worked together for the last several months?”

“It lessened after a while I guess but he still acts like an ass all the time.”

“How have you handled that?”

“I tried to be friendly, to prove myself, and then I gave up. Why waste the energy?”

“Is it a waste? There’s no hope?” Dr. Montesi tilts her head. 

“I mean, I don’t… I don’t know. I just… I don’t know,” your voice trails off as you think back over all your interactions with Bucky. What if you had missed an opening? Was there some point when he tried to let you in but you had closed yourself off and delivered only sass and smartass remarks? But was that your fault? Was it all up to you?

“It’s okay to not have an answer but it is something you might think about until we see each other again.”

–

You saw her again early the next week. Each time it helps you see more clearly and feel more like yourself. Her guidance through your feelings and assumptions both good or bad, right or wrong without judgment or censure allowed you to explore more than just the situation with Barnes. It was the question she had posed about his motives that had stuck with you. 

“I think I'm ready to talk to,” you pause as your stubborn nature still fights against you calling him Bucky, but Barnes seemed even less apt now. You finally settled on just using the noncommittal, “him.”

“Oh?” Dr. Montesi waits for you to elaborate.

“I feel like I need to know his motives and feelings,” the last word was hard to push past your lips. You hadn't considered his feelings ever really. At least, not since he had proven himself to be a royal jackass. There was still a part of you that loathed him but somehow concern for his reaction to all of this had wormed its way into your mind. 

“What do you think that will do for you?” She asks, tilting her head.

“I don't know. I read his mission report on what happened. He was even more vague than I was on the details. Whether he was protecting himself or me, I wasn't sure but,” you take a deep breath before admitting the next part, “then I went through the other reports for missions we had been on together. He's always succinct but never fails to highlight others' contributions to the outcome. Even mine. It was obvious reading them that at some point he had started to see me as an asset. So, I guess, I think it'll give me some closure. Either we can start building a more respectful comradery or that's never going to happen and it's time for me to think about moving on.”

“How would that make you feel?”

“Disappointed but I want to be part of a team that has mutual respect for each other. If he can never give me that respect, I don't want to work with him. I'm not asking to be friends, just teammates. Preferably ones who can hold a conversation without all the snark.” You paused for a moment as a feeling of pride suffused through you. You were stronger than you realized and you were ready to find happiness and fulfillment on your terms. You smiled to yourself and then looked up to share it with Dr. Montesi. Maybe you were imagining it, but you felt you could see it in her eyes, too. 

When you left her office a little while later, you pulled out your phone and sent a short text. 

You: Hey. Can we talk?

It was only a few minutes later that your phone dings. 

Barnes: Yeah. On the phone or do you want to meet up? You: I’d prefer face to face. Barnes: Where? I can come to you.  You: I’m on my way back there. I’ll come to you. Barnes: Okay.

You let out a little laugh. That was probably the most civilized conversation the two of you had ever had. You started feeling the nerves in your stomach. This wasn’t going to be an easy conversation but you needed it to happen. It was time to face this head on. As you make your way, you practice breathing techniques and make mental notes of what you wanted to say and ask. You even jotted a few down to help you remember when you know you're going into an emotional situation. 

There is still the confusion in your own head of what to call him. Such a simple thing but rife with emotion for you. Barnes was what you called him because you hated him and now you weren’t sure you did. James is his first name but no one calls him that. Bucky felt too friendly and intimate especially when it triggers reminders of that night every time you even think about it. Sergeant was too formal and felt harsh and rigid. Asshat was fitting when he was being one but you could hardly call him that all the time. You think back to what he calls you but, in just the way you have, he calls you by your last name mostly. You don’t ever recall hearing him say your first name. Occasionally, your designation and more than a few times he’s referred to you as “pita.” His way of calling you “pain in the ass.” You let out a scoffing laugh when you think of that and then shake the conundrum away. Maybe after this talk, you’d figure out what to call him or you wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore if you decided to move on. 

Updates and taglist: Due to the unreliable nature of tags, I no longer keep a taglist. Updates for series will be made on Sundays Central Time Zone. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

[diana-bluewolf]

Oh. My. God! Hold on a second - I need to pick up my jaw off the floor.

I’m just imagining how much time it must have taken you, Matty. Can I just applaud your patience? 👏👏👏 Especially since you mentioned that the game had crashed after you gathered them all together. I feel your pain T_T

Thank you so much for including my boy! Sending love to all the wonderful MCs <3 So glad to see so many friends here! 

Also, Tracey, YES! While looking at all the familiar faces, I was like, “Aww, I know that one! And that one…and that one...and that one...” And then, after seeing our boys, “Ok, those two are obviously plotting a crime.”😂

A group photo with a bunch of our babies 🥺I wasn't able to fit everyone I wanted so pls lmk if you want your mc to be included in another one sometime! Creators of the MCs in the comments! And more down below!

[grinsgrimmy]

Hi! How are you? I’m new to your blog and I’m loving every second of it! You really captured the male mcs really well and I’m so happy to find you in the community!

I saw your request is open! May I ask if I can request a drabble?

Can you do a drabble of Carcel Escalante from The Broken Ring: This Marriage Will Fail Anyway? Wherein Reader has been shutting out Carcel from her room and it made him anxious, so he sneaks into her room and was surprised to see a portrait of him in a big canvas drawn by Reader? A surprise for his birthday supposedly?

You can decide how will you end it! Again, Thank you so much and have a wonderful time! <3

Ｓ Ｅ Ｃ Ｒ Ｅ Ｔ .

ㅤᯓᡣ𐭩 𝖢𝖠𝖱𝖢𝖤𝖫 𝖤𝖲𝖢𝖠𝖫𝖠𝖭𝖳𝖤 𝗑 𝖠𝖥𝖠𝖡!𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

THE BROKEN RING, THIS MARRIAGE WILL FAIL ANYWAY

๋࣭⭑ֶֶֶָָָ֢֢֢𖹭 oneshot . (1348 words)

sum. you had been shutting yourself in a room, and it made carcel paranoid

note : thank you for the request and your sweet words, anonie! im doing fine, thanks for asking!! i try my best to make sure the canon characters i wrote are not out of character. however, im going to be honest, i have never read this manhwa before, but i was willing to pick it up for this request and oh my god i was not disappointed. other than that i went over the word limit AGAIN

request drabble have reopened !!

ㅤ⪩⪨ m.list

you had been acting odd lately. 

odd enough for it to worry carcel. 

it had been escalating to two days. Every chance he tried to find you when you were supposedly said to be 'busy', it was simply you locking yourself in a different room within the house.

when asked regarding what you were doing inside of said room, you only responded that it was not his business to know. as much as he wished to argue about it, he did not. 

but your husband, he deathly wished to know what it was. 

it did not help that carcel was an easily jealous— no, a paranoid person.

... but you could not be committing liaison within that room, no? 

of course not. you were never the type to do that anyway. 

it was just a thought. certainly.

then, were you sick and you did not wish to worry him?

this entire ordeal left him restless. 

when carcel dared to ask the servants of the house, they all simply went quiet and refused to answer. hell, even the butler remained quiet about it. 

it did not help that during the night, when you both were to end up sleeping together, you acted as if you had not just locked yourself in a room for the entire afternoon. 

he wished to respect you sincerely, but you were not exactly helping his paranoia either. none of the people in the house was going to ease his anxiety either, for god knows why. 

by the third day, his patience was wearing thin, and so was his beauty sleep. 

every time he closed his eyes, thoughts of what you could possibly be hiding gnawed at him, unraveling all sense of reason. 

the servants' silence only fanned the flames of his paranoia. 

as midnight drew closer and the house had fallen quiet, carcel made his decision. 

sneak into the room you had locked yourself into for three days. 

was it disrespectful of him? certainly, but it was definitely a lot more disrespectful that you never told anything nor said anything to your poor ol' worried and concerned husband that was sulking outside of the door every afternoon like a kicked puppy. 

carcel managed to slipped out of your shared bedroom and quietly headed through the halls of the house until he reached that room. 

he stared at the door for a few seconds, debating whether he should genuinely enter without your permission. it felt as if he was committing a crime. 

carcel's hand hovered over the handle. With a breath held in his chest, he slowly turned the knob of the door. The door easily gave way without resistance, making him debate whether to enter or not.

after a few seconds, he stepped inside. it was dark, save for the faint glow of the moon coming from the window without a curtain. 

carcel immediately noticed a large object near the window. he stepped closer, his eyes adjusting to the low light. 

and he saw it. 

he guessed it was a large canvas on an easel covered by a cloth to hide the painting underneath it. without thinking twice due to his sheer curiosity, he pulled the cloth away to reveal the painting behind it. 

it was unfinished, yet there was a line art that revealed—

his own face. 

captured in delicate yet stunning detail. 

carcel's heart stilled, his eyes glued to the rough sketch lines and the unfinished fine brush strokes of the paint. 

it was him. 

the sight took his breath away. 

from the calm expression to the unfinished paint, every brushstroke speaking of hours of careful observation from you.

carcel could see where you had tried to perfect every feature, wanting to commit every detail of him. a devotion he never realised you had for him. 

you had been painting a portrait of him? 

this entire time? 

that's. so. cute!! 

the realisation melted into a giddish glee within his heart, a blush crept to his cheeks immediately as he giggled to himself. 

his wife is so cute as always. 

while his giddish glee, he noticed a writing that he initially missed by the corner of the canvas. his eyes widened when he read it. 

'happy birthday'. 

just how oblivious could he be? his birthday was a week away, and this was his... gift. his birthday gift. 

damn it, you were too cute for him. 

carcel could feel his heart beating. he was completely flushed, laughing like a lovesick teenager to himself as he admired the artwork.

all the restless hours, the jealous little thoughts, thinking you were sick and all the paranoia— it seemed ridiculous to him now.

you were holed up in this room for days, creating something immaculately sincere and gentle. 

it definitely caught him off guard.

his wonderful, talented, genius of a wife.

he felt like a fool for forgetting that you picked up on painting a few months ago.

with one last lingering look at the painting, he left the room quietly. his heart felt lighter than it had felt in days. 

he managed to slip back into bed, and a gleeful smile spread across his face. he glanced at your sleeping form, blushing red.

placing a gentle kiss on your sleeping self's forehead, he tucked himself to bed, not without tucking you closely to his chest. 

the next morning, you managed to find out that carcel had entered the room. the cloth of the canvas you had once draped over it was on the floor. 

you deduced it was carcel. all of the servants knew that you were making a surprise gift. this had been meant as a surprise.

a heartfelt, intimate gift for his birthday. and now, thanks to his impatience (you did not know you locking yourself in the room was making him paranoid), the secret was spoiled.

frustrated and albeit disappointed, you tracked down carcel. you found him in his bedroom, having a briefing with the butler. “carcel escalante!” you yelled as you barged into his office. 

sensing your anger, which was uncharacteristic of you, carcel sat frozen on his seat— terrified to see why you were angry at him. meanwhile, the butler left the office due to your furious state. 

carcel gave a nervous smile. “what's wrong, dear?” he asked shakily with an unsure expression, sweating. it reminded you of a child that was caught rummaging in the cookie jar.

you placed your hands on your hips. “you went into my art room, didn't you?” narrowing your gaze, you frowned.

you could see the colour drained slightly from his face when his realisation dawned on him. 

oh, right. 

he forgot to drape the cloth over the painting. 

he spent begging on his knees for forgiveness, which you stubbornly did not appeal to.

carcel followed you around like a guilty shadow, imploring for you to show him mercy.

he tried to argue that it was due to you acting so strange, hence forcing him to investigate what happened, but you still refused to forgive him.

when you announced you would not give him the painting as a gift since he ruined the surprise. 

carcel felt his world shattered. he could feel himself wanting to burst into tears. he whined and sulked at your decision.

by the end of the day, he was practically at your feet, giving the best puppy eyes you had ever seen from him.

carcel begged and begged for you to finish the painting and give it to him by his birthday, despite it no longer being a surprise. 

carcel even teared up at the prospect of no longer receiving the very thing you put countless effort and devotion into.

though it was fun, on your end, to witness carcel murmuring every variation of apologies, you did relent and promise you would finish the painting and gift it to him.

that alone made him sprang up with joy again, kissing you all over with glee.

although, he could not promise he would not do it again due to his paranoia, he made sure to forgive you in a different way that night.

・❥・want a hc / oneshot? please consider commissioning in ko-fi !

[tales-of-wocdes]

Heya! Never written an ask before but I love this story and the snippets so much that I decided to give it a go! Genuinely, this is the only blog where I read every ask. So! I actually have two burning questions, but it seems like it's better to send them as separate asks so I'll probably do that. Hope that's alright! Anyway, the first question is:

Say MC somehow gains a vague understanding of what Mama and Papa mean- how would Lexia and Havard react to being called Mama and Papa respectively?

Hi! Glad to be your first ask! And thank you for all the kind words!

So this is a hard one... kudos for not pulling any punches on your first ask :D Going straight for the big stuff, I like it and dread it in equal measure.

Since this seems like something that could easily happen in game, I will put the snippets below the line. I suppose I am calling spoilers, though I don't think I reveal anything that was not in the demo though people might have missed it.

And I reserve the right to change anything I want later, as always :D But let's call this a thank you for 10 k browser plays :D

------------HAVARD-----------

"Papa?" You asked one evening as Havard was tucking you into bed. It was phrased a bit like a question but you think you understand what it means. You saw children out in the city use the word.

There was only one person you knew that the word fit, and that was Havard.

Havard froze in place, and paled.

Why? What did you do?

He was staring at you with wide eyes, and a range of expressions passed across his face.

Joy, sorrow, anger, pain...

So many expressions.

So much pain.

Then you saw the tears falling down his cheeks.

You sat up in bed, alarmed and panicked. This was not like the Havard you knew... Havard was the one who helped you not hurt! This was all wrong. He smiled at you, and helped you eat, and took care of you. This wasn't what you wanted.

What did you do? Why is he hurting?

Havard did not give you the chance to ask. He knelt by your bed and wrapped you up in a hug. It was warm and snug. Yet, he held onto you for dear life with a desperation, as if afraid you would disappear... and you had no idea why.

"I... I never thought... Thank you." He whispered. You could feel the wetness against your cheek.

You think you misheard him at first. Why is he thanking you? You made him hurt?

Then he repeats it. Twice, thrice. He keeps repeating it, and hugging you tighter, and tighter. Yet, never too hard. He would never hurt you. You know this.

You are confused... but you hug him back as hard as you can.

"Thank you, papa." You whispered back to him. You did not need to specify what you were thankful for.

It was for everything.

------------LEXIA-----------

"Mama?" You said, phrasing it as a question. You think you understand what it means. You saw children out in the city use the word.

Lexia froze, face going very blank. She stared at you with wide eyes, uncertain about what to do.

Then she knelt down in front of you.

"You sure kid? That you wanna use such a big and important word on me?" She asked, voice oddly soft... and a little choked up? It didn't suit her usual style... but you thought this was Lexia too. Uncertain behind all her smiles, but usually hiding it well. That slightly awkward person who was afraid of being scolded by Alessa as much as the twins were. Lexia who loved teasing Havard, and testing his patience.

Lexia who sometimes used bad words, and let you get away with eating cookies before dinner. Lexia who was always there, Protecting you. From others and yourself.

"Mama." You repeated, a bit more certainly. It felt right.

Lexia inspected your face for a long time. Then she hugged you. Much more gently than usual, yet just as firmly. She was wearing her armor, but somehow the hug was warm. She even trapped your hands by accident.

"Ok... if you are sure..." She whispered to your ear. "I... I don't know if I am worthy of it, but I will try to be."

You could not see her face... You wondered what kind of a face she was making right now. You however could nuzzle her cheek.

It made her laugh.

That was all you wanted.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲

So interested to read that story 😊

Thank you so much! 135 or 1k for 🌲 - whatever I reach first!

---

But this? This isn’t like that. There’s no walking this back with patience or determination. The hearing he has lost cannot be recovered. There’s nothing Buck can do. He just has to learn to accept it and move forward.  

Right now, he doesn’t know how to do that. He doesn’t even know where to begin. 

At least he can keep his job. That’s at the forefront of his mind. He’s not really sure how he’d be stomaching any of this if that was off the table. That was the big fear with his leg, and while he’s done a lot of work to extricate his self-worth from his career, it still makes it easier that he doesn’t have to weigh those two things against each other now. 

Buck practices calming breathing on his drive home from the appointment. He needs to not freak out right now. Especially not while he’s driving. 

You are fine, he tells himself, repeating it like a mantra. You’re healthy. You will not lose your job. You have steps to move forward. He lets this loop until he gets home. Then, he enters the quiet of his loft and sort of freezes.

There is a kind of stillness to receiving news you didn’t want to hear. Like an obstacle hits smack in the middle of your course, and everything is brought to a halt. Buck feels that stillness now. He sits on his couch and just… Ceases to operate. He breathes. He feels his heartbeat. He tries to listen to a million little sounds in his apartment, wondering if there are more that he’s missing. 

There must be. That’s what he realizes. There must be

Suddenly feeling the need to squirm, Buck reaches for the television remote and turns on the TV. News highlights are looping. He doesn’t actually care what it is. He just needs something consistently noisy at a comfortable volume that he can focus on. 

Buck tries to relax, listening to the steady voice of the newscaster.

“In a shocking turn of events, a second body of an American citizen has been found outside Katrineholm, Sweden. Arizona resident William Orson was reported missing by family members weeks ago, only to be uncovered by Swedish police. Details on cause of death have not been released.”

“What the fuck?” Buck mutters. Too dark right now. He’s usually interested in true crime and news stories - thank you, Taylor, for that fleeting hyperfixation - but right now, he needs something lighter. He switches channels to a home renovation show. Perfect. 

Buck watches until he feels numb. 

🍂

Eventually, he does know  he needs to talk to someone. Maddie might be his natural first choice, but her, Chim, Hen, and Karen are going through a lot this week regarding Mara’s foster status. Bobby is working on set. So he sends two texts. One to Eddie and one to Tommy. They’re a bit different in tone, he’ll admit. 

To Eddie: I really need to talk. Had a fucked up morning and it’s kind of serious. Can you call?

To Tommy: Are you free at all this afternoon/evening? 

It takes Tommy ten minutes to reply. Eddie never does. 

Tommy replies that he has dinner plans with friends, but can swing by before. Fine. Good. That’s enough time for Buck to explain. As he waits for Tommy to come over, he keeps staring at his phone. As much as he’s glad he can talk to Tommy, he really wants Eddie to reply. Maybe he could just… Be there for him today. But by the time Tommy arrives, Eddie hasn’t even opened the message. 

When Tommy comes in, it’s clear he thinks Buck has invited him over for… Well, for fun. He pulls Buck into a bruising kiss right away, and it takes a second after Buck steps out of it, not matching his energy, for him to notice the upset look on Buck’s face. 

“Evan? What’s wrong?”

“Uh…” Buck scratches his head. “It’s sort of serious.”

“Okay,” Tommy frowns. “Tell me.”

At the thought of speaking it aloud for the first time, Buck’s throat constricts. His eyes well up. It all comes spilling out of him incoherently. 

“When I was seventeen a firework went off over my head,” he blurts. “It-it burnt my coat.” 

Tommy looks at him like he’s crazy. 

He explains everything else. The jet. The symptoms. The appointment. The diagnosis. The hearing aids. All of it. 

“I-I have a follow up appointment in  a few days to get fitted, and… And I’m kind of freaking out,” Buck admits. 

Tommy exhales heavily. “I’m sorry. That’s hard news.”

Buck nods. “Yeah, I… I still don’t know what to think.”

“It’s a risk of the job, I guess,” Tommy says. 

“I mean, yeah… Still sucks that, other than Eddie, I’ve been here the least amount of time and it’s happening to me,” Buck grumbles. “And, honestly? Scratch that, because Eddie has all that time in the army.”

“Are you saying you’d rather this be happening to a team member?” Tommy frowns. Like, sort of judgmentally. “Because you also just said you were kind of an idiot at seventeen.”

Buck shrinks a little.

“Uh, no. Obviously I don’t wish this on my friends, Tommy. I’m saying… It-it doesn’t feel fair.” 

“I don’t think it’s about fair or not fair,” Tommy replies.

Buck sighs. “I know. Can I be upset for thirty fucking seconds?”

Tommy raises his hands. “Sorry.”

“Sorry, I’m just… This is a lot to process.”

“I bet,” Tommy concedes. “What are you going to do about work?”

“I’ve already put in for a leave,” Buck explains. 

“Just a leave?” Tommy asks. 

Buck blinks, caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. Until I’m comfortable with the hearing aids.”

“Not a transfer, too?” Tommy adds.

“A transfer?” 

“Well, yeah,” Tommy replies. “The 118 is one of the most intense stations in the LAFD. It might not be the best place to… Adjust.”

“What are you saying?” Buck demands. 

“Don’t bite my head off, Evan,” Tommy replies. “I’m just saying, it might not be the best place for you anymore.”

[teachyouhowtodothesponge]

Hello everyone! :) I hope you are all doing well! I have been at college, and it's been pretty busy work. Here are some WH doodles I made yesterday!

[keri-mcberry]

Some wonderful MC's for you all! ✨

This has been sitting in my WIPs for the longest time, and I finally got the chance to finish it, as well as add a few more incredible artists! Thank you all so much for taking the time to draw my baby Lyla! 🥹

First Row: @pierrot-dokki , @syaolaurant , @nineng

Second Row: @sparxyv , @moonstruckmoony , @autumnl34v3s , @blbllblblblll

Third Row: @cottagelady99 , @choco-froggie , @mostboringcrossover

Fourth Row: @bassicallymaestra , @lara-kaminari , @b00k0flife , @myokk

Please go check them out if you haven't already! 🫶

[masquenoire]

Barring any new asks, I think that's the last of those 'icons only' memes and it was very fun doing them all! Thank you so much for sending them in everyone, I'm feeling more confident about activity again and will hopefully be inspired to write a bit more often from now on providing schedule eases up sometime soon!

[phoenix-flamed]

Still though, buries my face in my hands because thank you guys for always being so kind to me. I appreciate it, I really do! Thank you. And thank you for letting me write with you -- and to those I haven't quite written with yet, I can't wait to meet you and get some interactions going!

[good-beansdraws]

@sunnybunny2468 Thank you for the requests!! These were such good ideas omg 👀👀👀I love the idea of a siren who, instead of luring victims with a typical song of temptation and promises, sings the most melancholy cry that draws in people feeling extremely protective over him. They find he's just as sweet as his voice leads them to believe (but watch out!) I was cracking up over the whole concept of Merfuuta, and thought this would be perfect seeing as axlotls are a type of salamander hehe. He's grumpy because no phone underwater >:(

[despairforme]

What the fuck we're already six days into November??

[mantisgodsdomain]

Milk and Green Apple for Penelope

(for this ask game)

Since we haven't introduced Penelope yet, as is standard, we'll do a quick write-up here. Penelope is a Galápagos fur seal (Arctocephalus galapagoensis). She's an accountant who works at a bank located in a tundra which primarily caters towards terrestrial animals. Though she doesn't particularly like her job, and initially picked this posting because it was the best option available to her during her CPA experience program, she sort of... got stuck.

Finding work is difficult. She was lucky enough to get rehired by the same branch after finishing her work experience program, but she can't really find anywhere else willing to hire her right now, and her branch is hesitant to let her go, considering that she's one of the most competent people available to her department. She can't really quit, but she can't really move forward, either, so she's sort of... stuck in limbo.

She's well-paid enough that she can live relatively comfortably, but she was at least partially a diversity hire to begin with, and the place she lives in now just plain isn't made for her. She's an aquatic species in a relatively dry area, and most of the species that her branch caters to are smaller prey species - hares, kea, and lemmings, and the occasional arctic fox. Most of the infrastructure is built for people half her size or more, and being an aquatic species, she's not really built to be living terrestrially 24/7 - wearing glasses is all well and good until your prescription breaks and the best replacement pair you can find is built for a stoat, and sure, she can afford a doctor if anything comes up, but no one in her area would really know much about her species, and can she really afford the time and effort added to the expenses of flying to somewhere else entirely just to see a specialist?

As is, she feels just... stuck. She handles it, mostly, with a mix of "gritting her teeth and bearing it" and "heading out to a nearby city which actually has infrastructure for anything bigger than a fox". She sort of has to make a Day of it every time she travels out, but it's better than staying in the same town all day, and paying a bit extra for a night out isn't *too* bad, all things considered. The situation, as is, is perfectly fine. She just... wishes that she could make something of her life beyond being stagnant in a town that she expected to just be a stop in the road.

🥛 [MILK] What is your OC's relationship with their biological parents like? What about their relationship with any non-biological parental figures?

Well... it's complicated. She doesn't have a bad relationship with them, per se, but it's a bit distant - she moved to an entirely different part of the world to take this job, and most of her communication with family members is by video call and similar things as a result. She cares for her family, and she wouldn't trade them for the world, really - but they expect a lot from her, and she's been stuck at the same place long enough that she's not sure she can live up to it.

Penelope sits in the awkward sort of space where she was academically successful, but that success didn't really transfer to almost anything else. She's got a job, she's good at it, she's got a degree - but she still can't get a job besides the one she's been stuck in for years already, and "still working at the same bank" isn't the sort of thing that feels good to say, especially when you've been in the same place for far longer than you've ever wanted to be.

Her parents love her. Her mother still holds out faith that she'll get that one promotion - just a few more years and you'll get your big break, just a bit more work and they'll notice how industrious you are, just a tiny bit more effort and you'll get a better position - but you can only believe something so much when you feel like you've been stuck in the same rut for so long. There's only so much you can hear about how you have so much potential before you start feeling like you're wasting yourself, and at this point... having the same things repeated starts feeling a bit like every day she doesn't get that break is a day she's wasting her potential.

She does not currently have any non-biological parental figures. Probably a bit late in her life to get one, but who knows at this point, honestly?

🍏 [GREEN APPLE] How do they differ from the norm and how are they punished for it?

...there's a lot.

Though her workplace tried to provide accomodations when she first arrived, it's been more than eight years, and nowadays she has to do most of her accomodation herself. Her eyes aren't really made to focus above water, she's got a very different body plan than most people at the branch, she's a predator big enough to make most of the other folks in her branch a bit instinctually nervous, and being one of the only seals that most people know means that she's been re-introduced to the same three harbor seals entirely too many times by now.

People don't really make chairs for people with tails the size of their bodies around here, which means that chair backs that accomodate her are generally a matter of either custom order or hoping that she's going somewhere that's dealt with one of the other half-dozen folks with the same needs.

Penelope is, fundamentally, Not From Around Here. She's not a species that's found around here, she's not a species that's especially adapted for here, and despite being a seal that's only around a metre long she still towers over most of the people at her branch. The closest person to her size is an arctic fox in the tax department, and he still doesn't really have the same sort of experience as her. She doesn't fit The Norm, pretty much in any way, and it... really, really shows.

[iced-souls]

Before i forgor—

The arrival of 200 followers is upon me [i think like 7 away??], and so since im probably gonna do a thank you thing when we do get there

I figured i would ask thou lot on your opinion and expertise on what i should do.

Last time i just did a smol little drawing.

So im gonna make a poll below, i suppose i would suggest reading the description even further below first though.

Smol thing is if you dont want to have to interact/ask/reblog, but would still find it neat for a lil celebration art :)

So if you wanna do the 2nd option, the way i would probably do that would be i would make a post for you to reblog with a picture of your character. And if you dont have your own oc/character or wouldn’t like your character to be drawn then you can feel free to reblog with a character of your choosing (and the characters og creator). (:D)So overall if you aren’t gonna reblog or interact with the post dont choose that one—

If the 3rd, then ill probably find a couple, and you can ask for either my oc’s or any other characters with an outfit. So The usual outfit meme business—

4th option is just you can ask either myself or any of my characters any question you’d like :]

THOINKS FOR YOUR OPINIONS AND THANK YOU FOR THE FOLLOWS!!!!!

[coollyinterferes]

Lights a cigarette and stares into the distance

Donna Burke's Sins Of The Father starts playing in the background

[bitegore]

everyone in my household owes my friends and my ex girlfriend so fucking much.