#vees survey

[maespri]

psychology / media survey

hihihiii!! i know this is sooo random for my account, but a few months back i tried doing an informal survey about people and the psychology behind their connection to their favorite characters. unfortunately it didn't really work out. i decided to make a google form this time and give it another go ^-^

if you'd like to participate, i would seriously appreciate it SO much. it is completely anonymous and purely for me to have fun, totally informal and unofficial. it shouldn't take you more than 5-10 minutes.

here is the link if you're interested in helping a curious gal out!!

*IMPORTANT EDIT: if you ask me a specific question on your form, it will be answered HERE in this post whenever i get to it! thank you!

[crimeronan]

Would Empress Luz (once things are cleared up with Raine and Darius via mindscape trauma adventures) want to try reuniting with Camila via portal? I can see things re her and Vee and everything else coming to light (if Vee could even keep up the illusion that long) being very interesting/traumatising. Both for Luz, Vee and Camila and for Hunter and the rest of her newer adoptive family (Raine, Darius and Eda. I'd hope there'd eventually be a happy ending to it, but it would take some work.

ooh i actually do have an answer for this one!

in this AU, luz has been in the isles since she was about four, so her memories of the human world are vague and dreamy. she remembers having had human parents who loved her, but she wouldn't be able to pick them out of a lineup. (this also led to some upsetting discussions in my writing group chat about the consequences of her being raised by a colonizer - she's lost her spanish, is slightly more anxious about gender roles, etc, it's...... deeply sad and shitty)

the idea of returning to the human realm honestly scares the crap out of luz.

for one, she's much more comfortable around magic than she would be in a magic-less world; even though she KNOWS that she wouldn't be physically disabled in the human world like she is in the isles, and that she'd have an easier time finding food that doesn't make her sick, etc. she has some anxieties about how maybe she ~*~belongs~*~ there, because belos coming to the isles was clearly Not Fucking Good For Anyone. and on a more pointed note, belos used the human world to threaten her when they were fighting about hunter. so she has Very Few positive associations with the place

i'm FASCINATED by the concept of vee managing to escape and switch places with her around that time, i hadn't considered that before and it's. harrowing. it becomes kind of a changeling fairytale, right, except the changeling Knows she isn't human and remembers just enough to be TERRIFIED of being found out and sent back to the fae world.... GOD. poor vee. this is DELICIOUS.

the version of the story i've been working with so far, though, is one with this idea from my friend mock, because it fucking Haunts Me:

vee ends up escaping at around the same time as canon (well -- two years later, since luz is sixteen when the major events of the story play out). and when vee sees camila coming in the house, she takes the shape of the first person she sees in photos.

toddler luz.

aka. the daughter that camila is reasonably certain has been dead for over a decade.

i'm just imagining camila like. having a shaky near-sobbing breakdown and scooping vee-luz up and calling a friend like, i need you to come over and tell me if i'm hallucinating or if i'm seeing a real ghost. because camila KNOWS that if her daughter was alive, she'd be sixteen now.

i THINK vee would fess up pretty fast after that. because she feels Horrifically Guilty, AND because she can't play a Miracle Baby without inviting questions from much scarier humans, And because camila seems both so kind and so upset that vee is hoping she can make a break for it if she has to.

it's common knowledge in the isles that the princess is human, even though belos isn't out as human himself. because belos has been using luz as an excuse to do some human-supremacist white-savior-trope "the titan brought her from Real civilization to save you from yourselves <3" bullshit

and i think that vee would probably tell camila that. i'm 50/50 on whether vee knows luz's name or not (she certainly wouldn't know the name 'noceda,' at least). but either way, i think that camila would be like. okay. i have to be practical. i can't get my hopes up like this. my daughter is dead and it would be insane of me to chase this fantasy.

.....but i Have to know.

and like. she ESPECIALLY fucking has to know if she's heard even a Fraction of what vee has been through. vee has probably characterized the princess as just as evil as the rest of the royal family. but camila knows that even IF that's true, upbringing has a big impact on someone's character, and if her daughter was raised by an evil fascist then..... someone has to help her. no matter how terrible she is.

so i just imagine like. camila managing to find her way into the boiling isles (how this happens is up in the air. i haven't figured out exact portal logistics), IMMEDIATELY outing herself as a human, and demanding to see the emperor. and being told that the emperor died very recently, but she can meet the empress instead.

and it's luz. and luz's public-facing persona is made of steel (albeit friendly and kind steel), but her private self is transparently fragile in ways that are Extremely Alarming, and camila is like.

okay.

what. the fuck. did that man do to you.

(there's a background fic here. for anyone looking for expansion on uh. what exactly that man did to her. yikes!)

[fyodoro]

ೃ༄ JUST AN INCH AWAY…

ft. Alhaitham, Scaramouche, and Wriothesley

… who said making out was the only way to escape such a predicament? neither of you, apparently. but if it works, it works— even if it wasn’t intentional.

gn!reader, suggestive but not rlly bordering on smut, puzzles gone wrong, forced proximity and enemies with tension type thing, lots of kissing, lots of making out, profanity, harbinger scara, akademiya/academic rival alhaitham | wc : 5.4k

a big thank you to @vxnuslogy for going over scara’s bit for me cause i’ve grown vv unfamiliar with his character over the years, so thank you vee !!

ALHAITHAM (1.7k wc)

”I swear to Archons, the second I get out of here I’m burning your thesis to ashes.”

Alhaitham’s unbothered expression didn’t falter. “Such a bold assumption. You really think you’re capable of escaping without me?” he reviled, using the split-second your mind went blank as an opportunity to shove you away to an adjacent wall.

Your brows furrowed, hand clutching your side in response to the fleeting moment of pain. “You better do something if this bruises, asshole,” you sneered.

”What sense does it make for me to do something about someone else’s problem?” he retorted, gray strands gone astray as he ran a hand through them.

This might’ve been the most stressed out you’ve ever seen him, you think. It makes plenty of sense, too. You wouldn’t be shocked if he was living out his worst nightmare right now. Two of the things he hates most— you, and a problem he can’t solve— is all he has to work with right now.

Actually, calling this his worst nightmare might be the understatement of the century.

“Two Akademiya students trapped in a cell… oh, all the possibilities. Did I mention they hate each other? That’s a key detail if I do say so myself.”

”I’m trying to focus here,” he said, tone as cold as the very peak of Dragonspine. 

You squatted down beside him, watching his skillful hands work with the broken device that got you trapped here in the first place. “You’re trying to focus, I’m bored. You don’t wanna spend your potential last minutes alive with me, and vice versa. Let’s face it, neither of us are winning here, so you might as well stop being a buzzkill for once.”

”These won’t be my last moments alive, but they might be yours if you don’t pipe down.”

You frowned without another word, surveying his working hands as they meticulously fidgeted with the dysfunctional rune. They’re… nice, you think, oddly enough. The thought alone made you wanna gag, but it wouldn’t be the first time you noticed them.

It also wouldn’t be the first time you noticed his nose scrunches whenever he’s concentrated. You’ve seen it plenty of times, but in this instance, it’s different— you’ve never seen it close up before. Every other time you just happened to catch it from across your shared classroom amidst a lesson, or the Akademiya’s library. No matter the case, there’s never been an appropriate time to tease him about it.

Does this count as an appropriate time? Probably not, but your mouth thinks otherwise.

“You’re gonna have bunny lines by the time you’re 24 if you don’t stop doing that.”

For a moment, he stops. His darkly lit nose inhaled deeply before turning to you, exasperation evident in his eyes. 

“That’s hypocritical, you do it more than me.”

You didn’t waste a second to fire back, eyes locking in on his with jest. “So you confess? You’ve been staring at me, hm?” 

“Do you hear yourself? You admitted the same thing just a moment ago,” he breathed, voice hitching in his throat from the intense irritation he was feeling. He opened his mouth hastily to speak again, but closed it just as fast, resuming his repair of the broken device. 

You scoffed, standing back up to stretch your limbs with a yawn. Just how long has it been now? Minutes? Hours? There was only so much longer you could take, and your patience was running just as thin as Alhaitham’s. 

“Surprise, surprise… you’re doing it again.”

“When we get out of here, I’m sending you to those Kshahrewar scholars. Maybe they’ll be able to install a mute button on you.” 

“I just think you’re jealous of me. Y’know, people actually like me, but I know that’s not the case for you.”

“Fortunately, I couldn't care any less about anyone’s opinion of me. Unlike you, remember?” he reminded, looking up at you from the corner of his eye. “You had a breakdown in the library because you eavesdropped on a group of Amurta students calling you a stuck-up know-it-all.”

Your teeth clenched together, brain stuttering over its thoughts. “That’s because I’m not! I didn’t even know any of them, they were just making stuff up—“

Alhaitham’s ears tuned you out, index finger clicking the last piece together on the rune, getting it to light up successfully. He wiped beads of sweat off his forehead before picking himself up off the ground with a small huff.

“That’s why I was so upset, okay?” you finished, arms shrugged in a defensive manner. Your lips were pressed into a straight line, and your brows only raised at the realization— he wasn’t listening to a single word you said.

“Save your breath,” he started, gesturing to the supposedly fixed mechanism. “We’ll be out of each other’s sight soon.”

“Ohoho,” you chuckled dryly, “not soon enough.” 

You crouched down to the newly repaired rune, fidgeting with it as the symbols changed. Not a single one made the small cell’s bars budge, let alone lift. Slapping a hand to your forehead, you groaned in defeat. 

“Well my good friend, aren’t you just a genius,” you taunted.

“If you had a sliver of patience in that dense head of yours, you’d have known to wait another minute or so.”

“In my defense, you never told me to wait,” you spat. “In fact, it sounded like you wanted me to try it out just so you could call me a fool.”

He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples immediately. “Don’t twist my words. The only one making yourself look like a fool is you.”

“Archons,” you cried out. “All of this could’ve been avoided if you weren’t such a dickhead.”

“And we could’ve had a peaceful time in here if you knew how to shut up.”

“The only way you’re getting me to shut up is if you make me. Otherwise, it’ll be a hot, sunny day in Snezhnaya when I decide to listen to you.”

That was Alhaitham’s final straw. 

“Make you?” he spoke, tall frame slowly moving down towards yours on the ground. The only source of light came from a lone torch beyond the bars that enclosed your cell, and the tiny blue light that glowed from the rune. “Just how can I ‘make you’ shut up?”

You shrugged, taking a moment to note how much closer he was compared to before. 

“Not a clue my dude, not a clue,” you said, mischief lacing your voice. “Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Oh, you know… unless you have a bright idea.” 

You tilted your head to the side, smirking as confliction appeared on his face. His brows have been furrowed for some time now due to your antics, though right now, they looked as if they were slanted out of focus, not fury. The lack of light made it hard to see his eyes clearly, but you swear you caught a glint of desire hidden within them.

He grabbed the back of your head with a solid grip, closing the gap between your faces as his lips took over yours. 

Your eyes shut out of instinct, though his remained half lidded for a few more seconds. He didn’t miss how speedy you were to kiss back, not to mention grab onto his gray locks. You tugged on them, hard. It was just the push he needed to pull your body closer to his, leaving no more space between you two.

Contrary to his cold attitude, his lips were warm, wait— no, he was warm. His body warmed yours, heat rushing to all parts of your body as he moved his hand down from the back of your head to your lower back, holding on tightly when you moved against him. 

Paired with the heat of the moment, the action pulled a small moan from your lips. Alhaitham’s quick thinking allowed him to slide his tongue past your lips at the opening. You didn’t give any pushback, eagerly accepting the wet muscle with a quiet whine. 

Hands flew everywhere— his hair was nothing short of a mess, and you were sure yours wasn’t so neat either. Each time you broke away for air was cut short by Alhaitham, who couldn’t bear a single second without attacking your lips. The only noises that filled the confined room were his grunts and your quiet whimpers, though an occasional moan was thrown into the mix. 

You felt his strong arms move you back, attempting to push your back against the ground for better control. However, his efforts went to waste as you yelped, breaking the kiss to turn around and fiddle with something.

“Oh shit,“ you uttered under your breath. “Look at what you pushed me into.”

He moved away from your body, taking a minute to catch his breath before averting his attention to behind you. What he saw was something be couldn’t believe he forgot about— the rune that got you both stuck in the first place.

As if on cue, it began to blink, followed by thick bars lifting into the ceiling. You laughed loudly, feverish look still apparent on your face from what happened moments prior. 

“You—“ he started, standing up from the cell’s floor in embarrassment. “You are not to speak of this, we are not to bring this up again, got that?” 

Extending a hand out to you, he helped pull you off the ground begrudgingly. You scratch the back of your head sheepishly, looking at anything that wasn’t Alhaitham.

“No promises?” 

He could only scoff at your response, exiting the cell that he so desperately wanted to escape from not so long ago with a frown. Before he could reach the stairwell that led you down here, he turned back to face you. 

“Are you coming?” 

“I— uh…” you stumbled over your words, trying to make sense of everything that just transpired. “Yes! Don’t go without me, you hear?”

He rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

If this ever happens again, you can only hope your “undying” hatred for Alhaitham won’t waver afterwards. Now you have to bicker with an asshole who just so happened to have had his tongue in your mouth… not to mention he might be the best kisser you’ve ever met.

Great.

SCARAMOUCHE (1.3k wc)

The room was tight, stuffy, and so hot. 

Well, maybe the heat you felt was your own body temperature. It’s a natural reaction, you think. Yeah, a very, very natural reaction to being in such close proximity with someone you just so happened to find attractive. 

Pushing your bubbling feelings aside, you acknowledge the situation at hand. 

“This is your fault— all your fault!” 

“My fault? Did you forget who set off the wrong mechanism?” Scaramouche barked, furious eyes narrowing in on you. “Incase you somehow forgot, allow me to refresh that poor little memory of yours— it was you,” he hissed, the faint shadow of a smirk etched across his lips added a venom drip onto his words.

You rolled your eyes with a scoff, one that could most definitely be heard from the outside of the small chamber you found yourself trapped in. Seriously, who in their right mind thought it’d be a good idea to send you and the 6th Harbinger on a mission together? No, scratch that. Who thought it’d be a good idea to send him on a mission with anyone besides his masochistic subordinates?

The Tsarsita, apparently. 

Searching for any sign of an exit, your hand brushed against Scaramouche’s. For once, he landed on the same page as you.

“What do you think you're doing?” he spat, swatting your hand away as if it were a mere little fly.

You backed yourself against the wall defensively. The old bricks only extended a few feet wide; just a mere foot away from the other side, too. Unfortunately, this is physically the closest you’ve ever been to the Inazuman, a fact that made you sick. Archons, did it have to be him? Of all people, why was he the one you were trapped with?

“I’m trying to get us out of here. Y’know, so I don’t have to stare at your wretched face any longer.”

“No one’s forcing you to stare at anything, moron.” Groaning, his head motioned back to hit the wall behind it. “Look! So much dust, so much dirt, and it’s all right in front of you!” he sneered tauntingly. “How about you count every little dust particle your eyes can see while I get us out of here?” 

You hadn’t even realized he’d been drawing closer and closer the longer he spoke. Unintentionally, probably. Still, there was hardly any space to begin with, and now he literally had you cornered. 

That part may be intentional, you think.

“I’d rather count every single split-end from that hair of yours, since the darkness wasn’t kind enough to hide them for you.”

He deadpanned at your rebuttal, “Oh, like that has to do with anything.”

“I’m sure I’ll still be counting even after we get out of here,” you tauntingly whispered, face unconsciously growing closer to his. “If you’d open your mind for a moment… I’d recommend seeing a barber when we return.”

“You little—“ his voice came to an abrupt stop, gleaming eyes sharpening in the dimly lit room as he gritted his teeth. 

“Little what? Go on, don’t cut yourself off now,” you mocked, a grin of michief creeping onto your features. “Am I a little bitch, or a little pest? Oh, maybe you had something more creative in mind? Come on now, don’t keep me wai—“

Before you could finish your sentence— hell, before he could think, his lips lunged at yours, capturing them between his own as he pinned your hands on either side of your head firmly.

Your eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated in shock as you processed what was happening. The Balladeer was kissing you. He went from taunting you… to… kissing you…? And it felt good? You didn’t think you hated it. No, you definitely didn’t hate it. 

Kissing back slowly, you gripped onto the hands that restrained yours for better support. Oddly enough, his hold loosened, opting to intertwine your fingers instead. 

He felt something. Heat, maybe? Yeah, that must be it. It was hot. Obviously his mechanical body wasn’t immune to the dangers of overheating, especially when it’s pressed up against an even warmer body. It wasn’t like anything he felt before— of course he felt himself craving more. 

He broke the kiss briefly to hoist you upwards, moving his hands down to signal you to jump. Without thinking, you wrapped your legs around his slim frame instinctively. His hands that went from yours, to beneath your knees, now kept a firm grip on the plush of your thighs as the kiss deepened.

Small snippets of air was all you needed to keep going, something Scaramouche didn’t understand. Every time you pulled away for a gasp of air, his brows furrowed in judgment. Humans, he thinks to himself. Not even lust can cloud their senses. The string of saliva was all that connected your bodies. That is— if you didn’t count your hold around his neck or his now wandering hands. 

As he dove back in to resume, you felt yourself pushed against the wall— harder, somehow. The force had you groan, now feeling just how dirty the small room was. Scaramouche couldn’t give a shit, of course. Instead, he thought now was the perfect moment to trail his lips down to your neck. 

Your head lolled back, allowing him all the access he needed. He nipped and nipped— creating a pattern between sucking, biting, and kissing. Honestly, you were too dazed to care if he left a mark at this point. You let your thighs tremble in his hold, aching from both the thrill and the need. Letting your head rest against the wall entirely, you—

Bump!

Both yours and Scaramouche’s eyes widened, only to close tightly at the sudden light. He turned away from you, squinting at the brightness that came in the other direction. “What the…”

Oh, the door lifted.

“How did it—“

The Balladeer’s hands dropped from your body, retreating to his sides. You still kept a hold on him— limbs not showing any sign of letting him move freely, but you were just as perplexed as him. 

“Let go.”

“If you drop me and I break something, you better pay for—“

He rolled his eyes, forcing your legs off of him and sliding down to escape your grip around his neck. You fell, hard. Grumbling to yourself, you stood back up on your own two feet with annoyance. 

Freedom was just a foot away, yet neither of you moved an inch. Scaramouche’s eyes darted from you, to the wall behind you, catching the key to the chamber’s doors. 

Of course.

He pressed his hand against the loose brick. “Your head was right here, correct?”

“I’m pretty sure… yeah?” you answered, turning around to examine his actions. 

He slapped his forehead in agitation, laughing to himself. You were starting to catch on now, understanding what caused your escape route. 

“I can’t believe it,” he breathed, chuckling. “You were so needy, your big head somehow pushed the brick that opened the doors.” 

For once, you ignored his insult. “Then— can we get out of here before it closes again?”

His eyes darkened, returning to his menacing aura. You gulped, feeling less cocky after the predicament you found yourself in a minute prior. He pointed his index finger at you— as if he were about to order you around like one of his subordinates.

“Only if you agree to never speak of this to anyone, you got that?”

You nodded slowly, itching to get out of here and complete this mission in another few hours. “Okay… okay.”

“Good,” he started, turning his back to you. “We can finish this later, but that’ll be it.”

That was, in fact, not the last time such an encounter occurred between you both. But hey, there’s a thin line between hate and love, right? 

Surely it wouldn’t be a problem to dance on that line a little longer…

WRIOTHESLEY (2.3k wc)

How in Teyvat does the very Duke of the Fortress of Meropide forget his keys? Better yet, how did the lock on the outside of the cell click on its own?

“This place is haunted, it’s gotta be,” you wailed, dramatically flopping yourself down on the cell’s stiff mattress. “Hey, Great ol’ Duke, I’ve got an idea for you.”

The hands that were previously fiddling with the lock on the other side of the cell came to a halt. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before darting his eyes in your direction. 

“Oh, sure. Please, tell me, what are you scheming this time?” 

“Me? Scheming? Just how little do you think of me?”

He huffed, giving his attention back to the matter at hand: getting out of this cell and far, far away from you.

“I don’t think anything of you, but I do know,” he grumbled, cursing himself for never gluing the keys to his hand. “And what I know is that you should’ve been out of here the moment your sentence ended. But instead, you thought it’d be fun to stick around and climb the ranks amongst the gardes here.”

“With ease, if you don’t mind adding that bit on.”

“I do, actually.”

“Whatever,” you whisper to yourself, staring up at the ceiling that reached so high above. By now it was a view you were sick of, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

All you wanted to do was give Wriothesley his daily dose of torment. Instead, you wound up following him into an old cell, one that he meant to clean up before the door slammed shut, effectively locking the two of you back up. Both yours and his blood ran cold at the realization: you were trapped— together.

“This might be the worst day of my life,” he said, stone-faced. 

“You and me both, Duke.”

He slid down the wall next to the cell door, legs spread out as his head hung low in defeat. “We’re gonna be here for a while before someone gets us outta here.”

“And the thinker of the year award goes to… Wriothesley! Congrats, you figured out the obvious,” you cheered, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “I’ll get you a medal sometime soon, don’t worry.”

“Aren’t you a thoughtful one,” he deadpanned, sick to his stomach from your presence alone. 

“Aren’t I?” you mused. 

He let out a deep sigh, wishing he had someone else to keep him company right now. Sigwinnie would be his top pick, with the Traveler coming as a close second. But you? Yeah, you weren’t even last on the list of people he’d pick; not a trace of your name could even be found on it.

The goal was to tidy up some old cells, maybe a few of the bathrooms too if he was feeling up to it. Unfortunately, nothing comes according to plan for Wriothesley when you're in a three mile radius. You’ve made it your life’s goal to annoy him to bits— torture him to bits, as he thinks of it. So when he saw you making your way down the same hall as him, he tried to make a beeline out of your sight.

Key word: tried.

He tried, and failed miserably.

He pats his pockets down once again, making sure he didn’t miss his keys the last four times he checked. To no avail, there was nothing. Awesome— great, he thinks. This might be the worst mistake of his life.

“You do realize…” he began, standing back up to peer outside the strong bars. “If you hadn’t followed me around like some annoying pest— which you are, by the way— there might’ve been someone on the other side of these bars to alert someone sooner.”

You laughed at the seriousness in his voice. “You must be really deluded to think that I’d ever bother helping you out in any shape, way, or form.”

“That’d be a charge,” he informed, as if he knew every little detail in Fontaine’s code of law. “Reckless endangerment, that’s what they call it.”

“Yeah, they call it reckless endangerment. I like to call it minding my own business.”

He scoffed, crossing his arms from across the room. “It’s a miracle you’ve yet to face another trial.”

“I’m wounded,” you cried out, sitting up from the hard mattress. “To believe you’d think I’d ever commit another crime… I feel my heart breaking already.” 

The poor performance you put on was entertaining, he’d give you that much. As much as he disliked you, even he couldn’t deny the intriguing aura you carried. Would he admit it out loud? Absolutely not. But thinking of a foe’s positive trait couldn’t hurt, right? 

Maybe a little…

Staring off into nothing, you missed the moment Wriothesley treaded closer to you. Snapping out of your daze, your eyes shot up at his, shifting from a gaze to a glare in a millisecond. 

“Visiting hours are closed, come back another time— but keep in mind they’ll still be closed.” 

“Not visiting, just trying to take a seat that isn’t on a filthy floor,” he corrected, gesturing to move from the middle of the bed to the end.

“You sure you don’t need a check up from Sigwinnie?” you laughed dryly, finding humor in his train of thought. “Seriously, what makes you think I’m sharing a bed with you?”

“Don’t make it sound like that—“

“Like what?” you cut off, grinning to no one but yourself. “Like we’re sharing a bed all night? Like we’re gonna snuggle up next to each other because we’re so deprived of warmth? Oh, maybe you’re thinking it’ll end up with us—“

He lets you ramble, ignoring each word that slips from your lips; allowing his brain to replace the sound of your voice with the sound of a fly that’s been buzzing in his office all day. No longer caring about close proximity, he plopped himself down on the bed with a soft grunt. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” you sneered, shoving his annoyingly muscular frame away from you. 

“Laying down,” he said, letting his arms spread out across the bed— one of which landing behind you. “I might as well get comfortable for the time being.”

You glared down at him, feeling your eye twitch at his antics. “Well now I’m not comfortable thanks to you. I’m sure the floor would be far more welcoming, don’t you agree?” 

“I only agree with the voice in my head, wanna guess what he’s saying?” He stared blankly at the ceiling above as he spoke, starting to feel exhaustion cloud over his mind.

“Not really.”

“Too bad, I’m telling you anyway.” Moving the hand behind your figure, he pointed at his head. “He’s telling me you should shut up before I’m forced to do something about it.” 

You laughed meekly, “Well, isn’t he just a little comedian in the making.” 

“There you go. See, it wasn’t that hard, was it? I knew you were capable of saying something with an ounce of truth.”

“That was sarcasm, Duke.”

“Doesn’t change the fact you said it, so…” He sat up slowly, now plastered to your side as he stared daggers into you. “I don’t care.”

You shifted in your spot, goosebumps crawling up your skin at the room’s sudden change of mood. As much as you hated the man (for no apparent reason other than conflicting personalities, if you may add), it didn’t make you blind to his looks— body— his charm. 

Those factors only fuel your hatred, actually. 

Over the years, spoiling Wriothesley’s day has become a part of your daily routine. Every day you woke up with the same recurring thought: ‘What’ll piss him off today?’ and ‘How will he respond today?’ 

Whenever you don’t run into him, you can’t help but feel disappointed. "Maybe tomorrow,” you’d say to yourself at day’s end, thinking of all the ways you can get on his nerves later. 

You hated him so, so much. You only hated him more when he wasn’t a part of your day. 

“Getting a little close there, arentcha?” 

“You’ve yet to push me away, too,” he noted. 

You stared into your lap with an unreadable expression. “Don’t get the wrong idea or anything, you’re just a good— decent substitute for a heater.” 

He hummed, going silent for a minute or so. For once, it felt… peaceful between you two. If peaceful was even the right word, which you and him both doubted. 

Tense might be a better way to describe the atmosphere. 

“If you’d prefer a better heater…” he started, voice trailing off as he furrowed his brows at his thoughts. “I can improve myself, if you don’t mind.”

If you don’t mind? You were taken aback in confusion, unsure of what he was implying. “What are you talking about? How… how would that even work?”

His lips press into a thin line for a second, a second that you regretfully missed. When you do look at him, he’s no longer glaring at you— just staring. It was hard to make out the emotions written across his face. Unsure? Confident? Both, somehow?

He took a deep breath. “Like this,” he said before diving in.

Grayish-blue eyes shut tightly as his lips locked onto yours. Your lips parted farther in shock, giving his tongue access almost immediately. This isn’t an opportunity anyone can come by quite easily with Wriothesley— or you for that matter. Wanting those bragging rights more so than he himself, you indulged in his feverish kiss while you could.

But oh— he was right. It was so much warmer now, no longer feeling the chills you felt earlier. You hated when he was right, despised it, even. The strong feelings only escalated the kiss further, and Archons… not once did you think Wriothesley of all people would be able to turn you to mush so easily. 

Your lungs burned for oxygen, as did his. You both pulled away for a moment, staring into each other’s clouded eyes without a thought.

“I don’t mind,” you responded to his question from before. “Well— as long as you don’t mind.”

He opened his mouth to speak, only to get cut off by you pouncing on him. You were no longer at each other’s sides, turning at an awkward angle to indulge in one another. Now, you had him pinned down to the old, bare mattress, moving your lips against his with far more rhythm than before.

Kissing back, he managed to motion his wrists out of your grip, leaving you to stutter over your movements before settling your hands on either side of his chest, still straddling him. As for him, his hands didn’t hesitate to hold onto your hips. 

In all fairness, this is a pretty effective way to get each other to shut up. It kept your mouths busy, not to mention it was hot, something you never thought you’d hear yourself think regarding Wriothesley.

Your hands moved to his bi-colored locks, tugging on the gray and black strands to keep yourself grounded as his hands explored your body. You hate that you’re enjoying this as much as you are. It’d be a different story if this were anyone else— then you’d bask in the pleasure without complaint. But this is the man you swore you wanted dead for years…

Much to your dismay, that thought only added more thrill to the situation. 

The kiss was wet— messy. Every break for air was spent uncovering every little detail on his face. He has nice eyelashes, you think. His eyes also look really fucking pretty when they’re half-lidded like this. Going back in, you felt a soft squeeze on your ass, which was soon followed by Wriothesley breaking the kiss.

You looked down at him with a curious gaze, brow lifted in both annoyance and wonder. Before you could ask what’s wrong, he pushed you off him in one swift motion.

Yelping in surprise, you sharpened your glare. “The hell was that for? If you wanted to stop, you coulda just said that!” 

“Check your pocket.” he demanded, now standing up with his arms crossed over his chest.

“My pocket?” You stared at him in disbelief, a flurry of emotions sworming your brain. 

He didn’t reply, only staring you down harder than before. With no other option, you dug your hand into your back pocket, eyes widening the second you felt metal.

Right… that’s how you got into this mess in the first place.

Chuckling awkwardly, you revealed the ring of keys to Wriothesley, holding them up besides your face in embarrassment.

He didn’t move, only glaring at you even more now that you’ve been caught.

“So…” your voice dragged out, eyes trailing down to the floor. “I may or may not have stolen these from you when you weren’t looking. Y’know, before we got stuck in here. And… I may or may not have… uh, forgot? Yeah, I forgot I had these.”

You stood from the bed shamefully, planting the keys in his hand without a glance. He stood still for a moment, too baffled at the absurdity of the past— what was it? Hour? 30 minutes? 

He cleared his throat. “I think it goes without saying that I’m getting back at you for this. Later, that is.”

You nodded your head, mentally noting to avoid him at all costs for the remainder of the week— no matter how much it conflicts with your usual routine. The keys jingled from across the room, where Wriothesley was now finally unlocking the cell door.

“I’ll be on my way,” you chirped, attitude doing a complete 180. 

Before you could exit the run-down cell, someone gripped the back of your shirt.

“Not so fast,” he chuckled darkly. “You’re coming with me.”

You gulped, blood draining from your face at his words. “Oh, am I now?” you mocked quietly, not a bit of confidence to be heard in your voice for once.

“We need to pick up where we left off, don’t we? I can throw my pay back in, too.”

At least you and him have an… ethical… way of shutting each other up now…

© fyodoro 2024. i do not permit plagiarism, translations, or reposts of my work on any platform.

[seancekitsch]

How about Lucifer and one of Angel or Cherri's wild party friends?

If it blows up in your face, you can always say it was a dare.

Cherri’s words ricochet in your head like a pinball as you look down at the hand next to yours. The gloved hand so close that if you were to twitch, you’d touch fingers. Normally by this time of night you’d be at the club, or at some party, but instead here you were behind the bar at the Hazbin Hotel; a structure dedicated to a redemption you weren’t sure you believed in. And here you are, full of nerves, teaching the King of Hell himself how to make a cocktail. He’s done pretty good at it, which is expected, because you’re pretty sure he’s lied about not knowing how to make an Appletini. He’s like ten thousand fucking years old, of course he knows how to make an Appletini; he probably invented them.

But now that there’s drinks in front of the two of you, and Husk away from his normal post to have a night with Angel, the two of you take up the space to people watch. Its impressive, really, how much Charlie’s gotten-

A gloved finger curling over your pinky stops any thought, and you look down to where Lucifer has just made a move. Well, a move way subtler than you’re used to.

“Sorry if this is ah- a slow night for you,” Lucifer sounds a little guilty as he turns his face towards yours, his eyes following a couple that had recently checking into the hotel instead of meeting yours though.

“Oh! no,” you chuckle as you nudge your joined fingers, “slow is okay, really.”

“Well, I- I just figure you’re used to something more fun than this,” he tilts his head down, averting your attention now fully on him, “Like I know you turned down Cherri’s invitation tonight to hang out with me, and I really appreciate that, but I know-“

“Lucifer,” you interrupt, “Do you want to go to a club or something?”

You chuckle at the confusion on his face.

“You know, if you’re so worried about tonight being slow.”

You should have quit while you were ahead, you think as you lead a disguised Lucifer by the hand through a club in the Vee’s turf. He looks so wildly out of place trailing behind you. You’re lucky enough that you have a standing reservation for a couch at this particular club, and you quickly gesture to Lucifer to sit once you’ve reached it. A waitress appears immediately and brings two glasses with ice and a bottle of Velvette’s custom vanilla vodka as you usually get.

“Is it normally-“ Lucifer shouts over the music, “always this loud?”

You nod enthusiastically as you pour up for both of you, eyes surveying the crowd. No one has seemed to notice you or your guest, which is ideal right now. A scandal for Lucifer would absolutely ruin anything between the two of you.

You lean in, flirtatiously close until your lips almost touch the shell of his ear.

“This is my booth,” you explain, “Nobody can sit unless I let them, so we can people watch uninterrupted.”

He seems to relax at your words, and clinks his glass against yours before taking a big swig.

Lucifer almost immediately sputters, coughing most of the vodka back into the glass.

“Oh wow! That is! Oh!” he exclaims, not even hiding his disgust as you laugh sympathetically.

“Not a fan?” you joke, before reassuring him, “Don’t worry, me neither.”

“Why do you drink it then?” he asks, gesturing at how easily you’re sipping at it.

“Comes with the booth,” you explain, taking his glass from him, pouring his contents into yours, spit and all.

He eyes you up at that move, not exactly hiding the fact that he’s taking in the sight of your body. You practically shiver under his gaze, feeling bashful now because of him. Butterflies swarm in your stomach, and maybe if he wasn’t the literal King of Hell you’d lean over and kiss him.

Instead you chicken out.

“Let me grab you something you will like,” you offer, gesturing to the bar at the wall to the left of the couch. You stand up before he can protest, taking a big sip of the glass now containing his drink and yours, and place it down on the little table in front of the couch before you head away.

Lucifer wishes he had played it cooler with the vodka. If he had, maybe you’d be on the couch right now, your hip oh so close to his, and his nerves dissolving enough to maybe try to grab your hand again. Or ask you to get on the dance floor. Or fuck it, kiss you. He stares fixated at the drink, trying and failing to not read too much into it. You’d drank from it even after you’d watched him make an ass of himself and spit into it. You willingly drank his spit, and, was that flirting? It was weird to him, thats for sure. But you’re one of Cherri and Angel’s friends, wild and barely tamed by his daughter’s redemption program, and maybe this is modern flirting in hell. Lilith never did anything like that, but then again, she took off without a word a decade ago. Maybe thats what flirting looks like these days; maybe Lilith does this now too. Maybe he should stop thinking of his ex-wife when the curve of your ass and the promise of your attention has him glued to his seat and waiting for your return. Why had he even suggested this club? He wonders, and then remembers the brittle coldness of insecurity that crept up on him in the lobby, seeing such a carefree woman like yourself cooped up with him on a night he knows you cancelled plans for. He thinks back to the drink, and counts it as a bizarre, one way, first kiss, and lets himself feel the rhythm of the music bumping around him, one song bleeding into the next, until a familiar raised voice breaks the thrum of noise.

You tap your card on the bar absentmindedly as you wait for the bottle of wine you ordered for Lucifer, something you’ve known he drinks and that the bar cannot screw up. This bartender was from Sloth, so of course you expected slow service, but this was something else. Why had you even offered to leave instead of waving over a waitress? You were finally getting somewhere with Lucifer before the vodka incident, and maybe you’d be dancing or making out or even just having a very good conversation while sat in his lap.

An arm around your waist shakes you from your thoughts, and you turn, ready to excitedly greet the man and explain the hold up, but that doesn’t happen. A bull like sinner has decided to grab you, something that maybe a few years ago might flatter you, but the thought churns your stomach now to be touched by anyone but Lucifer like this. Damn, you’ve really gone soft for him, huh?

You shake the man off, glaring as you make your disinterest known, but he just puts his hand back, now on your hip. Bold! You tap your card harder, hoping if you get this wine you can scurry back to the table quickly and this will be over.

“Put that card away,” the sinner says, “I’ve got something for you.”

You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, drugged no doubt,” you sneer, and the sheepish look on his face tells you that your assumption was correct. Bold and disgusting!

“Listen I’ll-“

“I’m with someone!” you practically shout, but that doesn’t make the sinner back off.

“Well I don’t see-“

You spin on your heels, pulling yourself from his grasp.

“I do not care who you are, I do not want whatever you have, I do not want whatever you want from me!” you are shouting now, not caring about a scene because finally the fucking wine is being placed on the bar so you can get out of this area. Lucifer can get his own drinks for the rest of the night, or better yet, you can go back to the hotel.

The sinner bares his teeth, and you’re certain he’s growling under the throbbing beat of the music. You back up, grabbing the wine with you and ready to run until you back into another person. You sigh, not really ready for an ambush and not really wanting to break this bottle over someone’s head without letting Lucifer drink at least a little bit of it. You turn, ready to fight, but you’re greeted by Lucifer’s disguise. Immediately you calm down. Lucifer won’t let anything bad happen to you.

“The lady said she’s with someone,” he explains, voice even and deadly, before he leads you away quicker than the other sinner can really retaliate.

Lucifer guides you back to the couch, but you walk straight past it, heading for the door. He follows quickly, grabbing your hand not unlike before. You walk until you reach the heavy steel door, pushing it open with your shoulder and letting the cool air of the alley hit you in the face.

“What about your section?” Lucifer asks, genuine concern in his voice. You motion at your other hand, the one not interlaced in his at the full bottle of wine you held onto as you walked out.

“Fuck the section, I wanna go back to the hotel,” you say, trying not to look as embarrassed as you felt. Why did that have to happen? The night was nice, albeit awkward, and that guy had to go and ruin it, and Lucifer had to get involved. You can handle yourself, and Lucifer doesn’t get out much, and that place must have seemed so… so.

You hold out the wine for him, and he takes it and sips from it, wine spilling out onto his lips. Fucking hot, even in disguise.

“I was enjoying our quiet night, I’m sorry if it seemed like I wasn’t,” you admit, inspecting your boots now as if they were immensely interesting.

“No! I just didn’t want to— to bore you,” Lucifer steps into your space, the toes of his shoes resting barely an inch from yours, and then a portal opens and his disguise fades, familiar red and gold on the other side.

You both step through, and find yourselves in the hallway that leads to his observatory.

Lucifer’s hand doesn’t leave yours though, not until you’re in the window covered room and staring out at all of Pentagram city. It’s almost beautiful from up here.

“I guess this was kind of a disaster, huh?” Lucifer tries to joke, but he cannot hide the way he winces at his own words.

“I wouldn’t say that,” you reply, but yes you fucking could. It was awkward and uncomfortable and neither of you had fun. But still…

“I got to spend time with you, I accidentally stole that bottle of wine so I saved money, and I got to hold your hand,” you listed out all the good things, all the things that made you want the night to last eternally.

“And we’re still hanging out!” Lucifer points out, and you cannot help but gravitate towards him again. He holds up the bottle to you, and you drink from it. The bottle his lips were just on. If you try hard enough, you could probably make out his taste from it.

He smiles brightly at you, and you cannot chicken out this time.

“Can I hold your hand again?” you ask, and his hand eagerly reaches for yours.

“Is that all you want to do?” he asks, leaning into you.

“Oh, I wanna do a lot to you,” you admit, smile growing as a blush spreads across his cheeks.

“But I wanna take it slow tonight.”

[nightmarerodent]

More angast for Kung Jin! 😈

What would be his worst nightmare, from which he would wake up in a cold sweat, not being able to sleep for the rest of the night?

😈

“All you ever do is cause problems! Not everything has to be a dick measuring contest, you know!” Jacqui’s words clawed at his chest, leaving bloody wounds in their wake.

“For someone claiming to be so smart, the cold reality is you’re as useless as they come.” Frost sneered, “Little more than more useless grandstanding from the pointless Kung’s.”

Jin tried to tune out the voice but was instead met with Cassie’s, “What is your problem!? Do you really get some sick joy out of this!? Does watching everyone else fail somehow make you feel better about your sad, pathetic life!?”

It didn’t. That wasn’t true!

“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?”

No! What did he do? What didn’t he do? His friends, everyone, was turning against him.

“The Shaolin expect better, Kung Jin. You will not be White Lotus this way.” Raiden’s words echoed like rolling thunder, rattling bone.

And then, there he stood. His oldest friend. For the longest time, his only friend.

“Takeda.” Jin’s voice was hollow.

The ninja refused to look at him.

“You really had me going there,” the voice was wet and heartbroken, “Really played me for a fool. I bet you’re pretty proud of that. The Great Kung Jin strikes again. To think I actually liked that about you.”

“Takeda, wait! Hold on! What did-” Jin called out, trying to approach his friend but always seemed just out of reach.

“I should’ve known better than to trust some thief.”

“Tak, you’re my friend. I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“WHY WOULD I EVER BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?” Takeda’s voice echoed and mixed into a cacophony with all his other friends’ cries.

“WhO wOuLd WaNt To Be WiTh A tHiNg LiKe YoU?”

“No OnE lOvEs YoU!”

The voices mixed like maelstrom winds. Freezing. Cutting. Jin covered his ears but it only made them grow louder. Angrier. He was alone. So very alone.

No one.

No one.

No one.

No

one.

Oji?

He shot up in a cold sweat, gasping for air, the sheet constricting him like a python with its prey. He pulled it off him, taking another large gulp of air as he surveyed his surroundings. Dark room. Bed. Night. Where was he?

The door cracked open with a foreboding creek and his head whipped around to see the cause and possible intruder.

Slowly opening the door, as careful as could be was a small four year old girl dressed in PJs, clutching her favorite stuffed T-Rex like her life depended on it, her curly hair an absolute mess from tossing in her sleep, eyes wide with fear. Vee.

It was little Vera. He was at Jacqui’s and Takeda’s. She was pregnant again and due very soon. They asked him to help. They said they wanted him here. They wanted him here.

He let out a long breath, his racing heart finally slowing. He was safe. He was fine. He was safe.

“Oji?” Vee’s voice was small and watery.

“Hey kiddo,” he was glad his voice didn’t come out shaky, “Bad dream?”

She nodded her head and quickly scurried her way over to the guest bed and hoisted herself up. He drew her in and let her snuggle her way into his side. Under any other circumstances he might privately gloat that she came to him instead of her parents, use it as proof that he was in fact her favorite. It didn’t seem very important right now, though. She was as much of a comfort to him as he was to her right now. She needed her favorite uncle and he needed his favorite girl.

“Everyone was being mean to you.” She sniffed.

She had that glint in her eye. The one Takeda has when he uses his powers. She must have read his nightmare and saw it as her own. He felt guilty for the grief it’s causing her. Her powers were developing far faster than her father’s had. He’ll bring it up to them tomorrow. Maybe ask Grandmaster Hasashi for advice on how to block thoughts from leaking out.

“Don’t worry, Vee,” he removed some of the hair from her eyes, “It’s just a bad dream. None of it is true.”

She sniffed again and rubbed her nose, “I love you, Oji.”

“I love you too, little bunny,”

She fell asleep again with him as her guard.

[autisticalastor]

The Moon Will Sing

Chapter 1: Is This All There Is?

Fic Rating: M

Relevant Relationships: PolyVees, past Vox/Alastor

Chapter Tags: Angst, Computer Gore, Toxic Relationships, Discussions of Intimate Partner Violence

A/N: Welcome to what I'm referring to as my Vox redemption fic! These early chapters will just be laying the groundwork to push him towards the idea of redemption, so don't get your hopes up for him joining the Hotel just yet. We've got a lot of ground to cover! I do hope you'll stick around for the ride! Special shoutout to @normystical for being the one who pushed me to turn my crazy ideas into a fic in the first place!

It cannot be understated just how painful it is to respawn after dying in Hell. Stiff muscles contracting once again; rigid bones cracking back out of their newly-set places; that violent first pump of blood through the body, a pounding so hard it puts heart attacks to shame. Fatal wounds stitch themselves shut, scarred new tissues filling in the gaps. That first, gasping breath, as frightening to the seasoned sinner as it is to the freshly-delivered newborn. Every bit as overwhelming and terrifying as the realization that one's torment truly is eternal in this place.

Vox takes a deep, gasping breath. He's never going to get used to the feeling of respawning. Everything he's ever been through, alive and in Hell, and not one bit of it compares to the pain he feels as life shoots back into his body, crackling and blindingly bright.

It takes a moment — an oddly quiet moment — before he finally pushes himself up, surveying the area around him. He can't quite recall what he got into such a rough fight over, or who he was even fighting with at the time he was killed. An arduously slow systems check reveals his memory banks haven't fully redownloaded yet, and he groans in frustration. He turns to ask Valentino or Velvette what exactly happened… But finds he's all alone amid the rubble of God-knows-what building he must've been fighting in.

That's… strange, to say the least. At first, he chalks it up to his screen being absolutely shattered. Part of the pain of respawning is that it only fixes what's absolutely necessary to bring you back to life, so his vision being limited by a broken screen was something he always had to get fixed later on.

“Val? Vel?” he calls out, hoping knowing one of them is there, just out of sight. He waits a minute. No response.

Vox slowly gets up, an uneasy feeling taking root within him. He staggers through the rubble, more feeling his way than anything else with his vision currently segmented into fractals of shattered crystal. He continues calling out for the other Vees, tone growing more desperate as it becomes more evident he's completely alone. He shouldn't be here alone. They promised he'd never come back alone.

Keep Reading

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

Panaceum deleted scene

A yo, I promised to post the part I cut out during the editing because it was bad for the narration flow. Essentially, at first instead of having the whole conversation with Angel via text, Valentino invited him to the studio, just to exercise his control and waste Angel's time. It would be in character. But storytelling wise it was an unnecessary complication that didn't do any favor to pacing.

So, yeah, I would say "enjoy" but it's just Valentino being a terrible person so I just say: tw // abuse

Valentino sneaks out of Vox’s apartment and heads to his office. Though the office might be a misleading label. This is the place of pleasure and power, not paperwork. Plush, velvet-upholstered sofas beckon invitingly, their curves accentuated by the soft glow of dimmed, amber lighting. A mirrored wall stretches from floor to ceiling, reflecting the room's decadent ambiance and adding an illusion of endless space. Against one wall stands a well-stocked bar, gleaming with crystal decanters and polished glassware. The rich aroma of aged whiskey and exotic liqueurs fills the air, mingling with the faint scent of incense and musky cologne. In the center of the room, a small pole dance platform awaits – an invitation for potential new stars, and a promise to Valentino’s guests.

As he waits for Angel Dust, Valentino puts on some music – one of his own albums – and methodically removes all the VoxTek cameras from the ceiling, one by one.

Their absence is the first thing Angel notices upon his arrival. Stepping through the door, he quickly surveys the room, likely gauging the level of danger he’s in, and immediately questions:

“No show today?” His tone carries a hint of challenge, but Valentino detects the undercurrent of curiosity in his voice. Understandably so – everyone in Vees' inner circle knows that Valentino is always under the watchful eyes of VoxTek cameras and has never expressed dissatisfaction with it. He’s a performer after all, always more than willing to put on a show for his biggest fan.

Valentino arches an eyebrow, his gaze piercing and judgmental as he ignites his cigarette. "Nothing worth watching. Jesus, look how fat you got. Giving up coke doesn't serve you well, Angel Cakes," he comments with a cruel smile, the smoke swirling around him.

"What do you want, Val?" Angel responds, his tone steady despite the tension radiating from his body. He holds Valentino's gaze, unwilling to yield an inch. Yet, beneath his facade of confidence he visibly struggles against an invisible force, as if he's constantly battling against the weight of Valentino's influence. He tries to convince himself that he feels nothing, but it's just pointless. Valentino has woven himself into every fiber of Angel's being, leaving an indelible mark of his control.

“Sit down.” Commands Valentino instead of answering and Angel immediately sinks into the big, comfortable chair, almost pushed into it with the contract's bonding force. Valentino gestures toward the large, golden bowl brimming with cocaine. "Treat yourself."

Angel must be fucking crazy if he thinks that he can play tough with his owner.

"I'll pass," he retorts almost mechanically, though his lack of conviction is palpable. Despite Angel's efforts to project self-control, Valentino notices the way he clenches his fist, nails biting into his palm. The scent of his discomfort and craving hangs heavy in the air and Valentino savors it, inhaling deeply. That’s the best part of playing with addicts - no matter how good they are at the game, they possess one glaring weakness that can be exploited to devastating effect. It's this knowledge that crowns the man who deals in addictions as the true king of the city.

"You know I don't like to be denied," purrs Val, the smoke from his cigarette swirling around Angel's face like a sinister caress. "Maybe I should just..." With a swift motion, he reaches out and grasps a fistful of Angel's hair. Hard. "Put your ugly face into it?"

Angel doesn't even flinch. His breath trembles slightly, but there's a calmness about him that unsettles Valentino. Could he be on sedatives? It’s not possible his Angel has become so numb and boring.

"Wouldn't be a very constructive talk then, would it?" Angel suggests, prompting a cheerful yet deeply infuriated laugh from Valentino. Laughing it off is the only way he can prevent himself from succumbing to the urge to lash out and check how many hits to the table Angel’s head needs before it cracks open. It's maddening when his toys fail to perform as expected.

"Look at you, you grew some balls," Valentino remarks, releasing Angel's hair and ruffling it affectionately. "But you are right. I need you to arrange a meeting with the Radio Demon."

Angel frowns, adjusting his suit with a hint of theatrical irritation.

“Can't you like, do it yourself?” he asks and he fucking dares to be annoyed with Valentino’s demand.

“Oh what do you think I should do? Call his hell phone? Message him on sinstagram? Visit in person?” Velntino snarks, rolling his eyes. “You stupid bitch.”

Angel simply nods, acknowledging Valentino's response, and takes a moment to consider his own options. "Yeah, I can ask him," he concedes, probably realizing he has little to lose by doing Val this favor and perhaps even less to gain by refusing. "But you know how he is. Can't really force him to do anything."

"No need to force, though I'd like to see you trying," Valentino huffs, exhaling another cloud of red smoke that envelops Angel's body like a possessive embrace. "Just tell him I want to make a deal," he adds, noting the surprise in Angel's widened eyes as they once again dart towards the broken cameras.

"Me. No one else," Valentino clarifies before Angel can voice his unspoken question. It's amusing how his pet always skirts around mentioning Vox's name, as if uttering it could summon him, despite the fact that Vox's invisible presence has long been intertwined with their relationship. Or perhaps because of it.

"But if I do it, you can't tell him I had anything to do with it," Angel asserts, a hint of fear finally creeping into his voice.

“Fuck, I really was too soft on you if you are seriously more afraid of Vox than me,” Valentino scoffs, shaking his head. But honestly, understands. He has never been able to bring himself to finish Angel's miserable existence - both, out of sentiment and cruelty. Vox however, jealous of Valentino's attention just waits for the right moment when Val gets bored with his doll and he will be finally permitted to dismember it and burn what remains. He explicitly told Angel once, because that much Valentino allowed him. Vox is always so entreating when he lets his sadism to shine through the perfect mask.

"You know that if he learns that I helped you betray him—" Angel begins, anxiously nibbling on his sleeve, but before he can finish, Valentino smacks the table with such force that it cracks under his palm.

"I'm not a sellout bitch like you," Valentino growls, baring his teeth, like he was ready to rip Angel’s neck.

"Okay. Okay. I..." Angel takes a deep breath, desperately searching for the right words to defuse the escalating tension. He realizes a few seconds too late how badly he fucked up. It's enough to instill genuine fear of what he might have triggered. “Misinterpreted the situation.”

"Like hell," Valentino hisses, fixing him with a murderous glare. "Now fuck off before I make this meeting about you."

Angel doesn't need to be told twice. He scrambles off the armchair, finally released from Valentino's earlier command, and hastens out of the room. As the door closes behind him, Valentino sinks back onto the couch, lighting another cigarette in an attempt to quell his emotions. He knows he just needs to see this through to the end, and then Vox will be the one left worrying about plans and consequences. Oh, Vox. Vox would undoubtedly be ecstatic if Valentino got rid of Angel. Perhaps it would be the definitive proof to the Media Overlord that Valentino's heart belongs solely to him, finally securing Vox's confidence in their relationship. Though he definitely would be disappointed that he didn’t have a chance to turn the last hours of Angel’s life into some fucked up snuff movie. But one can’t have everything.

Valentino finishes his cigarette and decides to get to work. He must keep himself busy waiting for Alastor’s answer, and cameras must roll if he doesn’t want to listen to Vox whining when he will finally check the books again.

[shadebloopnik]

Hi everyone! First off, im so so soooo sorry for the late update to this, finals have been hell, and im still going through the last week before breaks.

Anyways, i'd like to thank everyone who participated in my Survey Fic Exchange thing! The survey's still going, but we finally reached the minimum 100 respondents required by my prof!

I truly cannot thank all of you enough, you've all been a dear (and your aggressively worded answers made me laugh, ya got the spirit-)

As for the fic prompts, I thank everyone who sent some! Y'all had some truly wonderful ideas, and I can only hope I do them justiceee

Top 3 Prompts:

1. Radioapple/Appleradio

Ahhh, a duck, truly the symbol of happiness. At least, that's what's kept him happy for so long. Besides, if anyone knows what it means to be happy, it'd be the Morningstar!.....right?

After a grueling couple of days of non-stop overlord meetings, and dealing with those pesky Vees, Alastor's mood has definitely been less than stellar. To help their growing relationsh-FRIENDSHIP, Lucifer aims to cheer him up. And what better way to do that than with a duck! What could go wrong?"

2. Radiostatic/Staticradio

"Well old pal, I do hope you can still catch up.", he couldn't help his eyes widening, watching Alastor expertly skip onto the thin railing; his steps delicate and precise- kicking up the shadows pooled at his feet. His smile was wide, and inviting, and it almost, almost, reminded him of when that smile was all that lit up his life in hell.

"You know I do so hate to be bored."

Stuck at the most mind numbing social gathering for Overlords and other royal hellborns, Vox takes refuge in an empty balcony for a small reprieve and to avoid an onslaught of unwanted memories. Only, he didn't account for the balcony to be not so empty; filled with the buzz of static and a promise of a dance. "

Huge thanks to @sassy-radio-hazbin-queen for the 2 prompts above!

3. Radioapple/Appleradio

Well of course he's going to bid higher! The proceeds from this auction would be going directly to Charlie's Charity Ball, and since she forbid him from sponsoring it directly, this is his way of giving support!

No, the fact that a date with an extremely charming cannibalistic deer was on the line and an annoying square faced blue idiot with his stupid hat's bidding higher and higher against him isn't a factor at all. Why would you even mention that? He didn't even notice it, nope, no, this was for Charlie, that's all on his mind right now, attractive smiles be damned.

To help promote the hotel, Charlie hosts an auction! The prize? A date with Hell's esteemed bachelors! Errr, or as close as you can get in Hell. From half-hearted bids to an all out monetary war, will the chaos ever subside?

Regardless, Angel isn't too happy about not being the main attraction."

Thanks so much for the anon ask who sent this prompt!

I cannot promise quick updates, but I have already started on them, and I will be giving my best to have out the 1st one this early January. I'll be posting on my ao3, under ShadeRobotnik.

Once again, thank you to everyone who helped out! I'm not an amazing writer, but I do hope the fics I write would do you justice!

[ay0nha]

Misery Loves Company | N.K. (prologue)

SUMMARY: Fear rolled right off of you. Fear was like a pet to you: something you picked up to get a better look at but that you soon grew tired of. 

PAIRING: Nanami Kento x f!reader (anti-hero of sorts)

WORD COUNT: 1.3K

WARNINGS: Introduction to story/reader/plot, underground fighting/Gachinko fight club, higher-ups after reader, Nanami being a softie deep down, description of fighting/related injury, jjk typical things, tad angsty, made up cursed objects, etc.

A/N: Overdue to post something Nanami-related...missing our man extra these days... thank you, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, for talking this out with me and helping <3!!! Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future parts. Enjoy.

Nanami tags:

@chimamire-ga @eliuriastwo @betterthanuyou @satorulicious @moon-taffy @thefutureastronaut @planetahmane @musababy @kannra21 @khaleesihavilliard @vee-ai @killlerqween @nokkoongie @anti-heroism @nanamin94 @darkstudentsaladbakery

“How obedient.”

Nanami just barely caught your taunt over the vigor of the crowd. The very one that begged for appeasement. They chanted while he fought, asking and receiving the dynamic movements they so adamantly desired. 

Nanami delivered. 

Your smile was bloody, alive with genuine pride. He had impressed you, listening to the crowd’s pleas for bloodshed. Nanami’s blow was delivered with predictable instinct, a protective measure against your coy fighting style. 

“Do you always do what you’re told?” You hummed, pulling at your neck to alleviate the sudden stiffness. “You must if you came looking for me.” 

You raised your fists, ready for another spat. You circled each other, the makeshift ring only allowing so much space for a proper fight. However, it could never be that. 

The shadows were deep from the light of the dingy parking lot. Smoke clouded the crowd's judgment, swaying the bets in favor of the suited man. You couldn’t blame them; fresh blood was always teeming with hopes of prosperity. 

You welcomed Nanami at the entrance, feeling his cursed energy blocks away. The guards surveyed him, unimpressed by being met with unwavering poise. He didn’t belong, but they were far more afraid of your soft touch on their shoulders that dissolved their interrogation. 

Boys, you had purred. They stiffened. Let him through; he’s my guest. 

You hadn’t led Nanami in directly; you allowed his presence to simmer. It wasn’t often that someone of his status didn’t pose a threat to the venue. It took sarcasm and wit on your end to pull out the reason behind his visit. 

They’ve sent me for you, Nanami told you. 

It was sterile in tone but revealed emotions long since buried. From childhood, the higher-ups deemed you dangerous. They wanted to see the gods fall. Yet, that wasn’t convincing enough to kneel before them. 

Instead, you’d decided to return Nanami with a threat written in bruises.  

“What do they want?” You hissed, your weight an extension, following through your fist. With no cursed energy attached, your hit was still violent. You knew Nanami could handle it. “Afraid to come themselves?” 

Fear rolled right off of you. Fear was like a pet to you: something you picked up to get a better look at but that you soon grew tired of. 

Nanami’s breathing became labored. “I’ve told you—”

“Come up with something better.” You moved swiftly, another charge at him. 

You put on a show that for non-sorcerers seemed only possible in fiction. Nanami could feel the way you held back, and even then, he struggled to stay upright for long. Sliding under his legs, you swept your own for another satisfying fall of Nanami. 

The premeditated outcomes you fixed were boring, your mind elsewhere while your body danced. This, though, this was worth every risk. It wasn’t hard to drag Nanami into the squared circle. He was logical, knowing the odds wouldn’t be in his favor if he didn’t play along. It was the only chance he had to get you to heed the warning he came with. 

“They want to kill you—

Nothing new, then?” Your words came out hoarse, following through with your kick. 

“They’re mocking up the bounty as we speak,” He said. “They’re looking to be—” Pausing, he’d just narrowly missed a broken rib. “—your highest payer.”

“Honestly,” you smiled. “I’m flattered.” There was truth in jest. “Finally, they think I’m something worthwhile.”

“No—” Nanami was blunt, never one to embellish facts. It always made you flinch. “You’re their scapegoat.”

You swung. 

Nanami dodged you just barely, able to gain traction in his next few movements. Even without his blunt sword, he was always skilled in combat. He saw steps ahead, measured every movement precisely, and delivered. 

Everyone had their weak points, their fighting style a clear giveaway in how they contorted their bodies. Typically, the ribcage, the exposed spine, or the unstable stance marked it. Your fluidity made it hard to pinpoint. 

“That observation have a point?” You adapted instinctually, with no formality in any decision, and always found success. 

Nanami’s tie loosed, the buttons of his jacket ripped apart by awkward movements; you were unraveling him by the minute. However, his appearance deceived you more than you thought. You grew comfortable winning, relishing at the shouts of your name followed by rowdy applause. 

This was your element, where you could dance rehearsed steps without paranoia. It felt safe. You felt in control, contrasting how life had cruelly treated you. The non-sorcerers couldn’t see this, only attracted to a woman holding her own against men twice her size. Yet, Nanami could see beyond that. 

He saw how you moved without restraint and extended beyond innate skill. You had untapped talent that the higher-ups were afraid of. Your technique, cursed energy, and gaze shattered any notions they had of strength. 

You knew there was more to you but ignored that always sinking feeling. That was distraction enough almost to misconstrue Nanami’s movements for surrender.  Then again, your body knew better than to accept that. 

Your cursed energy absorbed the strike Nanami had landed on you, but you still used its momentum to involve those around you. You reveled at how the crowd supported your fall, only to push you back in, defenseless—it was your best performance yet. 

“They think you have the Soul Harvester.” Another button was lost under the pounding feet of the mob. 

“Fuck off—” Your laughter caused Nanami to stumble against your grapple. There wasn’t much humor to it, but the sound was just as addicting as years before.  “No one knows where that piece of shit is.”

It was a myth. 

The legend differed every time; no one knew the source or had an accurate understanding. A thread remained the same, a warning to the one who possessed it—you have been weighed in the balance and found wanting. 

Your ears buzzed as Nanami explained further. Frustration bloomed across your features. Your eyebrows pinched together only to cave inward the further you worked; a frown turned to a scowl; that usually indifferent gaze was pointedly violent. 

You refused to be consumed by something dragged to your doorstep like dead fowl. 

"You're devoted to these causes." You started with proper vexation. The push and pull no longer lulled like a game; your words came with a bark of anger. “Always sniffing around where you don’t belong—doing more harm—always.”

“You’re no saint.” 

"At least I care about what happens to them” You were quick. You hadn’t even considered it an argument, as it was veracity.  “Sorcerers like you always love to forget the mess you leave the rest of us with.” 

Nanami used your temper, his elbow striking your solar plexus, making the crowd roar. The air was pulled from your lungs, your hand grasping at your chest as if it would help regain your breath.  

7:3

Even the crowd was silent. You slid on your knees, absorbing the hit poorly. Your head hung between your shoulders as you tried your best to swallow the elicited tears. 

The corners of this ring were under constant surveillance. Undoubtedly, if you didn’t finish this quickly, Nanami would be eaten alive by the sorcerers behind it all. The pain told you to allow it. 

You frowned. “Ouch.”

The crowd booed when you stood, changing its allegiance. Copper filled your mouth, and your insides were begging for reprieve. 

“Please understand I am not here to criticize you,” Nanami spoke lowly, hoping only you could hear his promise. 

You shook off your discomfort, knowingly releasing whatever held you back. It was for his sake, you reminded yourself. In moments, you’d move faster, no longer pull back the weight of your punches. By then, If Nanami were still standing, you’d bless him with your domain. 

“You’ve got my attention now, Kento…” From your lips to God's ear, you pulled him close. His tie was wrapped around your fist so tightly you could feel his Adam’s apple bob with fear.  “...but answer me this: what is it you want with me?”

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Clipped Wings: Chapter Sixteen

Clipped Wings: After living a life in seclusion due to an over protective father, you sneak away to experience life as it really is. Slowly building up the woman you always wanted to be, your quiet life is interrupted when you meet a rather elastic boy and his crew. This is just the beginning of trouble and your carefully crafted life starts to crumble around you. The past never really stays in the past, and now it has come knocking. In more ways than one.  

Warnings: None.

To Note: Dracule Mihawk x Reader, NAMED!FemReader, Some physical features have been given (hair & eye color).

Word Count: ~2.7k

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The Going Merry cuts through the waters, leaving Syrup Village behind. You stand at the stern, the wind tugging at your black coat and whipping your hair around your face. The sea stretches out before you, endless and inviting, a promise of new and exciting adventures.

"Hey, Vee!" Luffy’s voice calls out from somewhere above you.

You glance up to see him perched on the figurehead, his grin as wide as ever. "What do you think of our ship?" he asks.

You look around, taking in the sturdy wooden planks, the billowing sails, and the sense of camaraderie that already fills the air. "It has character," you reply, your voice carrying over the sound of the waves. "I think I’ll shall like it here."

Zoro appears at your side, his swords clinking softly with each step. "Just don’t get too comfortable," he warns, though there's a hint of a smile in his eyes. "The Grand Line isn’t for the faint of heart."

You meet his gaze head-on. "I’ve faced worse," you say simply.

Nami approaches, her hands on her hips as she surveys the horizon. "We need to chart our course carefully," she says. "The weather can be unpredictable."

You nod, appreciating her caution. "I can help with navigation," you offer. "I've spent the last year learning to read the stars and currents. Though the Grand Line is still unpredictable at times."

Nami raises an eyebrow but doesn’t dismiss you outright. "We'll see about that."

Usopp joins the group, his eyes wide with excitement and nerves. "So, Vee," he says, trying to sound casual but failing miserably, "what’s your story?"

You turn to Usopp, a sly smile playing on your lips. "My story? Well, it’s quite simple. I was born on a small island, lived a quiet life as a seamstress and nurse. But I always wanted more, so I decided to see the world."

Usopp leans in, eyes wide with fascination. "Really? That sounds almost too normal for someone like you. You look so myserteous."

You shrug, maintaining the façade. "Appearances can be deceiving, Usopp."

You smirk, keeping your expression as nonchalant as possible. "Appearances can be deceiving, Usopp. I've seen more than you might think."

Before Usopp can respond, a deafening roar splits the air. The entire ship shakes violently, sending you all scrambling for balance.

"What the—?" Zoro growls, already reaching for his swords.

A massive ship looms on the horizon, cannons aimed directly at the Going Merry. The insignia of the Marines is unmistakable. Well this is a bother, you were trying to avoid the marines, not pick fights with them!

"Grandpa?" Luffy asks.

"Grandpa!?" The others repeat in clear surprise. You blink at them with a furrowed brow. Did they not know each other?

"Did you just call that guy Grandpa?" Zora asks asks as Luffy looks through the scope at the incoming ship. Another cannon ball os fired, this time splashing off the bow a little too close. You step aside as the splash soaks the deck. Another cannon ball fires and you are dropping before Usopp shouts,

"hit the deck!" You cover your head as the Going Merry takes the cannon ball strait to the railing. The impact jars through your bones as the Going Merry rocks violently, water splashing over the sides. A cloud of sawdust kicks up, assaulting your nose which you promptly cover with your hand.

"Everybody okay?" Luffy's voice rings out, his usual cheer replaced with urgency.

"I think so," Nami grunts, getting to her feer.

"No. Not okay. Not even close to okay," Usopp's voice trembles as he scrambles to find cover. You stare at your new crew member that had boasted about his cannon abilities only minutes prior. He was panicking.

"Usopp, fire back at them!" Luffy orders agressivly, eyes locked on the approaching Marine ship.

"Or how about we sail away as fast as we can?" Usopp suggests, eyes wide with fear.

"Run from the Marines? No. Never!" Luffy's determination is palpable, his eyes blazing with defiance.

"Someone do something or we are going to get blow to smithereens!" You call out sternly.

"Nami, trim the… the sail thing. Let’s sink their ship," Luffy shouts over the chaos while Usopp heads for the stack of small cannon balls.

"We don’t have time. They’re stealing our wind," Nami snaps back, her hands moving swiftly across the ropes and sails. You glance at Nami, appreciating her skill even in the midst of panic. "If they pull up alongside us, we’re finished," she adds, her voice steady despite the situation.

"She doesn't lie and I don't want my hair getting wet," you speak with a dry tone. Nami gives you a look that says 'not the time'. "Suggestions?"

"Zoro, sheet in and hard to port!" Nami calls out.

Zoro springs into action while Usopp fumbles with a cannonball. “You know how to load a cannon?” Luffy asks, eyes wide with excitement. Oh you knew there was something odd about him. You like how in the moment he is.

“Yeah, of course. I’ve loaded thousands of ‘em.” Usopp pauses, looking confused. “Uh, this must be a different model than I’m used to.”

“Which way is port?” Zoro asks from the lower deck..

“The left!” Nami snaps back. “Usopp, load the cannon in the barrel. Light the fuse. Then get the hell out of the way!”

"Do any of you actually know how to sail?" You question as you duck a shower of wood and metal fragments.

"We barely know each other!" Nami yells at you, stress soaked into her voice. You straightened up and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Really?" You question, genuinely surprised that revelation. "How surprising…" As you muse, Usopp fumbles with the stack of cannon balls and they begin to roll down the short flight of stairs.

You sidestep as Usopp’s stack of cannonballs clatters down the stairs, lofting your foot out the path and glancing at Usopp.

"Usopp, focus! Get that cannon loaded!" you snap, grabbing a cannonball and tossing it to him. He fumbles but catches it, eyes wide with fear.

Luffy leaps onto the rigging, his rubber limbs stretching impossibly. "We’ve got this!" he shouts, full of reckless optimism. Despite the obvious disarray of your new and very green crew, your muscles remained relaxed. No imminent threat. When you began to giggle, Nami gave you an exasperated look, guiding the Going Merry towards the thunderhead of fog. This crew was going to be an adventure. You just knew it.

You look around the deck of the Going Merry, your new crew mates bustling with a mix of urgency and excitement. The fog around you creates an eerie silence, only broken by the creak of the ship and the occasional call from Luffy.

"Did you really find that fiasco entertaining?" Nami questions, her voice cutting through the mist as she ties off a rope.

You meet her gaze, a sly smile tugging at your lips. "Entertaining? Yes. Informative? Even more so."

Zoro chuckles from his spot near the bow, his swords resting against his hip. "I like her," he says, almost to himself.

Usopp is still catching his breath, leaning against the railing. "I thought we were goners," he admits, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Yet here we are," you reply smoothly, your eyes scanning the horizon. "Survived to sail another day."

Luffy swings down from the rigging, landing with a thud beside you. "That was awesome!" he exclaims, eyes shining with excitement. "We showed those Marines!"

"We showed them how to miss every cannon shot," Nami retorts, rolling her eyes. "We need to be better prepared next time."

You nod in agreement, already thinking of ways to improve their combat readiness. "A plan wouldn’t hurt," you suggest. "We can’t rely on luck alone."

Luffy's grin widens. "That’s what makes it fun!" he says, punching the air.

"You’re incorrigible," you say with a shake of your head, but there’s a fondness in your voice that surprises even you. "Also adorable."

Luffy’s nose twitches, and he suddenly stands tall, his eyes gleaming with a newfound excitement. "You guys smell that?" he asks, sniffing the air like a hound on a scent trail.

"Smell what?" Nami responds, looking around suspiciously. "There's something on the breeze," Luffy insists, taking another deep inhale. "Smells like butter."

You raise an eyebrow, curious but skeptical. "Soy sauce," Luffy continues, sniffing again with exaggerated fervor. "And meat."

"I can't smell anything," you admit, exchanging a puzzled glance with Zoro.

Nami snorts, crossing her arms. "Think he has brain damage?"

"I think that every day," Zoro mutters, earning a snicker from Usopp.

"Look, Luffy," Nami begins, her tone laced with exasperation. "Playing follow the smell is fun and all, but we really need to get out of this fog."

"I know," Luffy replies, undeterred. "But I smell food, which means there’s someone somewhere cooking." He takes another deep sniff and points dramatically. "Five degrees starboard!"

"No! No!" he corrects himself instantly. "Three degrees back to port."

You chuckle softly, amazed at how adding food to the equation has suddenly turned Luffy into an expert navigator. You'll put that tidbit in the back of your mind for later.

"What is that?" Zoro asks as a dark shape begins to emerge through the thick fog.

Nami squints, her brows knitting together in confusion. "Can't be. There aren’t any islands anywhere near here."

As the shape grows clearer, your eyes widen in surprise. It's not land; it's something much more intriguing.

Luffy chuckles, clearly pleased with himself. "What’s a... Baratie?" he reads aloud from the sign that comes into view.

"That is a restaurant," You speak up, your eyes gazing at the massive ship shaped like a fish with an enormous forked tongue extending from its mouth as a gangplank. "They have good food, even better wine."

The Baratie comes into full view, its unique shape and design striking against the misty backdrop. The sight stirs memories of the last time you set foot on this floating restaurant. Good food. Even better wine. An atmosphere you adored.

"That's a restaurant?" Usopp exclaims, eyes wide with amazement.

"Indeed," you reply, your voice steady. "One of the finest on the seas. I am partial to their limited edition wine selections."

Luffy's eyes light up at the prospect of food, his previous excitement morphing into something akin to pure joy. "Let's eat!" he declares, already making his way toward the gangplank.

Nami rolls her eyes but doesn’t protest. "Fine, but let’s not cause any trouble," she warns.

You smirk at her comment. "With this crew? Trouble seems inevitable."

"Don't remind me," Nami grumbles back. As you disembark from the Going Merry and step onto the gangplank of the Baratie, you can feel the ship’s energy—bustling and alive with activity. It felt so much more alive now that you could sense your surroundings. The smell of sizzling meat and freshly baked bread wafts through the air, teasing your senses. Oh you missed the lovely scent the Zeff's cooking. You followed Luffy, Zoro, Nami, and Usopp into the restaurant and Luffy strides confidently up to the host.

"Welcome to Baratie, how can I help you," The host says, Luffy smiles and strides right up to him.

"Hi! Where do we eat?" Luffy replies with enthusiasm. Given his persistent nature, you wondered what he was going to do when he learned that reservations are always backed up by several weeks.

"Do you have a reservation, sir?" That would be a no…

"Do we need one?"

"We're very full today." The host explains, “I could put you on the waiting list. It's three weeks out." Luffy blinks and Usopp steps forward.

"Maybe you want to check your book again." Usopp tells him, "You wouldn't want to turn away the future King of the Pirates, would you?" That was a rather entertaining response, one you didn't anticipate. He isn't buying Usopp's words, so you step forward, your posture elegant and commanding, and place a hand gently on the book.

"Excuse me," you say, your voice smooth as silk. "Perhaps you could make an exception for us?"

The host looks at you, eyes flicking to your ornate pendant and then down to the folded Berry you had discreetly placed in front of him.

"Certainly, madam, right this way," You follow the host through the bustling restaurant, stepping down to the floor while the others follow suit. The scent of garlic and herbs mingles with the salty tang of the sea air, making your stomach rumble in anticipation. Your new crew mates trail behind you, their eyes wide with curiosity and hunger.

The host leads you to curved book table. As you sit down, you notice Luffy practically bouncing across the velvet cushions to his seat, his eyes darting around the room, taking in every detail.

"Your server will be with you shortly," He says with a bow before departing. You run your finger over the menu, mind mulling over what you want to eat this trip. Perhaps a nice rare steak? Or a fish dish… You had liked the salad you ordered your last visit.

"Hi, welcome to our shitty restaurant where the only thing worse than the ambiance is the food. My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?" The blonde waiter’s voice drips with sarcasm, but his eyes are sharp, taking in each of you with a quick scan.

Luffy grins wide, slamming his hands on the table. "One of everything, please."

Sanji raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement curling his lips. "Any drinks? One of our signature cocktails to help you choke down your meal?"

Nami leans back in her seat, crossing her arms. "Giving us the hard sell, huh?"

Sanji's eyes flicker to her, and his expression softens. "Apologies, madam, I didn't see you there. Would you care for an apéritif to start? We have several rare Micqueot vintages in stock. Or perhaps you'd like a glass of Umeshu? You know, something sweet for someone sweet." He winks and you huff out a giggle, earning his attention.

"It's my lucky day, two lovely madams grace my presence." Nami blinks next to you while your lips curl into into a matching smile.

“Something wrong with your eye?" Nami questions.

Sanji chuckles softly. "Just blinded by your beauty," he says smoothly, clearing his throat.

"Waiter, can I get a beer and something for my friends?" Zoro cuts in.

Usopp chimes in, his tone flat. "Two beers. I usually have three, but..."

Luffy adds with a grin, "And a milk."

Sanji nods, taking mental notes. "Three beers and a milk."

"And, uh," Sanji turns to you again with a more respectful tone, "for the lovely madams? Water. Still, sparkling, mineral? With ice or without? Cubed or crushed?"

"Regular water in a regular glass," Nami replies dryly. "Thanks."

The flirty server turns to you.

"You spoke of a Micqueot vintage?" You probe with an eyebrow twitch. "I think I would like a taste if you would be so kind."

Sanji’s eyes light up at your request, and he offers a charming smile, clearly pleased by your selection. A man with a fine palate you guess. “An excellent choice, madam. I’ll bring you a glass and bottle for tasting,” he says before turning on his heel and heading back towards the kitchen.

As Sanji walks away, you feel the eyes of your new crew mates turn toward you. The curiosity is palpable, and you can sense the questions bubbling up even before they open their mouths.

"That was... interesting," Nami says, leaning forward. "You seemed to know exactly how to handle him."

You smile faintly, resting your chin on your hand. "Experience," you reply simply, lips remaining curved at the ends.

Luffy, always direct, tilts his head. "What’s a Micqueot vintage? Is it good?"

"It’s a region with vineyards,” you explain. "From Micqueot Island. Known for its refined taste and exceptional quality. I am partial to the tannins found in the local grape varieties."

Usopp raises an eyebrow. "You sure know a lot about fancy stuff."

"Old habits die hard," you say with a hint of nostalgia. "And excellent wine is one of life's pleasures."

Zoro smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. "So, you're a wine connoisseur now?"

"Something like that," you respond with a slight chuckle. "But it's more about appreciating the finer things when they come your way. Why waste my time with mediocracy? I live to live."

Date Published: 10/12/24

Last Edit: 10/12/24

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[maespri]

answering questions about my psychology / media survey

okay hi!! i received a lot more responses in regards to this post than i expected i would (thank you so much for that!!), which in turn has led to me getting a lot of questions. instead of trying to make separate posts for them all, i'm officially deeming this "the question post" haha. i will consistently update this post with answers to anything asked on that form.

in essence: if you ask me a question on the form, come back and check here to see my response!

last updated 12/11/2024 | 7:34PM CT

here we go!

first of all, to the people who left any sort of sweet message in their question area, i just want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart! your supportiveness and kindness is so important to me and it is truly touching to know others are interested in this sort of stuff and appreciative of me. ♡

i'll kill two birds with one stone here! i'm a psychology student in university (though i'm not using this survey for anything related to school), and in general, psychology is something i've always been interested in. i'm also very interested in media and media analysis. this survey has given me the opportunity to combine those two things i love and give me a unique insight into the ways other people feel about their favorite characters and media.

in all honesty, i can sum up my answer to this pretty easily: i'm a huge nerd and i'm trying to find out if the process of connecting with fictional characters is roughly the same for every person, and if it's not, how it differs for individuals!

if you're asking in general, it's mae borowski from night in the woods. i could write an entire essay about why, but i'll spare you!

this question was asked on a form for a your turn to die character though, so i'll answer for my favorite your turn to die character-- it's sara chidouin! i won't go as in-depth as i would if i were filling out my own form, but she was my favorite by the second part. i relate to her in a startling number of ways and admire her tenacity and strength throughout the game despite everything she faces. we have a lot of the same positive traits and flaws as well. i just connected with her quite deeply. thank you so much for the ask!

in short: YES, i am absolutely going to share my findings if i receive enough responses (i'm hoping for at least somewhere between 50 and 100, but more would be even more helpful!).

any patterns i spot and information i uncover will be put together by me and shared, rest assured! i will also be maintaining people's anonymity and privacy to the fullest extent, however. no specific answers or sensitive information people shared will ever be posted, nor will i hone in on a singe individual submission. privacy is very important to me.

oh what a wonderful question!! don't apologize i LOVE nerding out with fellow psychology lovers HAHA. i think the biggest thing to keep in mind with the way i'm conducting this is that it's not for anything... serious, if that makes sense... this was born of passion and is being done purely for fun. so in essence: i'm just gonna do whatever the hell i want LOL.

this isn't my first rodeo in the sense of doing surveys, analyzing data, etc.-- i'm also a psych student and aside from that i've been taking psychology classes and studying it in my free time my entire life haha. so i know qualitative data is difficult to interpret for a myriad of reasons. however i'm not analyzing a huge portion of data here; i think i said i would keep the survey open until i reached 100 responses, and i'm currently sitting at 70. not to underestimate how difficult it will be... but considering this is something i'm passionate about and i've done this before, i'm not really worried about how long it may take, even if it does take a while. there's no rush.

to answer your question of how i actually plan to analyze the data, i'm first going to start with the broader questions- age, gender, neurodiversity, etc... anything that wasn't a free-response question. then i'm going through each response and seeing what appears more often than anything else throughout every response. i don't have any concrete plans, because like i said, this form is still open and anything can change-- but in a very broad sense, i'm just looking for patterns and correlations, as one would do with any research. i'm currently extremely busy with finals coming up, but once i have more time and once i have enough responses, a more concrete plan will certainly be formed.

huge congratulations on graduating, and thank you for the question <3

yes, i absolutely did! there were zero rules as to what type of character you could submit, so... i had no idea what kind of submissions i'd get. i've gotten a handful from some pretty niche characters, and plenty from media i've never heard of.

i don't mind any characters who are from fanfiction-- in fact, and i hope this was clear in the way i outlined the questions, you could even submit an OC as your favorite character, whether it be your own OC or someone else's. what i'm getting at is-- the possibilities are endless. i think it just makes it all the more interesting, which i love! i encourage people to submit whoever they so please :]

and for the record, i knew who the character you submitted was haha. i had a phase with that media and yours was the first submission with a character from it, which was cool! thank you for your submission and the question <3

those are all of the questions so far!

[crimeronan]

“Okay, so you were my guard,” Luz says.

"Yeah. Among other things."

“But I don’t, um – I don’t actually need that here. Guarding, I mean. I’m not royalty anymore. And the people here are okay, mostly, except when they suck, and then Vee goes after them anyway. I don't… I’m not sure I can…”

She trails off, less because she’s trying to formulate sentences and more because she can see Hunter’s heart shatter. Even as she does, she checks herself – what does she know about his feelings, really? His face barely crumples. He just closes his eyes for a second, and presses his mouth flat, and swallows. Then he takes a breath and faces her with the exact same calm as before.

She doesn’t know why she’s so certain that’s heartbreak. In anyone else, she’d read it as tiredness or annoyance.

“I’m coming on too strong,” he says, and his voice is just as steady as it always is, no outward signs of distress. “I'm sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Luz says, and means it. “I can tell you’ve had, just, the worst time. And I know this isn't what you hoped for. I just – I don't know what you want with the human world, besides me. Won’t you miss home?”

“You're forgetting I’m not allowed to go home either way right now,” Hunter says, “on account of the atrocities.”

Luz rolls her eyes. “Don’t be a smartass.”

His mouth twitches. He might be trying not to smile.

“I’m just saying,” she continues, “you found me. You did find me. Like you wanted to. And I’m safe here, like you want me to be. So you don't have to… I mean, you did your duty. You did what you were supposed to do. I hereby release you from any further contractual obligations. Okay?”

It’s meant as a reprieve, but Luz immediately knows that she’s chosen the wrong thing to say. Hunter isn’t quite as good at masking this new heartbreak. His fingers spasm, curling around the edge of the couch cushion, gripping like a lifeline. He lets out the kind of breath that someone might if they’d just been shot. His ears flatten, pointing toward the floor, an unconscious reflex that makes him look like a kicked puppy.

When he speaks, his voice cracks. “You don’t want me?”

Luz feels her own expression crumble. Confusion and guilt war for dominance inside her, a stitch between the ribs.

“Here,” Hunter adds, unconvincingly. “You don’t want me here?”

“I don’t want you guarding me here,” Luz says. “All of this stuff, you being so hung up on Vee and my mom… it’s freaking me out. I don't want them to get hurt.”

“I won’t hurt them,” Hunter says immediately. “I wouldn’t hurt them, not if they’re treating you well – I wouldn’t ever do anything you didn’t want me to do, Luz. I swear.”

“See, that. That's freaking me out.”

His brows draw together.

“You’re sitting here locked in a basement on my behalf,” Luz says, “because you volunteered to be locked in a basement.”

“Okay, well. In my defense. There are some very specific extenuating circumstances right now.”

She waves this aside. “You said you’ve been trying to track me down for months.”

“Of course I have. Anyone with sense would have. Belos was-"

“Yeah, I know. But my mama isn’t Belos.”

Hunter stays quiet and still for a solid minute. Luz actually counts the seconds. His only movement is to press a hand to his eyes, like he’s pushing back a headache, or maybe trying not to cry.

“I’m not trying to be mean,” Luz adds. “I promise you, I'm really, really trying not to hurt your feelings. But you get it, right? It's just… a lot to process.”

“I get it,” he says, with what might be an attempt at a smile. He folds his hands in his lap, surveying her politely and deferentially, like a corporate executive might respond to a CEO. “I'm sorry I've made things harder for you. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“I know,” she says. “It’s okay. I’m really sorry I don't remember.”

“Could be that it's for the best,” Hunter says lightly. “I won't cause your family any trouble, Luz. Promise. It’ll probably be a while until they actually believe that, but in the meantime – you don't need to come down here anymore. I won't pick a fight.”

She has a sudden, overwhelming impulse to fling herself into his arms. Just one more nonsensical reaction, extra proof that something's missing inside her.

“Do you want me to stay away?” she asks.

Once again, Hunter lapses into silence. It's hard to tell whether he’s thinking or just refusing to answer, at least until he counters, “Do you want to remember me?”

“Yes,” Luz says immediately. She doesn't even have to think about it. Without meaning to, she touches her chest, the place that aches every time she reaches out for someone who isn't there. It's been aching since way, way before Hunter stepped onto the Nocedas' porch.

“I want to know,” she explains, “why I miss you so much.”

This, finally, is what makes Hunter break. He buries his face in his hands and lets out a ragged little sob, his shoulders shaking, his breath choked.

Something in Luz wants to wrap her arms around him and snuggle up on the couch and let him cry into her neck. Something in Luz wants to curl up with him under all the blankets in the house and ask him to tell her stories. Something in Luz is suffering physical pain with every elapsed moment in which she doesn’t do that. The desire to hold him edges past want, into need. It hurts.

The rest of her is still loosely gripping a steak knife. And so afraid of sending mixed messages.

“I’ll come back tomorrow, okay?” she says, backing toward the stairs before her instincts can turn traitor. “After I’ve slept. After we’ve both slept. I want – I need you to get some rest tonight. You'll feel better once you do. Okay?”

Hunter grunts in vague acknowledgement. He doesn’t seem interested in discussing his continuing sobs, and Luz is fighting back tears herself, and she doesn't have the strength not to go to him if she cries. So she just climbs the stairs, shutting the door carefully behind her, and she flips the lock closed.

[skibidi-mimic-division]

Helllooooooo fellow human! I just wanted to pop by and ask, what protective measures do you go with to avoid becoming a skibidi? Heard from a birdie that Skibs infect through song and bite! All I've seen with ya is that fancy lil helmet

Oh! Most of the time while I'm at base, you'll see me in my typical grey dress-shirt. When I'm actually deploying out onto the battlefield, I change into my combat gear. I have a strong pair of headphones that were gifted to me by DJ for ear safety and as my communicators to any other units in my area. My primary combat material is thick Kevlar that covers my arms, legs, and torso.

I have full gloves, knee braces, and a high-rise collar to protect me from any bites or stabs/slashes I would receive while serving in the fights. I even have steel-toed boots for close combat! As you can imagine, these articles are PRETTY HEAVY to carry around.

That's why Veteran is keeping me on such a strict regime of training. If I falter in battle or get wore down too quickly due to low stamina, I can become a sitting duck. But I'm not alone on the field either!

My partners--Camron, DJ, Vee, and the Mimics all form a battalion with me and we look out for each other out there. Buddy never leaves my side for anything and Pal keeps a sky-angled survey on the area to keep our wits about us...and if we ever get into a pinch? Well, Fiend drops his invisibility for a surprise attack! Camron and DJ are my close mans-in-arms and Vee functions the same way Fiend does, an emergency getaway and a surprise attacker. It's terrifying out there, not gonna lie about that. But I have confidence in my friends abilities to keep me safe from harm and would sooner die than let me become a skibidi. I wouldn't trade them for the world.

[delimeful]

carry them home (5)

warnings: magical oaths, mentions of past harm/captivity, miscommunication/lack of communication, PTSD, food scarcity, cliffhanger

-

From a very young age, Janus’s life had been nomadic in nature. He had traversed all kinds of terrain, with all kinds of people, in all kinds of conditions. Whether fleeing or pursuing, when it came to travel, he was confident in his experience.

The gaggle of children he was currently stuck with were decidedly not expert travelers.

They clearly all had some level of skill in surviving on their own; being what they were, they wouldn’t have gotten this far without knowing that much.

Most changelings did. Naivety didn’t tend to linger long in those that were hunted simply for existing, especially as beings that didn’t truly belong to one realm or the other.

The wisdom required to hide from an Iron Guard member and the knowledge required to set up a functioning campsite were two very different skills, however, and Janus’s current accommodations proved as much.

The sun was setting, and the children had essentially come to a stop where they were and planted themselves in various nooks and crannies, getting comfortable in the cold, damp woods the way only fae could.

Janus, as one of those pitiful creatures that was more vulnerable to the elements, was left decidedly less comfortable.

To the surprise of precisely no one, he hadn’t managed to convince Vee to allow him to unbind his hands, or even have his bound hands held in front of him, rather than behind.

In fact, he was fairly certain he’d ended their first day’s trek with double the restrictions he’d started with.

“Be quiet, you’re too loud. Are you trying to wake the whole forest?”

“Stop lurking. Stay ahead of me— not that ahead!”

“Don’t talk to him. Actually? Don’t even look at him.”

The most galling part was that most of the orders weren’t even fueled by malice. They seemed more compulsive than anything else, following a strange sort of logic: everything he did was suspect in Vee’s eyes, and so everything he did had to be restricted.

Such measures might have seemed reasonable to the twitchiest changeling he’d ever had the displeasure of meeting, but they were horrible for Janus’s burgeoning headache. The more rules he had to keep track of, the more likely it was that he would accidentally slip and earn himself a jolt of nerve-burning pain.

Particularly after Vee had snapped, red-faced, for Janus to stop making faces whenever the group’s progress was stalled by yet another bout of bickering.

Talk about cruel and inhumane. His mocking expressions were a key part of his personality, thank you very much.

All in all, it was a welcome change when Logan approached to take his own turn guarding the hostage. Janus had to work to not shift too visibly when the change in watchers took effect, the low buzz of pain from so many overlapping orders sloughing off his shoulders like shedding a heavy cloak.

It wasn’t anywhere near debilitating, but he hadn’t missed the sensation, and was glad to avoid it as much as possible.

Vee had slouched off resentfully, but Logan was still standing there, surveying him with a curious frown. His wings were folded neatly against his back even though there was nobody present to keep the secret of them from.

“How may I be of service,” Janus asked, wrangling his tone into something only slightly sardonic through pure force of will.

A small, familiar voice in the back of his mind suggested that maybe he could just ask them not to use so many overlapping commands at once. He ignored it as thoroughly as he did all ideas that might involve unnecessary vulnerability, and resisted the urge to smile sarcastically only because he didn’t want his ability to emote revoked again so soon.

“How did you break my charmspeak?” Logan asked, voice kept low enough not to disturb the others.

(Not that it seemed necessary. The only one within hearing distance was Patton, who was already sound asleep, going by the gurgly snoring. Vee had sulked off to the nearby shadows, and the two nature sprites had, oddly enough, vanished the moment they’d decided to stop for the night.)

Janus raised an eyebrow, thankfully painlessly. “Subverting magical compulsion is something I’ve trained extensively in.”

Of course, that ‘training’ wasn’t generally willing, but that was beside the point.

“Why?” Logan asked, not even seeming to realize that he was leaning in slightly.

“I like to be prepared,” Janus lied, because none of them had thought to order that he be truthful. It was a common flaw with fae and fae-adjacent– bald-faced lying was an abstract idea to them, rather than an automatic instinct the way it was for Janus.

The answer didn’t seem to satisfy the siren, going by his frustrated scowl and the ruffled feathers Janus could spy along the curve of his wings. They seemed oddly ragged, for someone as precise as Logan.

“It wasn’t your magic at fault,” Janus added, throwing the kid a bone. “All magic has loopholes. You must know that much, or you wouldn’t have taken the precaution of binding my hands.”

He wriggled his fingers in example, a mostly pointless gesture since his hands were hidden, wedged between the tree he leaned against and the rest of his body. “Speaking of, I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give me a little more freedom of motion? I have sworn my harmlessness under blood oath.”

Logan straightened up slightly, expression flattening back out. “It would be inadvisable to leave you unbound to exploit any more loopholes,” he replied tartly.

“If you keep turning my helpful advice against me, I’m going to stop giving it,” Janus told him, and then rode out a wave of sharp oath-induced discomfort before sourly adding, “That was a joke. Far be it from me to stop giving you advice. Loopholes are one thing, but an oathbreaker, I am not.”

“We’ll see.” Logan had returned to the curious frown; Janus must have reacted a bit more to the oath’s sting than he’d thought. What a shame, for the infamous Silvertongue’s poker face to falter from something as banal as disuse.

The words slipped out, sharper than he’d meant them to: “I’m sure we will. Now, are you finished, or is sleeping another basic privilege that you plan to strip from me?”

A flicker of panic shuddered through him, an automatic reflex from years of paying the price for sass. It was never a good idea to insult their pride and give them ideas in the same breath, especially not while under oath.

Logan, however, only stepped back slightly, feathery ear tufts flicking as he cleared his throat. “Right, of course. We can speak more while traveling.”

“Of course.” Janus managed a stiff nod, still half-braced for retaliation as he tried to drag his mind back into the present. There was no reason for them to lash out in such a way, particularly since depriving Janus of sleep would only lessen his use to them.

(There had been no real reason for them to do it back then, either. Amusement and ego were reason enough, for some.)

It took him far too long to recover, even after Logan had awkwardly retreated to a nearby perch and turned his attention to keeping watch. He felt a burst of frustration as he leaned his head back against the tree trunk and forced his eyes shut.

He’d truly grown too soft, if hardships as simple as these had him in such disarray.

–

The next few days passed in a similar manner, his metaphorical leash swapped between Vee and Logan with just enough irregularity to keep him tense, though he doubted it was on purpose.

He liked to believe he knew the difference between psychological tactics designed to unsettle and the improvised planning skills of a tween, anyways. Even if his shoulders had firmly transitioned from aching to numb by this point.

It wasn’t like they had much of a reference for human durability, even as changelings. There was a big difference between living with humans and living as a human, after all. Janus was mostly just impressed they’d remembered to feed him.

Vee, of all people, had been invaluable in that regard. Patton seemed confused about the logistics of raw versus cooked meat, Ro barely understood what it meant for something to be ‘inedible’, and Remus was actively and blatantly trying to poison him. Eating seemed to be an afterthought to Logan, to the point that Vee was likely the only reason he hadn’t wasted away.

That wasn’t to say meals were pleasant. Vee provided him with the bare minimum as though daring him to say something about it, a challenge that Janus wisely refrained from rising to. The lack of complaint only seemed to make the kid angrier, though, so there was no winning.

He wasn’t allowed to forage for ingredients, despite the fact that his oath wouldn’t have let him attempt to poison them if he’d wanted to, so it was only natural that the issue of rations would come up sooner rather than later.

“There should be a town nearby. I have enough coin to buy provisions, and could likely barter for anything else we might need,” he mentioned, already anticipating the wall of suspicion his words would be met with.

“As if you could be trusted to wander around a human town,” Vee snapped. “Do you think we’re stupid?”

“Of course not.” Janus barely held back an eyeroll. “I’m simply beginning to wonder if you actually understand how a blood oath works.”

“You–!”

“It’s an unnecessary risk,” Logan cut in, effectively ending the discussion. “We’re getting by fine as it is.”

Humans needed to eat more regularly than most fae, which meant that Janus didn’t particularly agree with that assessment of the situation, but he wasn’t about to say as much. The only one who seemed to know anything specific about human needs was Vee, who had already made it quite clear that he didn’t care to fulfill Janus’s.

Janus set his jaw, and didn't contradict him.

So be it. It was only for a little while. He’d endured much worse for much longer.

Things proceeded like that for another few days, with Logan plotting out a new and improved course towards the mountains and Vee herding the other changelings away from Janus like an agitated sheepdog at every opportunity.

They might have continued like that for weeks, held fast to an uneasy, meaningless truce all the way until the end of the oath period, if Logan hadn’t fallen ill.

[cosmica-galaxy]

How would your ocs + the titans, matriarchs, and elite units (plungerman and dagger speakerman) react to a bunch of skibidis trying to infect the human?

Camron goes BALLISTIC. He uses his weapons efficiently to rip through the enemy like butter, and if he has no weapon? He'll just use his fists and his combat knife. That moment in time, Camron becomes an entirely different unit. He slits throats with accuracy, malice, and determination. A blood bath remains in his aggressive wake.

DJ is similar. The moment he sees the human pinned and being forced to listen to their horrible chants, DJ lets out the loudest screech he has ever done, breaking the chanting from the toilets as he charges them with knives drawn. A scene akin to a massacre unravels as DJ stabs, rips, slashes, and SKINS the skibidis violently. He would give Foley himself a run for his money in violence.

Vee is equally as horrifically aggressive. He unsheathes his blades in record time and teleports between the human and the skibidis before burying a blade in the nearest skibidi threat. He dodges their attacks and stabs, slits throats, and gores out the eyes of his enemies. It was over in just a few moments. Vee stands there, hissing static as blood drips down his screen and overcoat. Only once all the toilets have died, did he retract his blades and check over the human to make sure they were okay. The Matriarchs all have similar reactions to seeing their human friend being overwhelmed by the enemy. They each jump into the fight with no hesitation. Survei snipes a few with her mounted gun, Speaker Woman slices at the throats of the enemy and paints the ground red, and TV Woman comes to the human's aid and teleports them away from the fight. Once the human was safe, she teleports back to incite her wrath upon the skibidis. Only shattered porcelain, bloody pools, and marred flesh remain in the aftermath of their rampage.

The Brave Bros are similar. The moment the human is pinned down and one of their members alert the elites, they were on those Skibidi scum like heat-seeking missiles. They rush into the fight and a bloodbath ensues. The Assassin Speakerman rips into his foes with no hesitation and Plungercam bashes in as many heads as they can with their plunger mace. The battlefield quickly becomes bloody and scattered with mutilated corpses of the enemy. Once the human was rescued and pulled off to the side for recovery, the bros do their ever-famous dap afterwards. The alliance titans would all have similar reactions to seeing the treasure of the alliance attempted to being defiled by the filthy enemy. They would each snatch up the human for safety before each one would use their respective abilities to wipe out the assaulters with easy. The human is safe and will NOT leave the titan's pocket until they were safely back at base.

[bullet-prooflove]

StolenMoments!Series - Part Three: Yours - Vostanik Sabatino x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @novamariestark @words-and-seeds

It’s in the late hours of the evening on Christmas Day that you make it back to base. You’ve been out in the wild since the early hours of the morning, meeting with community leaders from the villages you’d supported in the past, re-establishing connections. The reception is positive for the most part, you meet a few roadblocks but nothing that escalates to a point you can’t manage.

When you climb out the Hum-Vee you’re tired, aching and filthy. It’s been a while since you’ve carried this much equipment on your person, it’s something you’re still getting used to.

Sabatino’s in the kitchen when you step through the door. A heavenly scent assails you, your stomach rumbling as you strip off your equipment and jacket before hanging it in your cubby. The two of you have barely seen each other over the last few days, with your trips off site and his attempt at tracking a group of insurgents. You know he’s around though when his heated blanket appears folded neatly on your bunk after the generator goes out. The nights get cold here and your appreciative of the gesture.

“That smells amazing.” You tell him, shaking the sand out of your hair and he gives you that smile, the one that makes your heartbeat just a little faster in your chest.

“I’m more than just a pretty face.” He says as you step into the kitchen to survey his work. “It’ll be ready in thirty.”

“Just let me get washed up first then I’m all yours.” You say before disappearing into the bathroom.

All yours…

He has to admit, he likes the thought of it. The two of you never made that date in L.A but he’s hoping not to miss his moment here in Afghanistan.

He sets the battery powered camping light in the centre of the table before turning the mains off. It casts a pretty dulcet glow across the table, illuminating the space. The ‘plates’ you’re eating from are trays, the ‘turkey’ is actually bearded vulture and the wine is from a box someone bought over for New Years, but he’s done his best with the tools he has at hand.

When you step out of the bathroom, he still thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You’re clad in leggings and an oversized jumper with thick woollen socks pulled over your feet. Your damp hair falls loose across your features.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” You tell him, gesturing at the meal as you take the seat across from him.

“Nah. Just a man trying to impress the girl he likes.” He says, a small smile playing across his lips.

The conversation flows from there. You learn that his mother was Armenian, she met his Italian father as a student in the US. They both loved to cook, a trait that was passed down to their son. At weekends his father would take him camping, teach him how to live off the land, skills he’s utilises throughout his career, although he prefers the comforts of an urban landscape these days.

“Nothing beats a hot shower and a comfortable bed.” He tells you.

In turn he learns that you enlisted in the Army straight out of high school as a way to pay for college. You have a degree in criminal justice and became a member of the military police, serving two tours in Afghanistan before you put in your papers and began working in humanitarian services.

“A lot of the people I met with today are girls I’ve helped over the years, women who’ve stepped into the role of community leaders.” You confide in him, sipping from a beaker filled with wine. “Some were child brides, others trafficked, or dishonoured. I was part of a network that rescued girls from abusive situations, educated them, gave them prospects.”

It’s the first inkling he has that the work you had done with the villages in the region was actually clandestine. They’re relocation spots he realises, homes for people who couldn’t return to their families for fear of being killed or punished. He understands now why it had to be you that came to Afghanistan, the unique position you were in to help.

“You saved them, so they trust you.” He remarks quietly as the pieces fall into place.

“It’s more than that.” You say with a sad smile. “I saw some horrific shit as an MP, the stuff some of our soldiers got away...”

You trail off with a bitter taste in your mouth. He knows what you’re talking about. Out here it’s lawless, and if you’re of the right disposition it’s an excellent hunting ground for the weak and the vulnerable.

“I got a rep for taking on those cases, the ones where civilians accused our guys. They started to see me as someone who would hold others accountable.” You say leaning back in your chair, cradling the glass of wine to your chest. “It was recommended that I didn’t reenlist when the time came, that it would be bad for my health.”

It’s a thinly veiled threat, one that tastes of violence, and it infuriates him because you shouldn’t have had to give up a job that was worth doing in order to protect yourself from the very organisation you were policing.

He’s still thinking about it when he walks you to your room that night. How brave you were taking those men to task for their crimes, for stepping into a role that put a target on your back. He knows there’s more you’re not telling him, that when you’re ready you’ll disclose the rest of it. He can wait, he isn’t going anywhere.

He intends to say goodnight, to go back to his bunk, listen to a true crime podcast the same way he has all other nights however there’s a look in your eyes as you linger in the doorway.

When you kiss him, it’s nothing more than a light brush of the lips but it ignites something inside of him. His thumb chases along the line of your jaw, his palm coming to rest on the nape of your neck.

“Take me to bed Nik.” You whisper against his lips, and he smiles as he closes the door behind him.

He makes love to you on the floor of your bunkroom, the blankets from the other rigs laid out across the ground, cushioning it. Each bunk is single person, meant to discourage fraternization and Sabatino he likes to have space to work. He takes his time with you, stealing greedy kisses from your mouth as he undresses you slowly, removing each layer as if he’s carefully unwrapping a gift.

That’s how he sees you, something precious, to be cared for, revered. His lips chase over your skin, mapping out all of those sensual little areas, the ones that make you say his name. He commits each and every one of them to memory.

God, the noises you make, it’s enough to drive any man to madness.

You taste like God damn sunshine when he gets his mouth on you. He licks up that sweet honey like it’s a feast, his tongue tracing over your clit before he thrusts his tongue into your needy cunt making your hips arch and you head tip back into the pillow.

You look so fucking beautiful when you come, that pretty pink flush creeping across your skin in the throes of rapture. He kisses his way back up your body, his skilled palms caressing your curves as he slots between your legs. The tip of his cock brushes over wetness, smearing the head of it with your slick. He positions himself, right there at your entrance waiting.

If you want him, you have him, but he's got to hear it before he takes this any further.

“Nik, please.” You whisper against his lips. “I need you.”

It’s been along time since anyone has said those words to him.

He sinks into you slowly, his mouth covering yours, stifling that gorgeous little moan as he fills you completely. Christ, he almost loses his fucking mind because this, it’s absolutely perfect, you are absolutely perfect. Your thighs tighten around his hips as he moves in long, punctuated thrusts that rake over that deviant little spot inside of you, the one that has you keening for him. His fingers entwine with yours and your breathing hitches just a little because the intimacy of that, it heightens everything.

It's never been like this for him, he’s never felt so connected to another human being. You bite his lower lip when you come, and he fucking loses it. You grip him like you were made for him, wringing the ecstasy right out of his body as he spills his release inside of you. Still, he isn’t satisfied, he fucks it deeper because he’s a territorial son of a bitch, and you need to know you’re his.

You kiss him in that moment, moaning into his mouth and he realises you need it just as much as he does.

“Oh, you like that.” He whispers, his thumb ghosting over the curve of your cheek as he looks into your eyes.

“I do.” You tells him, your fingertips trailing along the scars that line his back. “It makes me feel like I’m yours.”

“You are mine.” He says resolutely, his lips brushing over yours. “It doesn’t matter where in the world we are; you’ll always be mine.”

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