#when shes just humming to herself its quite consistent!

[wildstar25]

does arsay know any sea shanties from her time at sea!

Yes! She picked up a handful of tunes in those 6 years working on the merchant's ship. I'd imagine most of them to be interpretations of traditional south seas chants (prayers for safe and fruitful voyages, good weather, strong winds, ect. ) sung in modern Lalafellin. There's a few she knows in common Eorzean as well, work songs introduced to the ship from some crew members who previously sailed around the Rhotano Sea and the Sea of Ash.

Arsay absolutely loved when the crew would start singing and she loved humming along with them. She'd sing proper were it not for the countless times the crew has poked fun at her for sounding like a yowling cat when she'd try to harmonize...

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (19)

She never thought she’d be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer finally takes her out on a date. Part Warning: 18+ explicit content (Public fingering) A/n: I did not forget this series, I've just been distracted I'm sorry!! I also apologize if there are any inaccuracies in some random facts, I am not as smart as him, I can only do a quick research from Google.

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

"SO, HOW DO I LOOK?"

She spun in front of the mirror, showing off the dress she had picked out that afternoon on an impromptu shopping spree. The garment had looked stunning on the store mannequin, and now, in the soft glow of her bedroom, it was more appealing.

The spaghetti straps delicately framed her shoulders, and the lavender fabric accentuated her curves. The bottom of the dress, hovering just below her knees, gave a playful vibe with a teasing slit inching up her right thigh. And the neckline, with its very low plunge, offered a glimpse of her cleavage she couldn't help but wonder whether it was showing too much skin.

"Like you want to get laid," a playful voice called.

Her laughter echoed through the room as she turned to face her phone and realized the dress was hugging her ass quite snugly. "It's too much, isn't it?"

"Not at all," Sandy's voice echoed through the phone again. She glanced at the screen, seeing her friend's smiling face. "You look gorgeous."

She grinned, the reassurance from Sandy making her feel more at ease. "You think so?"

"Absolutely."

She reached for a sparkling necklace and dangling earrings, holding them to the camera. "Necklace or earrings?"

"Hmm." Sandy squinted at the screen, studying the options through the video call. "Go with the earrings. They'll add a touch of glamour without stealing the spotlight from the dress."

She nodded in agreement. "Earrings it is, then."

As she carefully slipped herself into the accessories, Sandy couldn't help but muse her thoughts. "I don't think I've ever seen you wear purple."

She cleared her throat awkwardly. "What do you mean? I've worn this color before."

"Your wardrobe either consists of black or gray. You had to go out shopping to buy this dress."

She laughed nervously, caught in the act of her predictable wardrobe choices. "Alright, fine." She pursed her lips together before letting out a sigh. "I may or may not have asked his friend what his favorite color is."

"You sly fox," Sandy laughed with a huge grin. "So you do want to get laid."

She blushed, adjusting the earrings. "I mean, if the occasion arises..."

"You've got this all planned out, huh?"

"Well, not exactly, more like... strategically considered?" She tilted her head and observed herself in the mirror again. "Does it make me look desperate?"

"Of course not," Sandy reassured. "It just shows you're putting in effort. Besides, confidence is attractive. You look hot."

She blushed at the compliment, but before she could respond, the distant hum of an engine reached her ears. Her eyes widened, and instinctively, she moved towards the window and noticed a car pulling into her driveway. It wasn't the usual sleek, black government vehicle; instead, the car looked like it had seen better days, although it held a vintage charm that caught her by surprise.

Then reality finally kicked in—he was here for a date, not because of his job. They were actually going out for a nice dinner he had prepared.

She suddenly felt sick.

"Sandy, he's here," she whispered, her voice betraying a touch of panic.

Somehow Sandy still managed to hear her voice from across the room. "You'll be fine! It's not like you haven't spent time with him before."

"Not when my life wasn't on the line." She was met with silence and walked over to her phone, picking it up to find Sandy's disapproving glare. She sheepishly smiled towards the screen. "Too soon?"

Sandy shook her head with a sigh. "Only you would joke about your near-death experience."

"Spencer told me it's a coping mechanism."

"You've joked about it to him as well?"

She nodded. "He's not a fan either." The sound of the doorbell ringing brought her back to the present. "I need to go."

"Wait!" Sandy's urgent voice echoed through the phone again. She watched as her friend's expression softened. "How are you feeling today?"

A warm smile graced her lips, moved by Sandy's ongoing concern. Ever since they reunited at the hospital, Sandy couldn't stop apologizing for what had happened, even when it wasn't her fault to begin with. Her friend consistently checked in on her well-being.

"I'm actually feeling pretty good. Nervous, but good."

Sandy nodded, her smile carrying reassurance. "Good. Now, go enjoy your date."

She reciprocated the sentiment with a blow of a kiss towards the camera. "I'll call you later," she promised before ending the call. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself, slipping her phone into her purse as she descended the stairs.

Spencer was waiting at the door when she opened it, all cleaned up and undeniably handsome. His well-fitted suit accentuated his strong shoulders, and the crisp white shirt beneath complemented the subtle purple tie he wore. The fabric of the suit, in a rich charcoal shade, seemed to bring out the warmth in his hazel eyes.

A nervous smile played on his lips, only enhancing his charm and giving him an endearing quality that made her heart skip a beat. His eyes, however, spoke volumes as they assessed her, taking in the way her dress hugged her curves. Spencer couldn't help but be mesmerized by the sight before him.

He was so mesmerized that without thinking, he stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her waist, catching her by surprise. In an instant, he leaned down, his lips meeting hers in an unexpected yet tender kiss. The warmth of the moment enveloped them, and for a brief instant, her worries seemed to fade away.

Her initial surprise transformed into a soft smile as she reciprocated the kiss, savoring the way lips moved against hers, and when he finally pulled away, he looked into her eyes with a mixture of admiration and affection.

"I couldn't resist," he admitted, his nervous smile now replaced by one of genuine warmth.

She couldn't help but smile, feeling a flutter of excitement in her chest. "I'm certainly not complaining."

As they exchanged smiles, she noticed a smudge of her lipstick on his lips. She burst into laughter, breaking the moment with a lighthearted touch.

"You've got a little something right here," she teased, reaching up to gently wipe off the lipstick with her thumb.

He simply gazed into her eyes with a sincere smile. "You look beautiful."

Blushing at the compliment, she smiled appreciatively. "Why thank you. You don't look too bad yourself," she replied with a playful glint in her eyes.

"Come on," Spencer urged, gently tugging her arm, and she willingly followed him after locking her door.

As they walked down her driveway, she felt Spencer's hand on her lower back, a gesture that added an extra layer of comfort to their connection. Unable to contain her surprise, she couldn't help but comment on the unexpected sight of his vehicle.

"I never pictured you as someone who owned a car," she commented, her tone teasing but filled with curiosity.

Spencer chuckled, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "It may not be as sleek as the government vehicle, but it gets the job done."

She laughed, finding his revelation endearing. "Well, I'm impressed. It suits you." Her eyes scanned the vintage-looking car. "It reminds me of you actually."

"What? Old and worn out?"

She shook her head, smiling. "No, not at all. I meant classic, with a certain charm."

His smile widened at her response. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Spencer graciously opened the car door for her, and she beamed appreciatively, slipping into the vintage car's comfortable interior. The soft glow of the dashboard highlighted the nostalgia-infused details of the vehicle, making it clear that Spencer had a penchant for classic styles beyond his usual government responsibilities.

As he closed her door, he circled to the driver's side, sliding behind the wheel. The engine hummed softly and as she watched him, she felt a certain warmth traveling through her body.

In the soft glow of the car's interior, she couldn't help but notice how attractive he looked. His features were highlighted by the dashboard lights, casting a subtle yet captivating glow. Before he could pull away from the driveway, a spontaneous impulse surged within her.

"Wait," she said, her voice breaking the quiet ambiance of the car. Without overthinking, she reached over and gently grabbed Spencer's arm, tugging him back for a moment.

He looked at her with concern. "What's wrong?"

She smiled, feeling a surge of boldness, and leaned over to him. She closed the distance between them, her lips meeting his in a more passionate kiss than before.

He responded with a mixture of surprise, yet his hand gently found its way to the back of her neck, deepening the kiss. His lips moved in sync with hers, and when she softly sighed in contentment, he pushed his tongue inside her mouth, tasting her ever so slightly as his other hand found its place on her thigh.

But when his hand inched under her dress, she laughed and gently pulled away. "I don't think we'll be eating anything if we continue this."

He looked at her sheepishly. "Right," he murmured, readjusting himself in the driver's seat. "Sorry."

With a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, she settled back into her seat, fastening her seatbelt. "So, where are you taking me, Handsome?"

His lips curved into a smile as he finally pulled away from her driveway. "It's a surprise," he said. "You'll see."

It wasn't really a surprise. Spencer had already mentioned wanting to visit this place and the big sign saying 'PLANETARIUM' at the entrance was already a dead giveaway.

However, the unusual quietness that enveloped the space caught her off guard. With only a handful of staff present, the vastness of the empty lobby echoed the click of her heels.

The atmosphere shifted when he gently urged her to close her eyes. Suspicion mixed with curiosity, she couldn't resist teasing him as she followed his instructions. "What do you not want me to see? I already know where we are."

A secure arm wrapped around her waist as Spencer guided her through the darkness. She could sense a grin in his voice as he replied, "Sure, but the location isn't exactly the surprise."

"What is then?" She asked. The echo of their footsteps persisted, creating a rhythm in the quiet space of the planetarium.

"The experience," he simply answered. "Keep your eyes closed a bit longer, we're almost there."

"This is kind of making me nervous," she admitted. "You're not going to kidnap and murder me secretly, are you?"

His steps faltered briefly before she let out a sigh, urging him to continue moving. "Sorry, that sounded way better in my head."

There was a heavy silence before he replied, "We should do something about you joking on that matter."

"It's called dark humor."

He softly hummed. "There's actually a psychological explanation for dark humor as a coping mechanism. It's a way for people to navigate and make light of challenging situations."

"You've mentioned this before."

"I know," he confirmed. "I just want to remind you that every time you think you're being morbidly funny you're using a well-established psychological defense mechanism."

"And what do I have to do with that information?"

"Well, for starters, you can appreciate your brain's attempt to keep things light." He gently squeezed her hip. "But maybe try to cut yourself some slack for the occasional dark joke."

She couldn't help but smile, even with her eyes still closed. The subtle squeeze on her hip added a reassuring warmth to his words. "I still don't get why your boss wants me to see the therapist you guys provided when I already have you."

Spencer chuckled and pulled her closer. "Because one, I'm not a licensed therapist. And two, my therapeutic techniques might involve a bit too much intimacy for the average counseling session."

She laughed. "You mean sex?"

"Sexual intercourse," he corrected, still not wanting to say the word, which she nudged her elbow into his side in response.

As their footsteps finally ceased, Spencer gently urged her to open her eyes. When she complied, her eyes widened in astonishment at the breathtaking sight before her—a vast array of galaxies projected onto the ceiling of the planetarium. The cosmic display painted the dark expanse with hues of celestial beauty, leaving her momentarily awestruck.

Yet, what surprised her even more was the scene at the center of the room. A table setting, elegantly arranged, caught her eye. The table was adorned with flickering candles, casting a soft glow on the carefully arranged dishes and the gleam of polished silverware.

She stood in awe. "Spencer, this is... incredible." Her eyes swept over to him. "You did all this?"

"Well, technically the staff prepared this." He guided her further into the room. "But I pulled some strings."

"Some strings? I think you pulled all the strings." She threw him a grateful smile as he pulled her chair, urging her to sit down. "This must cost a fortune."

"Don't worry about that," he assured her, settling in the seat opposite her. "I just want you to enjoy the night."

As she took her seat, the soft glow of candlelight accentuated the contours of his face. She felt a flutter in her chest, realizing she was falling even harder for him. It wasn't just the fancy setup; it was the thought behind it that got to her.

Fate truly had a peculiar way of guiding her to this present, bringing Spencer into her life. It was a bit surreal knowing that the worst things she'd been through somehow brought her to a moment like this.

Maybe, she pondered, there's a silver lining, a reminder that good things can sneak up when you least expect them. And now it was worth focusing on those good things.

So she savored his company, the easy flow of their conversation, the delicious meal he had prepared, and the soft music playing through the stereo. She also enjoyed being close to him moments later when they finished their dinner. The warmth of his presence felt comforting as they lounged in the viewing seats, gazing up at the scene above.

"Do you see the seven bright stars forming a distinct pattern?" he asked, gesturing toward a shimmering formation.

She followed his guidance and nodded. "They look like a tiny ladle or a dipper."

He smiled, appreciating her observation. "That's the Ursa Minor, also known as the Little Dipper. And the North Star, Polaris, is at the end of its handle."

"The North Star?" She repeated.

"It's a crucial navigational star. Sailors and travelers have used it for centuries to find their way. It remains relatively fixed in the northern sky, making it a reliable reference point."

"Hmm," she hummed. She then pointed to another set of stars. "What about that one?"

He followed her gaze and smiled.

"That's the Orion constellation," he said. "It's one of the most recognizable and has a lot of myths around it. In some cultures, it's a hunter chasing various prey across the sky."

"And what's the story behind that?"

He leaned in closer to her. "Well, in Greek mythology, Orion was a mighty hunter who fell in love with the Pleiades. However, fate had different plans, and he ended up among the stars, forever pursuing them."

Her gaze remained fixed on the celestial display, captivated by the tales woven into the stars. "So, he's like a romantic?"

Spencer chuckled. "In a way, yes. Myths often carry themes of love, tragedy, and destiny."

"Like human nature."

He nodded in agreement. "Like human nature."

There was a moment of silence before she turned to him. "How do you even know all of this?"

"We often travel outside the city and the skies are pretty clear in remote areas. Sometimes you can see a few constellations."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me you're a secret astronomy enthusiast while solving crimes?"

A bashful smile played on his lips. "When I have the time," he admitted. "There's something fascinating about the stars. They offer a sense of perspective."

She smiled. "It's nice to know even a man of logic and facts finds magic in the sky."

His gaze softened. "Magic has its place in the world, even for a man of logic." He suddenly reached out to the back of her ear and retrieved a dollar bill out of thin air. "See? Magic."

She couldn't help but laugh as she took the bill from him and examined it, tracing the edges. "I remember you doing this trick the first time we met."

He leaned back, a contemplative look in his eyes. "It feels like a lifetime ago, doesn't it?"

"Considering everything that happened since then, yes," she replied. "You know, I never asked why you were at that bar in the first place."

A subtle blush painted on his cheeks. "I was... enjoying a drink." When she gave him a deadpanned look, he raised his eyebrows. "What? Do I not seem like the type to be hanging out alone at a bar?"

"You stood out like a sore thumb." She gave him back the dollar bill. "I remember you barely touching your beer."

Spencer sighed, taking the money and placing it back in his pocket. "I was supposed to hang out with the team, but they ditched me."

She arched an eyebrow. "They ditched you? Why?"

He shrugged. "Apparently something important came up."

"So they left you hanging at a bar?" When he nodded, she tilted her head in mock sympathy. "Well, it certainly worked in my favor."

He watched her, the flickering memory of that night flashing before him. The first time he kissed her, the taste of her lips, the sensation of holding her naked in his arms. Then his eyes raked down her collarbone, pausing slightly at the swell of her breasts before looking back up to meet her gaze.

"It worked in my favor too."

She noticed his gaze lingering, a subtle heat spreading across her cheeks. The air suddenly shifted as he leaned closer, creating an intimate space between them. There was a magnetic pull, and she felt her breath catch in anticipation. He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lightly grazing her skin.

"Tell me what you remember that night," he said, a low timbre in his voice.

She felt the warmth of his breath against her ear and she met his gaze with a flush coloring her cheeks. "I remember seeing you sitting alone at the bar."

His reply, a mere whisper, reverberated dangerously low. "What else?"

"You came up to me and did that magic trick." A faint smile played on her lips as she reminisced. "I was amused, and we sat together."

His eyes lingered on her mouth. A subtle tension lingered in the air, each exchange building upon the last. "And then what happened?"

"We talked," she breathed, the word lingering in the air like a shared secret as he leaned closer. "We laughed." She felt his breath brushing against her lips.

"Then you kissed me," she confessed, and in the heartbeat that followed, he leaned in, his lips meeting hers gently. She let herself sink into his touch as he held her face, keeping her in place while he continued to taste her all over again.

His lips fit perfectly and she kissed him back as eager, letting his tongue glide into her mouth so effortlessly. She held onto him, slightly pulling him closer as if he wasn’t close enough even when he was practically pressing his body against hers.

When he slowly pulled away, she suppressed a moan. "Like this?" He asked.

"Like that," she murmured, the taste of him lingering on her lips as they shared the space between breaths.

The warmth of his lips traveled down her jaw, leaving a trail of soft, lingering kisses that brushed over her skin. "What else do you remember?"

His lips trailed further down, and she shivered. "We..." Her voice wavered, breath hitching, as his hand slid down her arm before his fingertips began to faintly stroke her skin, grazing over the hem of her skirt. "W-We went back to your place."

"Go on," he urged the words hanging in the air. She felt his fingers glide over her inner thigh, stopping abruptly as he reached the middle.

"You..." She let out a small, shaky sigh as he dragged his fingers up, stopping just before the rough pads of his fingers brushed over her panties softly. "...you touched me."

He began carefully moving his middle and forefinger in a gentle circular motion, rubbing her teasingly through her damp panties before, without warning, they were pushed aside, the hot pads of his fingers finally making direct contact with her clit.

"Was it like this?"

Her hand wrapped around his forearm, trying to stop herself from moaning aloud, her eyes fluttering closed as he began to play with her clit, his fingers skillful as he rubbed in small circular motions, his eyes fixed on her. She looked over at him, her mouth going slack as she felt the sensation in the pit of her stomach.

She didn't seem like herself, and although she didn't mind public displays of affection, she wouldn't let it go beyond a kiss. She wasn't the kind of person to be intimate in public, but here she was, letting him touch her when any of the staff could walk in. Heck, she wasn't sure he was the type of person who would do something like this.

His fingers moved from her clit, dragging down her slit and collecting her arousal, briefly plunging them inside and curling upward, pressing firmly against her walls. She looked down to see his fingers gently pumping in and out of her cunt. Her legs were so wide from him that her knee was practically resting against his thigh.

"Tell me," he whispered, "Did I touch you like this?"

Her chest began to heave, her hips unconsciously bucking against his hand as he worked over her casually. "Yes," she breathed out.

Soft whimpers escaped her as she bit her bottom lip, trying desperately to be as quiet as she could manage. The fire in her stomach burned hotter with each expert glide of his slick fingers. Her legs opened wider and wider for him which seemed to please him judging by how fast his fingers began to pump into her cunt.

A strained whimper filled his ears the moment he circled her clit with his thumb, the added stimulation did nothing to help her sanity, and moans began to spill from her lips, mouth parting in pure bliss.

"Spence," she whined, voice so unsteady and breathless, she couldn't control her volume anymore, desperate moans mixing with the sounds of her wetness dripping between her thighs.

"That's it," he encouraged, speeding up his fingers. "Let go for me."

The pressure of his fingers was making her impending orgasm loom dangerously close as her back arched from her seat, hand gripping around his wrist. Her eyes flew over to him as she reached her peak, body shivering and writhing as she pushed her hips down against his fingers, feeling them slide from her pussy before circling her clit in rapid motions.

With a final gasp, she lost all control, her mind growing numb, feeling him wildly as wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through her entire body. She cried out silently, calling his name over and over until she grew too weak while she desperately clung to him.

When he finally pulled away, she felt her arousal dripping down her legs. She stared at him wide-eyed as he fixed her panties back in place before brushing her dress over her legs. When she kept looking at him in a daze, he softly laughed and leaned down, brushing his lips over her cheek.

"Are you okay?"

"I..." she was gasping for air, a hand-tossed over her chest. "Did that actually happen?"

He chuckled, his warm breath tickling her ear. His fingers gently traced the outline of her jaw as her face flushed—lips delicately swollen, eyes glazed with a mixture of desire and surprise. The aftermath of her climax painted her cheeks in a captivating shade.

"Come on," he said, extending a hand and gently pulling her up.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice still carrying the traces of her orgasm. His gaze met hers with an intensity that spoke volumes, revealing an unspoken hunger that mirrored her own desires. His intention was clear.

"We're going home."

>> NEXT PART

a/n: it did not occur to me the possibility of CCTV cameras in a planetarium lmao please excuse me. Also, the plan is to write one last part and an epilogue to wrap it all up.

.

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[itsgrimeytime]

show me || Rick Grimes (TWD)

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker

AVAILABLE ON AO3

dialogue prompts: “Why are you mad?” “I’m not mad, I just think you can choose better people to kiss.” (2) + “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel the same as I do, then I’ll leave you alone.”  (36) + “I’m tired of being on the sidelines.”  (43)

Summary: You and Rick had something, you weren't quite sure what it was. After a few drunken mistakes during one of the dinner parties at Alexandria, Rick wants to make things crystal clear.

TWS: TENSION, blood, gore, gun violence (violence in general), alcohol, drunkness, drunken kisses, kind of dark!Rick, jealousy, possessiveness, protectiveness, all things consistent with TWD.

[[A/N: The vibes are in with this one, girlies. Kind of listened to Boyfriend by Dove Cameron for this one. SO... Be ready for that. Thanks for reading!!! ]]

Your head hurt after the night before, you couldn't quite remember why. Well, other than the drinks.

It had been the first dinner party after Alexandria, you were nervous and just kept sipping. Somebody kept giving you more, even though, you remember distinctly Rick (big hands and blue, blue eyes) warding them off. They continued when he wasn't by your side -beer after beer and maybe something... else? You couldn't really remember.

You gathered pretty quickly that Rick was mad at you that day, something about the way he composed himself -the steaming rage enveloping him, and it only continued for days.

Day after day, and nothing. Usually, you could read him like a book, but now, all you got was well, that he was mad at you. Not even to get you started on the way everyone else was distinctively ignoring your questions like Rick had told them to.

So, you stepped out of your comfort zone -you went straight to the most honest Alexandrian you knew. Or the one who would speak to you over Rick's head -Deanna.

There was something deep in your chest that told you somehow this was betrayal, but you had been driven far past that point. (One blue-eyed glare and complete head turn to ignore you past that point.)

"Hey," you spoke, a little uneasy.

"Hello, Y/N!" she smiled, big and bright, "-I'm glad to see that dinner has been going so well-"

"That's actually what I was here to talk to you about," you echoed, direct in your tone, "-last dinner party, I... I don't remember what happened."

"Nothing bad, I can assure you," she hummed, continuing to walk down the street, "-I'm well aware of anyone overstepping."

"Right, well, I'm glad, but-" you spoke, a little impatiently -eyes darting around, "-I don't remember."

"Nothing wrong with getting a little drunk," she spoke, something in her shifting, "-we understand the change is-"

"Deanna," you interrupted with finality, "-please, just tell me what happened."

She paused in her steps, turning around to fully face you -head on, and something in you shrunk at her inquisitive gaze. She looked at you a bit like a puzzle for a moment, before her eyes seemed to light up in understanding like she knew exactly what the issue was.

"Let's..." she began, slowly, "-Let's talk inside, shall we?"

You merely followed her up the steps and into her house, like a sheep to its shepherd -you were desperate. If she could help, you would just about do anything.

"I was wondering just what was with him," Deanna muttered to herself, "-makes so much sense now."

She led you to her living room, where the room was much the same in her own home, but she had photos -framed and set pristinely of faces you didn't quite know. Ones you doubted you ever would.

"Sit," she motioned, "-we have much to discuss."

"Much?" you questioned.

"Well, no, it's-" she started, but faltered for a moment, "-rather complicated."

"Complicated?" you questioned further, raising your voice.

"Look, I'm going to just tell you to avoid any further confusion. You kissed someone, can't remember who now-"

You paused, faltering for a minute, "That's it?"

"Rick saw," she finished as if it was some big reveal.

You and Rick had a thing, a very slight thing that neither of you had really even commented on or talked about. Hell, you hadn't even kissed the guy, but there was something there, a deep buzz under your skin. And something in the apocalypse was something, sure, but not if he didn't talk to you about it. Not if he-

You stopped your train of thought, "So?"

"Aren't you-" she seemed to pause, being taken off guard, "-Aren't the two of you together?"

"I'm sorry?" you asked, "-No, we're not... not really. He doesn't- It doesn't matter, drunkenly kissing a guy is no reason to get this pissy."

"It is if you're together."

"Deanna," you started, "-don't push your luck. Look, I have to go sort this out, do you-"

"Oh, no, please," she answered, quickly, "-I can't get a word in with the man right now. Fix it, go."

That's how you wound up here, ready at his door -he couldn't ignore you at his own home. You'd get him to listen.

"Rick," you addressed, direct as soon as the door opened and you saw the blue of his eyes, "-hey."

He seemed to still at your voice -frozen for a moment, before wordlessly moving around the kitchen. He was gathering up dishes, at a sure pace before, but now he'd begun much faster. As if he was trying to get away from you.

"Alright, enough-" you said, waltzing up to him, and turning his face to yours, "-why are you mad?"

Rick looked at you for a moment, and something in you almost grew shy at the attentiveness. Blue eyes dashing along your face like you were fresh water and he had been stranded in the desert.

And then, he stopped. Lifting his soapy hands to take yours off his face -a slow, gentle movement. The opposite of someone mad, you noted.

"Do we need to talk 'bout this?" He echoed, a little helplessly if you were honest.

"I don't know," you answered, "-you tell me. Can you not be mad if we don't talk about this?"

"I'm not," he sighed, turning back to the dishes -this time doing them leisurely, "-I'm not mad. I just..."

"You just what?" You asked, pointedly.

"I just think you can choose better people to kiss," he grumbled out so low you weren't even sure you'd heard him correctly.

But something in you fired off like a rocket.

"Seriously?!" You yelled out, a sort of toned frustrated yell, but still a yell, "-you are pissed because you don't approve?"

"That's not-"

"Well, I got good news for ya, Sheriff, I don't even remember who I kissed last night-"

"That's because he made ya so drunk-"

"-And on top of that, I can kiss who I want, when I want. It's not like you have any control over that-"

"I want to," he grumbled out, even lower.

You stilled, "I'm sorry...?"

He didn't speak for a moment, washing the soap off his hands -you watched the water trail down to his elbow. Scrubbing away at the dish towel, he dried them and turned to face you.

Rick's steps were slow and sure, you could hear the clink of the tile under his boot. And your heart started pounding with anticipation, maybe he was mad. Why was he getting so close-

He was just in front of you now, finger trailed under your chin, "Tell me to stop, if you don't want this."

You turned your head down to look at the tile, something in your breath catching that you could barely breathe. You just needed a second-

He flicked your eyes back to him, and you could feel his breaths on your lips, "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't feel the same as I do, then I'll leave you alone."

"Rick-"

He raised an eyebrow, "I asked a question, Y/N."

"How do you feel?"

He roamed closer, eyes dashing between the two of yours and your lips, "I think you know, sweetheart."

You opened your mouth.

"But," he interrupted, "-if ya insist."

Rick pulled back slightly, hand leaving its trail to, instead, hold your wrists -gently, as his thumbs rubbed into your wrists. With another breath, he kissed your palms -pressing his lips there ever so slightly.

"I'm tired of being on the sidelines," he spoke, low and soft, "-I... I want it to be us. Together."

"Together?" You echoed.

"Like you stay in my house, you sleep in my bed, we go to dinners together instead of so... so far apart-"

"And you can tell me who to kiss?" You added, playfully.

"And I'm the only one you can kiss," he corrected with the smallest of grins, but there was something hard in his eyes. Something serious.

"So," you spoke, expectantly, "-kiss me then. So, I can see what I'm stuck with."

"Stuck?" He laughed, slowly leaning in, "-Oh darlin' you're gonna be far from stuck."

[azu1as]

dumb rotmhs fanfic idea where chung myung doesn't reincarnate and instead turns into a lost ghost on mount hua.

that is, until his spirit stumbles into yu iseol chasing after their lost plum blossoms technique that he begins to slowly regain his memories.

Got inspired by @dew-in-the-morning's tweet here!! You can also read the original fic thread :DD

»—————————–✄

yu iseol doesn't know who the one-armed stranger was. she had opted to ignore him when she first noticed his presence in the far distance upon arrival at the clearing. but he'd been observing her for almost two hours now, and it seemed as if he had no intentions to leave at all.

"come out." she tells the one-armed man, but frustratingly receives no response at all.

she makes a move towards him but he disappears within a blink.

a part of yu iseol becomes unsettled, but she decides to brush it off as nothing more than a one-off encounter.

she's quickly proven wrong.

the following night, she once again finds him in the same spot, facing her direction. it continues that way the next night until the next week. the man is consistently there and always leaves whenever yu iseol outwardly acknowledges his presence.

after almost two weeks of this occurring, yu iseol decides to stare just as intently at the man as he did at her sword.

she doesn't often feel conscious about how others perceived her, but something about the way the man's eyes visibly narrows when she swings or stabs her sword makes her every move feel like they were being scrutinized and dissected.

and that her results were unsatisfactory if the random clucks and tsks she hears off to the side whenever she overextends her swings were any indication.

the man's robes were clearly from mount hua. but she quickly realizes that what she initially thought were shadows on his garbs were actually dark blood stains.

then a sense of uneasiness washes over her when she notices that she could see the edges of a tree through him.

it seems that her nightly companion was some sort of supernatural entity.

she doesn't feel any true fear though because no amount of malice or resentment was ever turned her direction since she began seeing the man.

"who are you?" yu iseol finally asks.

but, as expected, the man disappears and she's left alone in the clearing.

%%%

"are there ghosts on mount hua?" yu iseol asks the sect leader much to his bemusement.

"perhaps." he replies to her after a beat passes. "what brought this on?"

yu iseol silently huffs at the admittedly lackluster reply, but responds politely, "i just saw something."

before she could turn away, the sect leader hums pensively and gently adds,

"maybe what you saw was the ghost of an ancestor watching over you."

clearly, it was intended to be an acknowledgement of her nightly sword training and visible efforts towards attaining mount hua's swordsmanship.

yu iseol, however, took the message quite differently.

that night, yu iseol lets out a breath and lowers her sword as she once again catches sight of the semi-translucent man observing her from behind a tree.

her attention zooms in on the bloodied embroidery of a plum blossom on his chest and the sword sheath strapped to his waist.

she steels herself as her eyes locks onto sharp, pink ones. she was certain that whoever this man had been, he was a strong swordsman with the way he held himself even in death.

and if the way he attentively observed her sword training was a potential indication....

"excuse me," yu iseol begins, fists clenched, "do you know how to make plum blossoms bloom?"

there was a long pause between them. for a moment, yu iseol worried that she was mistaken and that the spirit of this ancestor would disappear as he usually did.

but then the one-armed man steps forward for the first time into the clearing and replies by unsheathing his sword.

it glints against the moonlight despite its translucency and yu iseol knows that she couldn't miss the next moments no matter what.

the ghost of her ancestor holds it aloft in the air for a brief moment. And then he swings his sword into an arc.

in yu iseol's chest, the uncertain flicker of hope ignites into an unstoppable wildfire.

[kiyomitakada]

This is for research, Light reasons. Curiosity. He’s been on plenty of Kira fanwebsites; it makes sense to conduct an impromptu survey on how he’s seen in a rather different audience.

Research.

He holds his breath and clicks.

Title: got so close (but then you lost it) Rating: E Category: F/F Fandom: Kira Investigation RPF, how the fuck is that a canon tag Ship: L/Kira Tags: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Object and Concept Anthropomorphism, i think kira should take the L for once, if you know what i mean - Freeform

Notes: hahahahahaa hiiiii yall bet you thought you’d seen the last of me. its been a couple of rough months but im back! if my therapist sees this uh. sorry? this counts as processing my feelings right

Maybe Light should stop. Surely a work written by someone who doesn't even use apostrophes or punctuation consistently can't be good quality. Besides, what is a work about a serial killer doing in the E rating? Doesn't that mean E for Everyone?

…Then again, it's not like he's reading this for its literary value, he reasons. It's just. Research. Curiosity. If it's really bad, maybe he can make fun of it with Ryuk.

Kira throws the doors of the final room open. Her voice rings out loud and clear: "Where are you, L? Hiding like a coward?" She receives no answer. Kira exhales, brushing her free hand against her T-shirt. There's no need to hurry. She has all the time in the world; the alarms are disabled and she's killed all the guards, after all. Tracking down L's hidden compound had been the difficult part. It was easier than pie to break in. At last, she thinks, this will be her perfect victory.

Oh god. Oh god, someone put effort into this. Light doesn't know whether to be flattered or horrified.

(Why can he hear this in his voice?)

The control room is silent but for the humming of thousands of monitors mounted on the walls, all displaying static now thanks to Kira's interference. "I know you're there, L," Kira says, taking one step forward. Then another. "You can't hide from me forever." "You're right," says a new voice. "I wasn't hiding in the first place." Kira turns towards it, gripping her scythe in one hand—

"My what," Light says aloud.

—and nearly gasps when she identifies the source: the large L painted on the back wall. Her mind whirls. Another recording, just like the one a million people had heard from the TV that day. L's hiding behind an image again. "Very funny," Kira says. She's blocked all the escape routes; the real L must be in this room somewhere. "Show yourself." "As you wish." And then the painted L peels off the wall. Kira jumps back despite herself. The scythe clatters to the ground. The L is just a few centimeters taller than her, a fact that Kira instinctively resents, and it's the same font as what Kira had seen on television: the smooth vertical curve, the jagged angle, the protrusions from the spine. Her heartbeat quickens. Kira, despite being a magical girl—

"I'm a what?!"

—is ultimately still human. This… thing is decidedly not.

"Why am I the human one," Light mutters. She — he hasn't quite gotten the hang of this 'archive' yet, but he's searching for ones where he has wings later.

"What are you?" Kira asks, trying to flatten the tremble in her voice. "I am L," says L. "And I'm a girl, just like you." "You're a letter," Kira says. "An alive letter." "I wasn't always this way," L says. Its — her? — voice is matter-of-fact. "But it was… easier." "Easier to what?" "Tell me, Kira," L says. "Do you ever feel… uncomfortable in your own skin? Do you ever feel like you were born to be something else, something greater, something beyond your original form? Do you ever feel like you died a very long time ago?" Kira swallows, and stays silent. "Well, it doesn't matter," L dismisses. "It's far too late for you to change." "It's too late for anyone to change," Kira corrects. "You've seen recidivism rates. Criminals are rotten all the way to the core."

"That's not right," Light mumbles. Kira isn't just trying to get rid of all evil people in society; Kira is trying to scare everyone into being better. Of course behavior can be changed, corrected. What's the point of a new world if people can't improve on themselves?

…Then again. Light can't help but agree, just a little. Some people are beyond help.

(They have to be. Otherwise, why would the Death Note have dropped into her life?)

(She's doing the world a favor, honestly.)

"And what about me?" "Huh?" "Am I," and L leans in further, the serif tail at the top of the letter almost brushing Kira's cheek, "rotten to the core?" "I…" In an attempt to tear her gaze away from L, Kira finds herself tracing the lines of the letter with her eyes: the mathematically perfect arcs of her back interrupted by those sharp spikes of decoration. She feels herself oddly compelled to touch them.

Light pointedly does not think about the real L's hair.

What is she doing? Kira shakes her head, snapping out of her reverie, and dives for the scythe. Her fingers wrap around it just as she crashes into L's two-dimensional feet and L folds like a blanket, covering her in unexpected warmth before Kira scrambles back to her feet. "Monster," she shouts, pointing the scythe decisively, "I see you thus and I name you L!"

Well. That explains the magical girl thing. In retrospect, it does make more aesthetic sense than the notebook.

The scythe sparks; a beam of light bursts from its tip and — Stops. Kira watches in horror as it fizzes into nothing. A low chuckle fills the room. Something hot surges in Kira's chest: fury. "A bit difficult to conduct your magic when I have no face, isn't it," L says. She's shifted to lounge languidly on the floor, rather than sprawled awkwardly across it. "That's not — fair! Just looking at you should be enough!" "The world isn't fair, my dear Kira," L says. "As I'm sure you know best." Kira's free hand clenches into a fist. There's nothing for it. She's going to have to strangle this letter-girl. She's going to have to stop her breath at its root. "Well, Kira? What are you going to—" Kira drops the scythe and pounces. L twists away too late; Kira is already on her, one foot hooked over the bottom stroke of the letter to prevent her from running, her hands straining towards the juncture between L’s serif and vertical curve. L is so very warm, almost searing under Kira’s fingers as they close around her throat. L groans. The heat in Kira’s chest abruptly changes directions to pool in her stomach. It occurs to her distantly that if L can’t be counted as having a face, it’s entirely possible that she doesn’t need to breathe, either. Kira can’t bring herself to care. Here L is, her worst enemy, completely under Kira’s thumb — the exhilaration leaves Kira’s throat dry. "What do you think of that, L?" She tightens her grip. L makes a choked sound; the two lines of the letter’s throat shudder beneath Kira’s fingers. "You like that?" "Please," L gasps, "I need—" "Use your words," Kira hisses. Curiosity drives her to slide a finger into the crack between the two lines that make up L’s vertical stroke, and to her vicious delight L whimpers. "Come on, L, what do you want?" "Keep doing that," L says. The cool voice from the public broadcast, rendered into shreds. Kira desperately wants her to shut up forever. She unconsciously shifts her weight against L’s bottom stroke, hungry for friction. "Oh god, Kira, I…" "Yeah?" Kira wedges a second finger in, and has to bite her lip to stifle a moan when L bucks against her. "I dreamed about this," L manages, low like a confession. "Dreamed about y

"Light, Sayu! Time for dinner!"

Light slams her laptop shut so quickly she thinks she sprains a finger.

"Coming!" She yells downstairs, wincing at how out of breath she sounds.

Jesus fucking Christ. What was that? Why did she keep reading?

And. And wait. She? No, he. Light’s a he, no matter what weird people on the internet think, the same way L isn’t actually a letter. Right. She must have just gotten confused.

…He must have just gotten confused. Obviously.

(Something in Light’s ribcage pangs.)

He wills the blood away from his cheeks. He shouldn’t be surprised, frankly. Light is perfectly aware there’s porn of everything on the internet, even if it is marked E for Everyone.

…Wait.

Light opens his laptop again, scrolls as fast as he can to the top, then hovers over the E.

Oh. Ohhhh. Well. How was he supposed to know, he sulks. There should be a huge banner proclaiming THERE’S SEX IN THIS FAN FICTION for ease of access to first-time users. The world is truly rotting.

"Light?"

"On my way!"

Light shuts his laptop again, more gently this time, and opens the door.

Do you ever feel like you died a long time ago?

It is far too easy to imagine L’s mouth moving around the words.

Light closes her eyes against it. What a ridiculous question.

She can hear Ryuk’s laughter the whole way down.

[ @deathnotetober day 9: crack ship ]

[eldritch-spouse]

OMGGGGG, WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF, INSTEAD OF THE ICONS FINDING AND DOING THEIR SHIENANIGANGS. THEIR MATCH WAS OBSESSED WITH THEIR TYPE OF DEMONS AND FOGHT HARD AND CONSISTENTLY TO HAVE EVEN A MOMENT OF THEIR TIME!

How would they react?

Like a fetishist match? That's funny as fuck.

Probably the one that's most okay with it is Vesper. He loves being objectified and seen as no more than the embodiment of all your desires, so he'll definitely encourage you to continue to be unhinged about concubi.

Cero will initially seem a tad disgusted by your fetishization of prideful demons, but as soon as you start ranting and raving about how fascinating, elegant and cultured his kind of fiend is, Cero gradually starts smiling and doing those flattered little hums.

Rinx finds it adorable how fixated you are on him. If you've been this desperate to have a moment of his time, then he must be the most treasured person to ever exist to you! The finest example of a greedy demon. Now he just feels special.

Vorticia isn't unfamiliar with fetishists, as she's attracted a few herself. But for some reason, when you exhibit that, she doesn't quite mind it. You're just a tad bit silly. Don't be weird to her kids, alright?

Zizz just thinks you're silly. It's good that you're very fixated on his type of demon, it means he doesn't have to work as hard to have your love and attention.

Livius doesn't really know what to do with the information, but obviously he adores that you're so fixated on envy demons. He'll regale you with factoids and demonstrations of an envious demon's abilities frequently.

Kalymir expects nothing less. Wrathful demons are the face of Hell, its soldiers, its core! What would Hell be without wrathful demons?! You're damn right his is the best type! That's what's real!

Damn.

I was never really that religious so I can't relate to the sentiment, but that sounds awful. You did a total 180° 😂.

And I'm happy you're still having fun hanging around!

The monster sluts are eternal here.

[ofironandivory]

Some more lore about Emerie and her relationship with Viktor and Jinx:

Emerie's planet has a name that's mostly consistent of frills, clicks and hums, quite inconvenient for the human tongue to say. Most names have a pronunciation similar to whistling, Emerie's resembling a Kauaʻi ʻōʻō's mating call

The varying residents of Emerie's planet have certain physical advantages to survive within their environments, which also means that they can be far more lethal and harmful towards inhabitants of different communities than when facing one of their own.

The main reasons Emerie's planet remained pacifist was because they have no monetary currency, only exchange of goods and services for something of equal value; and because the species is highly adaptable! If someone from the molten lava regions wanted to start anew at the ocean; they could and their body would quickly change itself to withstand their new surroundings

Magic is embedded within nature on Emerie's planet, so she's essentially considered a mage on Runeterra! She has learned that magic can frighten people or attract those who seek to abuse it, so she only uses it when necessary; usually to better disguise herself among humans or to heal herself and those she cares about

Emerie ended up developing opposing world views to Viktor; whereas he considers emotions to be flaws that create faulty reasoning, Emerie sees them as the very drive that pushes someone forward. If someone doesn't feel strongly about a cause, they won't act on it

In Arcane Jinx and Emerie went through a breakup, during one of Jinx's meltdowns. It caused her to push Emerie away and tell her that she didn't need the alien anymore, since she had Isha. Emerie isn't good with reassurance during moments like these, so she just ran off

During her time separated with Jinx, Emerie joined Viktor's commune, but not as an addition to the hivemind. Once Jinx, Vi, Isha and Vander seek Viktor out for assistance, Emerie is too meek to approach any of them other than Isha; having been raised with the mentality of "it takes a village to raise and love a child"

The only time Emerie allows herself to be experimented on by anyone other than Viktor is when Singed is attempting to save his life, after the battle that lead to the commune's destruction. She only does so because Viktor explicitly states that if anything happens to her he will destroy everything Singed has worked for, including Orianna.

In League, Emerie's wound from her first meeting with Jinx didn't heal properly, as she wasn't able to stand still for long enough, so her knee was permanently damaged. Because of that, Viktor offered to make her a robotic leg! He put her under anesthesia to cut off her leg entirely and replace it with the finest tech he could forge and install

Whenever Viktor needs new equipment and resources, she's the one to seek it out for him. She's easy to trade with, sticking with fair prices most of the time; but she's not above stealing if someone's "stingy" enough

In League she's not a champion, because her lifespan and regenerative abilities render her almost immortal. For her to be able to die on Runeterra all of her chemical components would have to be destroyed simultaneously, regardless of its attachment to her body. So if her entire body was destroyed in one location, but a single hair strand of hers was still intact somewhere, she would slowly regenerate from it, consciousness and memories included

[littlemissaddict]

Mommy? (18+)- Sub!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: Steve comes home from the closing shift at work and all he needs is her to take control and take care of him.

Word Count: 2244

"Steve is that you honey" she called just loud enough that she could be heard from the bedroom. She could hear him coming up the stairs or at least she hoped it was him and not an axe murder and as she placed her book beside her on the bed and as she sat up she began to reach for Steve’s baseball bat, it was always within reach for situations like this when she was home alone, until his familiar face appeared in the doorway.

The rising panic in her settled as soon as she saw him but there was a look on his face that she couldn't quite place. "How was work? Everything okay?" She asked, watching him intently as he walked towards the bed. He and Robin had been on the late shift at Family Video tonight which she knew he hated during the week because it was quiet and made it feel like time was dragging on.

He merely hummed in response to her, not a real answer to her question and she just figured he was tired until he reached the bed where he crawled up to her, pushed her backwards so that she was laid down again as he began kissing her. His kisses were rough and needy instead of his usual soft tenderness, now that wasn't to say he was never like this, he only got like this when he'd had a bad day or he was worked up and stressed. The change in pace from him always managed to get her worked up and needy for him quicker than normal even though it normally didn't take much for him to turn her on.

While his lips were focused on hers, his hands began to wander, running up her sides until they reached her breasts where he groped them through the thin material of the shirt she was wearing which caused her to moan directly into his mouth. Her moans only seemed to spur him on more as his hands trailed downwards, dipping under the waistband of her pyjamas and pushed them down her legs until she was bare from the waist down. Only then did he pull away from her lips, his body instantly following the path his hands had made moments earlier until his lips were mouthing at her thighs, kisses moving inwards until his mouth was over her pussy.

"Been thinking about this all day" he mumbled, not giving her any other warning before his mouth found its home between her legs. There was no real urgency or consistency to his movements but that wasn’t to say that his mouth and tongue wasn’t making her feel good. The unexpectedness in the strokes of his tongue against her and the way he was moaning against her in a way that sent vibrations through her had her orgasm building up quicker than she would have expected and she barely had time to let him know before the waves of pleasure were crashing over her.

Though once she’d come down from her high, Steve didn’t stop mouthing at her despite her shaking at the overstimulation he was giving her. She laced her fingers through his hair and attempted to pull him away but that only made him slip his hands under her thighs so that he could use them as leverage to pull her further into him and in effect push his face further into her pussy.

“Please mommy, just need this” he pleaded, separating his mouth from her just long enough to speak before he was back suckling between her thighs.

Mommy? It was as if her brain had short circuited at being called that. It was new, yes and they should really talk about this before they go any further but the content look that adorned his face was too much for her to even think about forcing him out from between her legs. Besides she wasn’t going to last much longer, she could already feel her second high creeping up on her when she noticed that Steve was humping the bed as he was eating her out and that was the last straw as she felt herself cumming again.

Her hands tightened their hold in his hair and she could just to say hear his whimpers as wave after wave crashed over her yet again. Although this time when she came down there was no way she could let him carry on despite how contented he looked because his attention to her sensitive clit was beginning to border on painful.

“Steve?” no answer as he was too busy trying to bury his face back between her legs, “Let me help you now Stevie” she cooed. She almost sighed in relief as he relented and when she felt that he was no longer fighting her hold, she released her hands from his hair although she remained wary about the possibility of him tricking her to get what he wanted. When he looked up at her she could see how his face shone with her wetness in the lamp light of the room and it was almost as bright as the shine of his eyes when he finally met her own eyes.

Unable to leave him needy and waiting any longer, she lifted herself on shaky arms and shuffled her way up the bed until she could lean back against the headboard. “Come on up baby” she encouraged as he eagerly crawled up the bed towards her and came to a stop beside her where he sat back on his knees waiting for her. “Do you wanna undress for me?” she asked, keeping her voice soft as he nodded eagerly, the bed bouncing as he began to pull off his clothes.

First off was his work vest and she winced as he threw it away, knowing he was going to need it in the morning and he’d be in a panic of he couldn’t find it, followed by his shirt and then his hands went to work on his belt, fumbling a little in his hurry to get it open. Once it was open he yanked it free from the belt loops sending it in the same roundabout direction as his shirt. He then turned his attention to his jeans, undoing the button and fly before he rolled backwards and started kicking his legs in an attempt to get his jeans and boxers down at the same time. She opened her mouth to tell him that it might be easier to stand up to take them off but somehow he’d managed it in the position he was in and she closed it as he resumed his spot on his knees beside her again.

“What do you need baby?” she asked, even though she figured she knew the answer, she still felt she needed to ask given that this was new territory for the both of them and she didn’t want him to feel as though she was taking advantage of him in such a vulnerable state but most importantly she needed to know that he was still comfortable with how this was going. Just as he did for her every time she was in the position he was in now.

When he whined out a small ‘you’ she smiled lovingly at him. “Yeah, you need mommy to look after you?” she asked, trying out the name he’d called her mainly just to see if that was still something he wanted but she also wanted to see how he reacted. His face flushed a pretty pink colour that also spread down his neck, his eyes seemingly unable to meet hers as he muttered out a please. While she found the sight of a flustered Steve adorable, she still felt a little unsure especially after that reaction.

“Come on then baby, come sit in my lap” she encouraged, patting her bare thigh as he shuffled along the bed towards her, slowly swinging a leg over hers as she guided him to sit. Once he seemed to have settled she spoke his name softly, hoping that he would meet her eyes this time but instead he buried his face in her neck whining out pleas as he urged her to touch him, to make him feel good. “Stevie please” she tried, gently pulling his head out from her neck and placing her palms against his cheeks so that he wasn’t tempted to hide again, not when she needed to see his face as they talked.

“Hey baby” she smiled, leaning up to peck his lips which he accepted happily as he tried to push his body closer to her, his hips thrusted forward causing the tip of his cock to brush against her top and he pulled away with a whine at the unexpected stimulation. “I know, I know,” she soothed, brushing his hair out of his face, “but I need you to tell me you want this, like really want this, and I need you to promise me that if I do something you don’t like then you’ll tell me” she spoke, voice firm but her eyes were soft.

“Please, I want this, need this” he nodded, eyes portraying his honesty to her and she felt herself relax a little, “and I promise to tell you, I trust you mommy” he added with such certainty that she relented, now feeling more at ease to play the role he needed her to.

“Okay baby, I love you” she smiled, leaning in to press her lips to his and feeling him melt into her without hesitation. She started off slow, just to work him back up to where he was before she paused it all before she started to run her hands up and down his thighs, fingertips brushing the skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake as Steve shivered under her touch. When he started whining into the kiss, she gave up with her teasing dragging her hands up his thighs one last time and then carried on until she reached the base of his cock.

He let out a gasp, pulling away from the kiss as his hips bucked up into her hands, “I got you baby, gonna make you feel good I promise” she cooed as he moaned, burying his face in her neck again as he moaned and panted, his breath hot against her skin as she worked her hands against him. “Are you close, baby?” she asked as she felt his body tense and his moans become higher in pitch, “Gonna be a good boy and cum for me?” She encouraged and that seemed to be too much for him as he came with a cry of her name, her hands working him through it until he was pulling away from the overstimulation.

His body collapsed against her, spent and exhausted as his face stayed in the crook of her neck and his arms wrapped around her lower back. Knowing exactly how he was feeling she didn’t rush him, instead she let him sit there as she ran her hands up and down his back while peppering his shoulder with kisses. Although it would only last for so long as his muscles begin to cramp and he’s rolling off her to lay on the bed next to her, still a little dazed but still wanting to be close to her.

Sliding down the bed to lay next to him, she slides her arm over his stomach which seems to startle him at first but he soon relaxes as he turns his head to face her. “Thank you” he smiles bashfully, his voice quiet and very un-Steve-like.

“Oh honey, you don’t have to thank me, we’re a team and we take care of each other, no matter how that might be” she tells him as she props herself up on her elbow and trails the hand from his stomach up his body until she’s cupping his face, her thumb brushing softly against the skin of his cheek.

“I know but I dropped it on you with no warning and no chance to discuss beforehand” he replies as she notices his eyes begin to water and she can only imagine that he’s starting to feel some guilt for it.

“Aw Stevie please don’t get upset, it’s okay, we’re okay and maybe if you want to do this again at some point we can talk about it tomorrow” she says trying to comfort him as she wipes his eyes where the tears seemed to have spilled over.

He nods, her words seeming to have pacified his worries for now but he still looks at her a little unsure, “Will you hold me?” he asks, a small pout on his face.

“Of course I will, how do you want me to lay?” She smiles and lets him guide her onto her back as he cuddles into her side, his head on her chest. The arm closest to him slides along his back until her fingers bury themselves in his hair in just the way he likes and her other hand traces over the arm that he’s got wrapped around her front.

He lets out a contented hum, followed by a yawn that catches her attention. “You tired baby?” she asks and he nods, “Yeah? Get some sleep, I’m not going anyway” she encourages as he mumbles out and ‘okay, love you’ which makes her smile, “I love you too Steve”

[honey-boyyoongi]

Pairing ➪ Reader x Yoongi||Part 54//??

Word count ➪ 1.5k

Warnings ➪ it’s not beta-ed; any mistakes are mine; mentions of self harm; mentions of scars; if you're name is crossed out it's because I'm unable to tag you;

Summary ➪ Min Yoongi, is a simple man. He likes his coffee black and iced, he enjoys his job, and he loves his baby girl. But what happens when the new neighbor, quite literally, drops into his life?

A/n: Wooooow it’s been a bit huh. First off, I narrowly missed posting this on Father’s Day, but oh well, belated works as well lol. Second off I’m sorry for not posting consistently. Thank you to everyone who read my fic while I was gone 💕. Sorry for throwing y’all back into this a little sad lol. As always any feedback is appreciated, and if you want to be added to the tag list please let me know.

P.S. I updated WWDITS!

Previous Next

-

Minji laid on her unmade hotel bed, numb. The last 12 hours had felt unreal. She had a daughter, a beautiful daughter, that was all Yoongi with hints of her brother. She could feel flickers of life bloom in her chest when Mrs. Min talked about the toddler. It almost made Minji regret fleeing, almost. 

Minji forced herself out of the plush bed, stripping herself of her clothes down to her birthday suit. She stood in front of the mirror, examining herself; every mole, scar, stretch mark, and at the center of it all was the C-section scar from the child’s birth. Most days Minji could forget the long pink scar that decorated her lower belly. Sometimes the pain that comes from it will pull her from the fog she’s been sinking herself in. She dragged her index finger lightly across, remembering the child’s birth. 

Yoongi had freaked out that morning, Minji had gone into early labor a week before she was scheduled for her C-section. Yoongi had arranged and rearranged her maternity bag weeks in advance, making sure he kept the child’s belongings in a separate diaper bag. He double, triple, quadruple checked that they had the correct paperwork to check Minji in with no issues. Yoongi was on the phone with her doctor, informing her of the early labor, while Minji floated through his apartment. She could feel the child moving around, just as desperate as she to leave its confines. 

Yoongi tried his best to settle their nerves while they drove to their hospital, he guided Minji through the breathing exercises they learned at birthing classes. She remembered doing the bare minimum to ease the sharp pain traveling across her lower body. Minji felt that she deserved to feel the pain enveloping her. She held off until her doctor sedated her for her C-section. 

Minji watched as the tub she laid in filled to a less than ideal amount. The steaming water was stinging the skin it enveloped, and she sighed in relief. She allowed her body to relax, washing away the tension that had built up. 

Minji walked into the Min home, taking in the room that once gave her comfort. The hallway right at the entrance that was once lined with pictures of Yoongi, were now taken over by pictures of the child. No longer was her former lover’s story up for her to reread. The comfy dark gray sectional was still in its corner, and the rocking chair where she informed the Min elders of her pregnancy was occupied by an obscenely large stuffed bear. She could hear father Min humming along to the song playing from his ‘Alexa’, and their kettle whistling. Mother Min was going forward with the pleasantries, ‘You look great’, ‘I missed you’, ‘why did you leave’, ‘do you have a boyfriend’, ‘do you want tea’, ‘do you want to see pictures of Hani’? It was overwhelming.

Minji nodded through the simple small talk, allowing the Min elders to talk about their lives within the last four years. They’d spent 3 hours on Mrs. Min’s community center stories, and if it hadn’t been for a neighbor stopping by, she’d still be speaking about them. She learned that both Mins’ had technically retired, but Mr. Min was still running his shop. While Mrs. Min would take clients once in a blue moon for events. While the trio ate lunch together, Minji caught herself tearing up. She had missed this feeling of belonging that enveloped her at the Min home. Mrs. Min kept her plate full, and Mr. Min made sure to pack up leftovers for her to eat at her hotel. 

After cleaning up, Mrs. Min brought out the child’s pictures. Minji was reading the short story of the child’s life, and she was conflicted. She watched as the child took her first steps towards Yoongi. There he was at every little song learned, art piece being made, movie watched, and word spoken. It never looked like there was a missing piece. There was no place left for her. Minji held back a sob that had built itself as she learned more about the child’s life. So far she had learned that the child liked pink, but hated yellow. She loved mozzarella sticks, cheerios, and watermelon juice. Tiana was her current favorite princess, while Moana sits at a very close second. The Mins’ practically glowed talking about the girl. 

Minji stared at the ceiling above, feeling droplets falling on the sides of her face, too numb to care if they’re coming from her or from her bath. Her throat became dry, and it became harder to swallow. Too tired to fight, she allows the sobs that she pushed down, rise once again. Her cries echo across the walls, somehow adding more layers to her misery. 

Mrs. Min wasted no time speaking about Yoongi. ‘I never liked her from the beginning,’ she said, and ‘That Jeon boy was trouble’, while she doubted his judgment of character. The way she recounted the first meeting was odd; ‘She was too friendly towards Yoongi’, she said. While Mr. Min would add that he liked how friendly the babysitter was. Mrs. Min didn’t like that she acted like a hostess when they had brunch. Mr. Min liked that she was helping Yoongi, as there was a large amount of food. Mrs. Min was not fond of the child being so close to the babysitter, and Yoongi not correcting her. Mr. Min was ecstatic that his granddaughter was comfortable with someone new. It went on like that for the rest of the talk, for every dislike Mother Min had, Father Min had a counter like. By the end she was visibly frustrated. 

Mrs. Min looked at Mr. Min with dark eyes, ‘Why are you defending her’, she demanded. Mr. Min sighed, ‘This conversation isn’t about the babysitter, it’s about Minji wanting to see her daughter.’ 

‘She deserves to know what kind of person our son has left our granddaughter with’, she sneered. 

Mr. Min grunted, ‘Yoongi isn’t completely hopeless, he’s very strict with Haneul’s care.’

Mrs. Min scoffed, offended that her husband wasn’t agreeing with her. Minji was confused, if this person was so horrible as Mother Min said, then why is Yoongi still allowing his child to still be in her care. Who was this person and why was she causing such a rift? Mr. Min stood from his chair, excusing himself, but not before telling Minji that he hopes she’s here for the right reasons. Minji tensed in her seat, she wondered if he knew that Mrs. Min had been reaching out to reunite her with his grandchild. 

Mother Min waited until her husband had left the kitchen to speak once again, she asked Minji to please see the child. She went on, and on about how the baby asked for her momma. ‘Any time we’re out and we see a mother and daughter she asks me where her momma is. I always tell her you were sick, but are working on getting better. I tell her you miss her, and want to see her. Hani wants you here Minji.’ 

Minji teared up, she didn’t know that her baby was asking for her. She had always felt like the baby would be better without her, Minji was aware of the baggage she carried, and she had started facing it little by little with her therapist. But they could never broach the topic of the baby, it opened a can of worms Minji wasn’t sure she wanted to deal with just yet. Mom told her to fight for her child, she had rights, and she should fight for them. She assured Minji that she’d support her through it, even offering for them to stay in their home while she had custody of the baby. 

Minji rubbed a scar lightening cream on her lower stomach. She climbed into bed holding her phone, with a new chat opened. She stared at the screen until it darkened, shoving it under the cold hotel pillow to keep it out of mind. Minji laid in darkness, allowing herself to get lost, and leave her body. 

Minji watched as the head nurse placed the baby in her chest. It didn’t look like a baby, and smelled like blood and something else she can’t remember. She couldn’t remember the inbetween, next thing she woke up to was a crying Yoongi holding a pink blanket with a tuft of black hair. Minji had left 48 hours after giving birth. Yoongi had begged her to stay longer, ‘I just witnessed your organs on a tray next to you, I think you should stay a bit longer Min.’ Minji refused. She promised Yoongi she’d take care of herself. As she got the last of her things she voiced her goodby, and her well wishes. A week later Minji was in her new apartment, with her new roommate, starting her new life. 

Minji had a lot of regrets in her life, but as she laid in her bed, she decided this was not going to be one of them. She reopened the chat she had closed. Once she was satisfied, Minji readjusted herself into her bed, hoping everything will be worth it

____________________________________________________________________________

02:37 Unknown

Hi Yoongi. Your mom gave me your new number.

I want to see my daughter.

Tag List: @unicornbabylover @halesandy @supernoonanyc @aianloveseven @hannahdinse8 @lyndseygoregasmxo @aunoiire @brbkpop @nochuwastaken @tinyoonsblog @borahae-reads @jinscharms @phenomenalgirl9 @yoongiigolden @girlwithluv0613 @yaboiithewreck @mint--yoongs @ysljoon @hyunjingin @yu-justme @damn-u-min-yoongi @lovelytaes-blog @so-da-1 @cruelsummer-s @seolaquotes @lovelgirl22 @dreamamubarak @leanimal90 @atinymonbebestay @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @jaiuneamesolitaiire @proudbtsstanfightmebeach

Fic Masterlist

[venture-through-the-mist]

Tennotober 2024

My collection of works based on the Tennotober 2024 prompts.

Hi all! I wanted to take part in Tennotober 2024, but I also knew that I wouldn’t be able to draw 31 art pieces, so I’m doing some fics instead!

The Warframe Tennotober 2024 Prompt List can be found here: https://forums.warframe.com/topic/1412660-official-tennotober-2024-megathread/

Day 21: Fibonacci: Remorse Gains Recognition

Margulis ventures further into the Sanctum, a momentary break from the never-ending vigil. There, she meets a strange creature.

TW:

Grief and the loss of a loved one. Tagfer’s sorrow over Minn’s death comes back into play in this one, though through Fibonacci’s lens of the events.

Non-graphic mentions of the death of an animal. Minn’s death is going to be referenced, but not in detail.

Feelings of guilt and the emotions that come along with that.

Also, I’d just like to mention that this chapter will have spoilers for Ranks 1-5 with the Cavia.

With everything out of the way, the fic begins under the cut.

She runs her hands along the edges of the rocky cliff side, allowing it to guide her as she moves away from the edge that has become familiar to her—to all of them, really. The others protest, but she simply smiles.

If those two won’t take a break, she’ll just have to do it herself. Besides, they mustn’t mind that much or else Natah would have stopped her by now. The protests dull to a quiet wave of discomfort—Margulis doesn’t need to pry to determine who that comes from—at her realization. She feels the cliff side end under her fingers, and notices a slight decline in the sand-covered stone below her feet. Her brows furrow thoughtfully, and she presses forward, noticing slight chatter ahead. Her left hand brushes against something smooth, though she can’t discern exactly what it is. All she can tell is that, whatever the structure may be, it is massive. She follows the hill downward until it levels out, until the feel of the sand under her boots turns firmer, their small heels making gentle thunks on the ground. Or, perhaps floor, her mind supplies, recognizing the feel not as one of stone but a different material entirely. She walks forward, towards the quiet voices that she’d heard before.

“Ah, mind the edge, Madam, erm…Lotus, was it?” A rather odd voice stops her in her tracks—right as she notices a raised part of the floor under the left side of her shoe—, and she turns her head, attempting to pinpoint it. It sounded as if it had come from above, though she only hears a quiet bubbling when she turns her attention in that direction. She steps closer to the sound, further to her right—and thus, she assumes, away from the edge the speaker had warned her of. The Archimedean tilts her head upwards, projecting her voice as she replies.

“You may call me Margulis. And who might you be?” Curiosity curls around her mind. She hasn’t personally met many others here, other than the Tenno and the quite endearing being that calls himself ‘Bird 3’. She hears whoever she’s talking to clear his throat—it is a male voice, that much she can discern—before responding.

“Ah, Margulis then. I am Fibonacci. I am the coordinating factor of this little group, which consists of myself, Loid, Bird 3 and…Tagfer.” The Archimedean notices him pause for a moment before saying the last name—one that Lotus recognizes, though Margulis doesn’t get much more information than that—, his tone losing its haughtiness for a moment, and she hums softly.

“Do you not get along with them?” Margulis hears Fibonacci sputter, and strangely the sound of liquid bubbling seems to intensify for a moment as well.

“I—No, that is not…” He trails off, though she catches something almost guilty in his voice. She moves forward slightly, feeling the stony ridges of a wall, which she leans back against, facing the direction of the bubbling—and thus, this mysterious speaker. 

“Are you alright?” It’s an invitation, one she’s held out to many before him—her ‘angels’ and Lotus come to mind as she remembers—and will continue to offer to many more. For a moment, the only sound between the two of them is the gentle bubbling of whatever liquid seems to be suspended above her. As she waits patiently, she feels a presence drifting close to her in their mind and she wordlessly scolds the being. They both need to rest, she can handle things for the moment. A small flicker of regret coils in her mind as she hears the quiet response, but she stands firm. She’s brought back to the on-going conversation as Fibonacci finally speaks, his voice quieter than it had been when he’d first spoken to her.

“I…made a dreadful blunder. One which has affected Tagfer severely and which there isn’t a way to atone for. Not in the way that he wishes. He understands that I did not mean for it to happen, but…” Again, his voice trails off and she finds her brows furrowing. For a moment, she catches a flash of sorrow that isn’t hers in their mind, and a name, which she grasps onto before it’s lost once more.

“Minn?” Fibonacci inhales sharply at her gentle question and the Archimedean senses that she’s on the right trail, at least.

“So he has told you.” She shakes her head, speaking somewhat truthfully.

“I’ve only heard the name, though I gathered that something happened.” It takes him a moment, but eventually Margulis hears his saddened voice.

“Minn was Tagfer’s mate. She…Her passing was due to my panic. She was lost to the Void, and I became a murderer. Tagfer’s sorrow is, in part, my doing.” He’s one of the creatures that Albrecht sent into the Void, she realizes. The newfound information doesn’t change how she responds though, doesn’t change her gentle, comforting tone.

“You didn’t do it intentionally. He knows that. It wasn’t your fault. You should never have been put into that situation. None of you should have. You were dealing with sudden consciousness, it’s only natural that you were scared.” She hears a quiet sound from above her, almost drowned out by the rippling of the liquid—perhaps he is some sort of aquatic creature, she muses to herself—, a choked sob. She sighs softly, continuing.

“This isn’t something that he’ll be able to get over easily, if at all. He might resent you sometimes, some days might be worse than others, but he understands what happened. You can’t bring her back, but you can help him by being there for him, however he might need it. That might mean being a listening ear one day and leaving him be the next.” He doesn’t speak, and she simply stays where she is, leaning against the wall. It seems he just needs someone to listen to and comfort him at the moment, and perhaps some advice on how to go about the situation. 

She loses track of how long she stays there, listening to the soft bubbling, which is intermittently interrupted by sputtering sobs. She finds herself humming softly, singing the quiet song that used to be such a comfort for the Tenno—it still is, for many of them—, her voice void of the stress and loneliness that has echoed through the still air nearly constantly since they’ve arrived. Those are the only sounds. Until, of course, Fibonacci finds his voice once more.

“Thank you. For your time, and for your guidance.” There’s slightly more energy in his tone than before, though it still isn’t exactly back to the self-assured haughtiness that it had been. She smiles softly, hoping that he can see her as she tilts her head upwards. Even if he cannot, at least he should be able to pick up on her voice.

“Of course. I’m sorry that you, all of you, were put into that situation. It was cruel.” He makes a sound as if he’d like to argue with that, but evidently decides not to. Margulis feels a strange tug at her mind, sighing as she realizes that this is evidently as long as the others will allow their break to be.

“My apologies, I must return to my duties. I hope to speak with you again, Fibonacci.” The Archimedean notices what seems like joy in his voice, though it mingles with not-so-slight disappointment, something that reminds her of her children, she realizes.

“Oh. Lovely to meet you. Until the next, then.” She nods, turning away. As she makes her way back to the cliff, she reflects on the being that she’s just met. 

He has a good heart. He might not know what to do, necessarily, but she can’t fault him for that.

So, she begins to venture into the Sanctum more frequently, begins to visit Fibonacci during the times when Lotus and Natah are—reluctantly—resting.

He’s good company, Margulis finds.

[hypnolurker]

ORIGINAL IMAGE FOUND HERE

It’s not the most elegant of designs. Ugly steel braces and a number of tubes sticking out of the subject’s mouth. Perhaps not what you imagine when you think of high tech mind alteration machinery but this is what’s necessary. We need strong braces to keep them firmly in place. As you can imagine, the subjects aren’t particularly willing to be strapped into this machine and they usually struggle quite a bit…at first.

Then there’s the tubes. The clear one is for hydration. They need to be in the machine for some time you see, a few days is the time frame we use. You need long enough to ensure their brain is properly and irreversibly scrambled and reprogrammed. Of course you can’t turn the voltage too high or you’ll quite literally fry their brains. Now that’s not a pretty sight.

The red tube is to administer a relaxing agent. We don’t want them struggling too much and the quicker they relax the sooner their minds become susceptible to the brainwave manipulation. It’s actually kind of incredible that way, the more their brain is melted by the machine, the harder it is to fight it. Now matter how strong willed or resistant a subject may be, they simply can’t expend enough mental energy to resist forever. Everyone grows tired, feels the self relaxing and simply can’t help it when they feel their brain humming, turning to jelly inside their head as they lose control to the machine.

The green tube is for a female aphrodisiac we produced. Now, the arousal does make them even more susceptible to the mind alteration, yes, but that isn’t the reason we use it. You see, if the subject is in a state of intense arousal during the brainwashing, we found that their baseline arousal afterwards is also increased permanently. Meaning we make them wet and needy while their minds are reprogrammed and they end up staying that way even after we turn off the machine. Obviously a mindless, horny fucktoy is more useful than just a mindless fucktoy.

Finally, the black tube. That one is for ‘protein’. Many things can be programmed into the subject using the machine, but perhaps the most useful is an addiction to the taste of a man’s cock and cum. That’s why we ensure a steady flow of our special protein, consisting of male essence-mainly sperm, flows into the subject constantly. Keeping the taste of cum filling her throat so that she is utterly desperate to suck on anything that tastes even a little masculine once the reprogramming is complete.

The subjects are rather troublesome at first. This one in particular. She thrashed about and screamed more than usual. We often show them a video of their predecessor being conditioned by the machine just to give them a glimpse of their future. She was absolutely horrified when we showed her. Cursed. Begged. Sobbed. Really made it clear just how much she hated everything going on here.

However, I had a feeling this one would be interesting. My intuition was confirmed when I saw how her nipples stiffened and her pussy glistened as she watched the previous subject’s eyes slowly soften and go blank under the effects of the powerful mind wiping devices affixed to her head. Heard the soft groan she tried to hide as she watched the subject being unstrapped, now staring blankly forward with its mouth hanging wide open and drooling with no sign of intelligence in those blank, glossy eyes. This new girl was a little horny pervert. She only struggled and pleaded so hard to convince herself she didn’t want this. I knew she wouldn’t last very long.

She kept up her struggling and anger as we strapped her into the machine tightly. Still gurgling out screams through the tubes down her throat. Of course it was all futile. I don’t know why she made the effort at that point. Once we started the machine her eyes widened and her chest heaved but the relaxant got to work quickly. You could see in her expression that once she felt the current flooding her mind and attacking her regular brainwaves, her resistance just melted. Maybe she finally understood how pointless it was to fight. Maybe she admitted to herself how much she wanted this, the fucking filthy slut. Either way she didn’t last long at all.

Within a couple of hours I saw her eyes glaze over as the intelligence steadily drained out of her. Faster than any subject before. By the end of the first day she was moaning ‘cock!’ around the tubes as she drooled and wriggled in heat. There was really no need to leave her in there but I wanted to see what would happen so we kept her there, horny and savoring the taste of cum as her mind was degrading further.

By the time we released her, she was little more than a set of holes with an undeniable urge to wrap her lips around a cock. She licked our crotches through our pants and humped the air once we released her. There wasn’t a need to check whether or not she had been successfully reprogrammed…but what would be the fun in sending her off without giving her a taste of cock like she so desperately needed?

As soon as my cock came out of my pants she shot forward and had it all the way down her throat instantly. She looked like she needed my cock down her throat more than air, and I had no doubt that she did indeed feel that way. Choking on my hard cock eagerly as she tongued my shaft and pressed her lips up to the base, swallowing me so greedily.

Yes, the machine may be ugly…but you can’t complain about the results.

[kristowldeer]

A Dry Pie

Part 6

Yeah so here we are, PART SIX YOU KNOW. Our fandom is slowly dying and I’m sad about it. Actually I’m more sad that I didn’t watch PIB2 earlier when it was thriving all over the internet. ALSO I’m sad that my fav fanfic about Jack (Envy can be purple too- go read it) is frozen (?). But yeah, let us begin! There will be smut in the next chapter 😈

It was already quite late when they’ve arrived to the Horners mansion. Out of curiosity (Y/N) picked outside the window of the stoped carriage to look at the slowly opening gates. Towering stone walls were slightly shimmering in the lights of street lamps and were guarding the house from the outer world.

– It looks intimidating, – (Y/N) spoke quietly.

– Yeah, it’s intentional. What else did you expect?

– I don’t know, some florals and pastels, why?

Jack snorted but couldn’t stop his lips corners from forming a little smile.

Enormous and heavy gates were finally opened for the owner to ride in, and so they moved once more. They’ve stoped in the front yard of a big aristocratic estate. Jack was the first one to step outside the carriage that was slightly shifting under his impressive weight and offered (Y/N) his hand.

– Wow, – she looked around, – That’s impressive, mr Horner.

The three store building was truly luxurious. Its core was rusticated with almost black stone, whilst the upper floors were more smooth and slightly brownish. Counting the number of windows one could easily understand that the quantity of rooms in this building was truly impressive, and that was the main goal of the architect – to impress. Big dark columns near the main entrance were decorated with curved out tops in a leaves like pattern with some plums in them.

The garden was mainly consisting of neatly cut bushes and flower beds of different colours, mostly purple, of course. (Y/N) lingered to touch a delphinium blossom.

– Do you like it? – Jack’s face was brightened with a prideful smug.

– Of course, you have a magical taste in things, – with a hand gesture it was easy to understand that (Y/N) implied on herself.

This time her joke made Jack not just snort, but chuckle.

– I see you’re in a great mood today, – he looked her right in the eye, never letting go of her hand.

– Someone worked for it to happen.

Jack squeezed her hand tighter and bent to be closer to her ear, even though it would take him to squat for that to happen properly:

– If you won’t stop teasing I will take you right here.

– Fine, fine. You’re no fun, mr Horner.

– Me? Just wait till we’re inside.

– Inside of the house or…?

– I said stop it, – Jack stepped towards the already opened by servants doors of the mansion and almost dragged (Y/N) along.

Few maids and other servants including a butler were already standing in the hall to greet their master. Their eyes were eying (Y/N) with extreme caution because never before they’ve seen Jack Horner holding hands with a woman.

– Good evening, mr Horner, – the butler spoken, – The dinner is ready, should we, hum, – he quickly looked at you in somewhat disbelief, – prepare a table for two?

– Of course for two, what are you all, blind? This is miss (Y/N), and from now on she lives here, – he said it like nothing special happened, making one of the maids slightly gasp.

This one maid was practically staring daggers at (Y/N) since the beginning, making her slightly uncomfortable.

– So, why are you standing here like some idiots? You don’t have any work to do? Go!

And with those words the servants scattered. Jack laid a hand on the small of (Y/N) back to slowly push her to the grand staircase in the centre.

– So, miss (Y/N), how do you like the interior design?

– I didn’t had time to look at it properly as you know, but I’ve already noticed that you indeed like purples.

– Do you know any colour that is better?

– Probably not, – she chuckled.

– Anyway you’ll have plenty of time to look into it, I mean the interior, but now I want to show you the two most important rooms.

– Which are?

– Yours and mine of course, you silly girl.

Walking through the dark corridor enlightened by the candle light of the beautifully carved lamps (Y/N) looked at different paintings on the walls.

– If you want it I can buy you some paintings or order you a great portrait to hang it somewhere near your room, – with his nonchalant gesture of the hand it was clear that Jack liked to brag about his reaches a lot, like it was not a big deal at all.

– Thank you, mr Horner, I’ll think about your generous offer.

– Ah, here we are, – he pushed the door open.

A big room was made in dark pink and plum colours, leaving only the walls to be somewhat neutral – greyish white with merely visible flower patterns. There were a lot of florals in the decor too, like carvings and painting on the furniture, draping on the big baldachin bed and even the form of the chandelier somehow reminded a flower.

– This is yours now, do you like it? I redecorated it myself a few years ago.

In his tone one could here a stating that “no” was probably not an option.

– I do like it, mr Horner, – she gently put her hand on his arm, – Thank you.

Such subtle moves were making unaccustomed to any type of caressing Jack fall in little states of stupor, but he quickly composed himself.

– Yes, khm, of course you like it. I redecorated it out of pure boredom, actually. I thought that a proper room needs a table for writing, because before that there was only a tiny table for tea and whatever, – he once again delicately pushed (Y/N) in the corridor, – And you know how it goes: it all starts with a single table and then you find yourself changing everything. So, – Jack pushed a closest to her new bedroom door, – Here comes the master bedroom.

Deep purple room was practically screaming “here lives Big Jack Horner”, especially a truly enormous bed for a biggest man you can possibly meet on the streets.

– So I think you’re already impressed with the-

– Oh my god, can I? – (Y/N) looked at Jack with a pleading eye.

– What do you want?

– Can I lay on your bed?

– What, right now?

– Yes, you’re right, we can do it after the dinner.

– My dear, – Jack loomed over, – You will lay in this bed more often than you can imagine.

His hand started to crawl lower on her back, which made (Y/N) look around nervously:

– Please, what if someone will see us?

– So what? These are peasants, – all of a sudden he roughly grabbed her bottom, – Their opinion doesn’t even counts.

– Ah! Jack, what are you-

– Jack, huh? Last time you called me by my name you were practically drooling for me, – with his free hand he pulled (Y/N) chin up to look her right in the eye, – Are you ready to scream it once more?

– Jack, we can’t-

A sudden ringing of the bell came from the first floor cutting them short.

– Ah, the dinner is ready, you’re safe now, little doll. But after the dinner, – he pressed her closer to himself, – I will have my dessert.

[florenceisfalling]

waiting for the sky to fall

the yeehaw egos au is basically a self-indulgent little scramble of ideas based off of the thought: what if the egos were modern rural texans? seeing as that is where im from :) this first little bit exists without context, there shall be more but im not sure if i'll add chapters or write separate works. but this one is 4500 or so words. the pacing is kinda weird, since i started writing it back in june and got lost somewhere between then and now.

warnings for brief mentions of drug use and alcohol, and somewhat more direct talk abt homophobia - including mentions of a shitty father who is neglectful and intolerant at best.

marvin meets chase's daughter on a sunny day.

➳➵➸➼➽

The sun is just at the point in the sky where its light encroaches on the porch’s shadow, and Marvin has to pull his toes back a little closer to the wooden rocking chair in order to avoid the heat. He hums and turns back to squint through the window screen, catching 4:33 PM on the clock in the kitchen. Eventually, the sun will dip far enough below the shingled awning for the light to hit his eyes directly, lighting up the flakes of gold that rest in his irises, and he’ll have to go inside; for now, his red sunglasses are enough to block it out. He uses one finger to prop them up a little higher til they sit on the scar across the bridge of his nose, then goes back to letting his red-painted nails dry, holding them out on the armrests of the chair and rocking softly back and forth to the sound of cicadas, barking dogs, and the lawn sprinklers.

Soon, another sound joins the chorus, though it’s one less familiar to him. Something bouncing on the concrete, a giggle as the sprinklers turn left across the yard. He opens one eye to see a little girl, quite the ragamuffin in a denim skirt and faded old pink-camo shirt, both stained with grass and dirt and other things unknown. She’s dropped a red kickball on the sidewalk. She lets it roll into the grass so she can spin in dizzy circles as the sprinkler sprays over her, drenching a mess of choppy caramel hair as she finally cools off in the Texas heat.

“Does your mama know you’re wandering by yourself?” Marvin questions from the porch, putting one sandaled foot down to stop his chair from rocking anymore.

The girl hides her startled eyes with a bright smile, a gap-toothed grin of feigned innocence. “Mama’s out of town.”

“And your dad?”

At that, the girl just starts spinning in circles once again, and chases down the sprinkler as it tries to sway rightward. Marvin sighs, takes a sip from an ice-cold glass of lemonade, then speaks again. “Well, do you have a name?”

She spins, and spins, and nearly topples over to the ground when she turns back to face him, eyes not quite focused after making herself into a clumsy little centrifuge. “Darcy Brody. What’s your name?”

“Marvin. Are you a Brody like Charles Brody?” 

Charles is not a kind man, nor a fun man, entirely unlike Darcy. Most of his interaction with Marvin consists of loathing glares and on more than one occasion a drunken exchange of joking insults - or, perhaps more accurately, insulting jokes. Other than that, the two try tirelessly to avoid each other, a hard feat for a duo three blocks away from each other in a tiny, isolating town. The task would be much more difficult if Darcy had any relation to him.

And unfortunately, Darcy nods. “Grandpa Charles was supposed to watch me, but he’s taking a nap. The house was boring by myself…”

“Well, you ought to go back inside. You’re too young to run around so close to the road,” Marvin chides, ready to close his eyes and go back to relaxing in his rocking chair.

Darcy’s gaze falls to her feet, kicking a bit at the wet grass with her clogs. “I can’t open the door.”

He hardly stifles a groan, “You locked yourself out?”

She nods. “But Dad said I go home at five.”

“Will he pick you up?”

One more nod, and Marvin mirrors the movement. “D’you know your daddy’s phone number, then?”

“I know there’s a number five in it… and that’s it.”

He hums in response, sitting up out of his rocking chair and tapping his nails to make sure they’re dried. “Alright, I’m not gonna be the one to wake your grandpa up. He hates me already… Tell you what, you wait right there, honey, don’t get any closer to the road. I’ll be right back.”

She nods, then plops down on the grass, as a promise not to stray too close to the cars. Most of her hair falls into her face over her now-closed eyes, the water sprays over her again, and she seems perfectly content to cool off right there. The pink in her shirt is starting to turn green with grass stains, but she doesn’t mind one bit.

Marvin smiles and leaves the chair to rock all alone, then slams the back of his heel against the door with his elbow holding down the handle. The warped frame sticks, but finally gives way with a quiet crack. The front room is all dramatic business, decorated with tapestries and sun-faded sheer print curtains, crystals and stained glass hanging in every window. Hints of the ugly plastic bug screens still show through, but only a little. A stacked deck of tarot cards, two empty teacups, a covered crystal ball, and an unlit candelabrum lay still on the center table, waiting for an anxious adulterer, superstitious traveler, or daring teenager to ask their advice. Marvin leaves his dusty shoes by the door. Lazily he shuffles through the beads and curtains guarding the hallway, revealing the more honest half of the building - all his personal rooms, including the hall closet he currently approaches. 

Behind the broom and dustpan, and a bundle of woven grocery bags shoved ungracefully inside each other, sits a hefty cardboard box neatly labeled “YARD SHIT” in purple permanent marker. Marvin shoves everything else out of the way and rips open the most busted flap at the top of the box, happy to see his bag of sidewalk chalk is exactly where he left it: tossed right on top of a broken pink plastic flamingo and a particularly grumpy looking garden gnome.

He grabs the bag and pumps it into the air like an athlete raising a new trophy gripped with white knuckles, then stands fully back up and swings the closet door shut. He puts his shoes back on once he reaches the front doorway. After a moment to appreciate the air conditioner, far preferable to the heat outside, he finally makes it back out to the blistering sunset. Relieved to see Darcy still splayed under the sprinkler, he grabs his glass of lemonade from beside the rocking chair and leaves the creaky porch for the cement driveway. 

Darcy leans up when she sees a tall shadow cast across her grassy resting spot, turning to curiously raise her eyebrows at Marvin.

“Here you go, Miss Brody! Brought you something to keep you busy.”

He drops the bag of chalk from the crook of his elbow, letting the contents roll out all over the concrete. As soon as the sight registers in Darcy’s eyes, she darts over to the shady side of the driveway, scooping up an orange piece of chalk and testing out the color. Marvin slowly sits criss-cross next to her, careful not to spill his drink, then picks up a green chalk. “I take it your grandpa doesn’t have much of this sort of thing?”

Darcy shakes her head, starting to sketch out the shape of a goldfish. “Nope. And the only board games he owns are about math and stuff.”

“Oh, my, not math and stuff!” Marvin exaggeratedly gasps, starting his own drawing with a looping figure eight. He briefly glances up from his handiwork to stare over at Charles’ house, making sure Darcy can be seen from the eldest Brody’s porch as well as the road. “That doesn’t sound very fun at all! But you can have this chalk when you go home, so you won’t get bored if you stay at his house again.”

“Really?” Darcy asks, scribbling some fins on her fishy drawing. 

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure your dad takes ‘em when he picks you up. I never really use these anyway.”

Despite his words, he starts to doodle more details on his picture. Another parallel line curving with the first, ending in a set of fangs, a shiny eye drawn in black. Darcy takes the black piece from beside Marvin, and uses it to draw a round bowl around her goldfish. Once satisfied, she starts to fill it with bright blue water and tiny white bubbles. “Are you drawing a snake?”

Marvin hums out a quiet, distracted “mhm.” The snake bites at its own tail, so he picks up a thin sliver of a broken red chalk to start drawing a forked tongue.

“What’s its name?”

“Ouroboros, from an Egyptian story.” It’s a simple explanation, but small children most often don’t need to understand ancient metaphors for endless cycles of creation and destruction.

Darcy’s face lights up with recognition just enough, though. “Teacher said Egypt has lots of sand, and big pyramids, too. Have you ever been there?”

The man smiles. “No, it’s a little too far away… how about your goldfish, does it have a name?”

“Oh, it’s just called Goldfish,” she solemnly states, as the topic is quite serious to her. She adds some waves to the top of the blue water. “Fish don’t need names, because they don’t talk very much.”

Marvin nods quite sagely, agreeing with her thoughts. He can’t argue with that logic.

➳➵➸➼➽

It took about twenty more minutes for Darcy’s dad to arrive, pulling in front of Charles’ house in a dented-up car with three rows of seats and far too many bumper stickers. Marvin quickly waved him over and explained the situation, while Darcy kept on coloring her fish. By 5:00 PM, she had completed many more aquatic creatures, with creative names like “Shark,” “Crab,” and “Dolphin,” and had just begun to draw a new kind of animal she invented. She titled it “Sillyfish.”

With no desire to interrupt her masterpiece, her father and Marvin struck up a conversation instead of parting ways. The newcomer to town awkwardly introduced himself as Chase, a name his mother picked as a compromise so that his father wouldn’t insist on calling him Charles Junior. Chase looks like he was from an entirely different world than the boring Charles, decked out in a colorful tie-dye shirt and yellow sneakers, a row of about 9 tangled-up friendship bracelets stacked on his wrist, a patchy baseball hat, and a smiley face pin hanging lopsided from his pocket. The only thing he has in common with his father is a pair of matching eyebags, dark and heavy under his long blonde lashes. 

“Thank you for taking care of Darcy,” he awkwardly says, glaring in the direction of the home she was supposed to be in. “I swear I’m gonna chew my dad out for at least an hour - I hope he doesn’t drive you too crazy, as your neighbor.”

Marvin waves him off, “He’s quite alright, what’s got you worried about him?”

“Oh, come on,” Chase grins. “He’s a total hardass on everybody.”

That only earns a stiff laugh, and Chase tries to coax more out of Marvin. “He used to half-jokingly say he should’ve beat me senseless because I wore… what was it… ‘too much lavender.’ Sorry for doubting his politeness towards you.”

He makes a little waving gesture with his hands, drawing attention to Marvin’s now-sparkly fingertips. 

Ah. A bit of a frown pulls at Marvin’s face, but he shrugs. “Oh, it’s not as if I’m unaccustomed to it. On the bright side, most the Puritans in town are too worried about my evil witchcraft to be primarily concerned about the…glamor.”

Chase’s gaze leaves Marvin’s sharp features to drift over the house instead - getting a proper look at the neon sign shaped like an eye in the window, the Christmas lights hung around the patio, the sprawling word PSYCHIC in bold, tacked to the roof and painted with stars. Darcy pulls his sight away by tugging on the ankle hem of his jeans, trying to show off her next drawing, but a moment and a compliment later he’s already back to staring at the charming decor. “All that magic and mojo, that’s s’pposedly real?” 

Marvin gives him a mischievous grin back. “Sure thing.”

“Oh, bull.” Chase says. “You’re shittin’ me.”

“Dad! Language!” Darcy scolds, slamming down her chalk with a scowl.

Marvin fake pouts, crossing his arms in a mockery of offense. “I would never lie to such a good man as yourself, Mr. Brody.”

That itself is a terrible lie, but it isn’t like Chase would believe him even if he was telling the truth. He scoffs, shakes his head, a playful smile still lighting up his face. Darcy is now staring between the both of them, curious as ever.

“I’ll prove it to you,” Marvin offers, one eyebrow raised. “I’ll even give you a discount.”

Chase finally breaks into full laughter, sighing in relent and shifting to pull his wallet from his back pocket. “How much I owe you, then?”

“Five bucks sound good?”

Stubby fingers rifle through the worn bills, before producing a ten. “Extra’s for the babysitting fee,” he teases, ruffling Darcy’s hair.

➳➵➸➼➽

Inside the house is much cooler in temperature, a welcome change to the sweat rolling like a river down Chase’s back. Darcy sits enraptured with the books on the shelf, flipping through fairytale illustrations and charts of the stars, while Chase has a couple of thoughts tumbling through his brain regarding Marvin’s choice of interior design.

“Ain’t that a fire hazard?” 

Marvin furrows his brows. “Which part?”

Gaze trailing from the layers upon layers of fabric draped about, the candles scattered around every surface, the crystals hanging near the sunlit window… Chase shrugs. “All of it?”

The magician pulls out a chair for Chase, with an awful scraping noise against the thin and creaking wood floorboards. He drums his nails against the back of it and waits for his guest to sit, though Chase does so with a bit of hesitation. “Well, I’m sure the place won’t burn down in the next couple minutes. You should be perfectly safe.”

However unsure he may be, Chase still laughs, and tries to relax in the chair, arms wrapping around himself despite how warm he was before he came inside.

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous,” Marvin teases. He’s now across the table from Chase, and the latter of the two is becoming increasingly aware of just how much he has to crane his neck upward to meet Marv’s eyes.

“I- I’ve just never done this sorta thing before. Well, aside from a Ouija board in seventh grade.”

Marvin pouts, only a little. “It’s a fortune, Chase, not an interrogation. All you have to do is sit there and relax.”

“Alright, alright,” he capitulates, releasing the tension in his shoulders and shaking out his arms a moment. Once he’s settled, he leans forward, intertwining his fingers to rest his scruffy chin on his knuckles, and rest his elbows on the table.

With a gentle sigh, the magician lets a smile drift back onto his own face. “Good. Now…” he turns his attention to Darcy for just another moment, “My dear, could you promise to stay quiet down there for a little while?”

She nods solemnly, content now to flip through an old Cicely Mary Barker book of flower fairies, and mind a bit of her own magic.

“Thank you kindly.”

And with that, Marvin leans his head back on the chair. His sunglasses are now pulled up over his forehead, keeping his reddish hair from falling into his face. For a moment, he lets his eyelids stay shut. The breath he exhales seems to leave the room shuddering along with it, settling into its comfortable place. With it, he stretches his legs and relaxes. As if to open the gates to his heart, or unfurling some unseen map, his arms spread wide on the tabletop.

When he opens his eyes, the candles flicker with life between the two men, though they weren’t before. Chase looks startled, as if he was going to ask how - but is soon caught on another sight, stumbling over his astonishment - “Y- your eyes…”

Usually, guests come at night, when the shadows play more tricks. Sometimes, though, they see what Chase sees now: Marvin’s pupils blown inhumanly wide, like a cat trying to take in as much light as possible in a dim room.

Marvin presses a single slender finger to his own lips, shhh. Then, he trails his hand slowly across some invisible thread to the velvet cover on the crystal ball, pulling it away with a flick of his wrist. “Just parlor tricks, Mr. Brody. Try to focus.”

The look on Chase’s face tells Marvin that it will be a much harder task for him than anticipated, but Marv doesn’t mind. He finds the awestruck expression to be rather endearing. He almost giggles, though he feels a bit guilty, when he reaches across to take Chase’s right hand by the wrist and the poor guest practically flinches.

Still, Marvin guides him along, and Chase soon rests his calloused palm smoothly against the clear surface. Marvin places his own hands on the other side. When the magician takes a deep breath, sitting up straighter to stare into the globe, his guest naturally follows suit. Half a minute passes in near silence. The only sound remaining in the room is the papers moving while Darcy continues her quiet reading.

Marvin interrupts the tranquil, drags his hands away.

“Let me see his strings of fate.”

And with that, the magic obeys.

In the distorted light, a mirage comes to life. Two figures dancing across from what looks like kitchen cabinets, hand in hand dipping back and forth like a boat rocking on the sea. A child, maybe Darcy, scrambling after a cottontail rabbit. Sparklers leaving glimmering trails to red dirt, and the tiny snap of tweezers pinching closed. There’s the grit of soil, and the haze of grill smoke, and the crispness of cobbler baking in the oven. 

“It’s lovely,” Marvin sighs, offering Chase just a hint of what he sees through his words. “Though you’re clumsy, Chase, you need to practice your two-step.”

Before the subject can further draw his attention away, Marvin searches deeper. This time, he speaks aloud.

“Charles is awake now. You’ve got a six pack of Shiner in the back of your car right now, and you’ll almost forget it when you go into the house. Darcy, very excited, will tell you she saw something in the woods-” he tries to read the shape of her mouth, though the image is hazy - “something I believe she’s calling a fairy. I don’t know when. And the next time you argue, your wife won’t yell back.”

He doesn’t question the last thing, only pressing forward into the thick of the magic. He swears the room grows brighter with every breath.

“You’ll find new friends here - your path is very intertwined with this place. Meeting someone at the motel, finding someone at the church… someone very…very shaky…? Wait a moment, that…”

The room doesn’t grow brighter this time. Marvin forgets how to breathe.

Chase nearly pulls away, but stops himself. “Is everything okay? You look lost.”

Something is not right about the man in the church pews. The images start flickering faster in the crystal, and Marvin’s hands begin to twitch.

There’s blood spilling over a stair, a shadow looming over it before a steel-toed boot comes crashing down into the red. Bony fingers with dirt-tipped nails pluck at fiddle strings. A silver pistol barrel first rests pressed against Chase’s temple, but traces down his jaw instead. Chains rattle and then tug tight in a steel hook. Tiny, dirty mud boots, decorated with pastel hearts, trample over the garden flowers, and leave behind prints that trail into the dark woods. Black ink seems to drip from the top of the scrying tool. It spills over its curved surface and pools inside.

“Marvin?”

The visions vanish, and are replaced by the image of a single, glowing green eye in the surface of the crystal ball, watching back at Marvin, whose heart is slamming against his ribcage in ecstatic terror.

“Marvin!”

Finally, he breaks away from his stupor, and stares Chase down. He remembers at last to inhale, exhale, stretch his fingers taut from his palms and force them to stop trembling. Chase looks equally disturbed, hand no longer anywhere near the crystal ball - which was clear quartz just a moment ago, but now looks more like something made from obsidian.

“What the fuck kinda parlor trick was that, Marvin?”

The candelabrum flames die of their own accord. Darcy turns to her father in a scandalized state, slamming down the worn copy of Flower Fairies of the Summer to put her tiny hands over her ears. Once more, she berates him - “Watch your language!”

Neither man even looks at her, but Marvin collects himself enough to respond, face devoid of any perceived emotion. “Darcy, your grandpa’s up. Go knock on his door, please, get your stuff to go home with your dad.”

“But I wasn’t done reading-”

“Please, Darcy,” Marvin tries again. There's just a twinge of force in his voice.

She doesn’t move, not until her father nods in agreement. Once she has set the book back on the cluttered shelf, she dusts off her skirt and heads out, eager to pick up her new pile of chalk from outside. Her skipping steps have only faded off the porch for a moment before Chase is already back to his interrogation. At least he’s quieter, now, leaning over to half-whisper it in disbelief, “Are you high off your ass?”

Marvin shakes his head. “You need to leave.”

Chase leans away, pale eyelashes drawing closer as his brow furrows. “No. No, what are you on? Your eyes look like -”

“No, not ‘leave my house’. Leave town. And fast.”

Marvin is now up out of his chair, searching around the room for something he was hoping he wouldn’t have to use again. He remembers in his pacing where he tucked it months ago, and leans down to a low wooden cabinet on the opposite side of the room; when opened on its squeaking hinges, dust and cobwebs frame the entrance. He reaches inside and pulls out a thick black tarp, wrapped around something heavy. With none of his usual grace, he turns and drops it into the chair he was sitting in before.

“Leave t- why?” 

Marvin raps his knuckles against the edge of the crystal ball, now too dark to be transparent. “Whatever brought you back to this place is something very nasty. I can see that now.” Then, he begins to unwrap the plastic tarp, revealing the weight inside - a hardwood-handled sledgehammer with a rusted ten-pound head.

Chase finally stands, shoving the chair back into its place beneath the table. It clatters against the uneven floor, warped wood threatening to splinter. “Yes, sure! Fine! We moved here because my brother-in-law died - dark, I know! Still, that doesn’t explain why I need to leave - or why you’re acting so batshit!”

“Your brother-in-law was a García, wasn’t he?” Marvin asks in a casual monotone, though it’s more of a certain statement than a real question. He sets the hammer on the table, and yanks the tarp open, shaking out the dust and splaying it wrinkled across the floor. 

That stops Chase in his tracks, and he drops the defensive tone for just a moment. “Yeah, h- why?”

“Because-” interrupting himself with a groan, Marvin hefts the crystal ball off of its stand and leaves it in the center of the tarp - “It wasn’t an accident. I know who killed him, and I saw him again in your own future.”

Back to the accusatory tone, Chase’s mouth falls open in shock. “Bullshit! I didn’t see any of that!” 

“Chase.” With a good bit of effort, Marvin swings the sledgehammer over his own shoulder, fierce and now-slitted eyes piercing into Chase’s heart. It’d be nice to imagine that the magician’s gaze was enough to intimidate him into taking a few steps back, but the large metal tool probably did most of the work there. “Nobody sees their own future. Now stand back.”

And once Chase listens, Marvin flips his sunglasses back over his eyes, like a last resort for protection. Then, he lifts the hammer and swings it down on the crystal ball hard.

It doesn’t shatter in a messy spray across the room, instead splitting in fractals with an awful crunch and dropping to the ground in a couple of pieces. Whatever has happened to it, it isn’t quartz anymore. There isn’t any light or clarity left in it, just shadow and jagged edges.

Once the job is done, Marvin drops the sledgehammer to the ground by the remnants of destruction, though it seems to shake the walls. He sighs, and turns to Chase, looking pale and a moment away from crumbling himself. “If you won’t leave town, at least take some of my advice. Don’t leave your kids with someone as absentminded as your father. Keep your eyes open, and talk to Henrik at the vet’s office when you need help.”

“The vet?” Chase laughs for just a single breath, discomfort and shock still clear. Despite the fact that the hammer is no longer being wielded, his body still trembles in alarm.

Marvin’s face doesn’t change, set in stone with a practiced determination. “Yes, the vet. He’s good at stitches.”

They stare at each other for another few moments. Chase looks like he’s seen a ghost, though Marvin’s the only one in the room who’s really seen several. 

“I still don’t believe you,” Chase mumbles, his voice missing any of the frustration and volume it had before. He sounds more like he’s reassuring himself than speaking the truth.

Marvin shrugs, slumping against the table and turning to face the wreckage of the crystal ball. It’s not the only one he’s had to break so far in these past few years. 

“Fine. But no refunds.”

Once the silence has continued long enough for Chase to feel safe leaving, he stumbles past the psychic and back out the door.

➳➵➸➼➽

The ride back to the late Javier García’s old ranch is quiet, and uncomfortable, the trees seeming to loom in their headlight silhouettes as if reaching out for the Brody family car. Darcy starts the drive restless, shaking around her bag of chalk, but is asleep with her face pressed against the window by the time they pull past the fence and down the bumpy road.

Chase replays the evening over a million times in his head, trying to imagine how he’ll tell Stacy. If he’ll tell Stacy. He doesn’t understand what happened enough to repeat it for her, so he decides to tell her an abridged version. One that lends itself to more believable ideas - just some clever little actor trying to scare Chase into falling for magic.

He’s so busy thinking over it, in fact, that as he walks a drowsy Darcy across the stone path to the front porch, he almost forgets that he left the Shiner six-pack sitting in the back of his car. Waiting, just as promised by that clever little actor. 

Just a coincidence, surely.

[sansloii]

it was instinctual. made without any thought, the way he turned to dakota when she sighed her frustration, that she 'didn't know what to say to them.' always close by her side, the hound suddenly found himself closer yet as he turned on his heel, hand caressing her jaw with thumb pressed to her lips. " you don't need to tell them anything, " he said, voice a low murmur— meant solely for dakota's ears but also charged with... something else. something that made his touch lingering, despite the point of his statement simply being 'i'll take care of it,' though he was terrible at pretending like she wasn't all that was on his mind in that moment.

If asked, Dakota would say that she's well accustomed to Ignis lingering near her. He wanders close or drifts away as needed, but she's never doubted where he was relative to her. The man's presence is a constant that's consistently reinforced time and time again — whether it be with the soft hum that rumbled at the back of his throat when he's about to say something to her, or the careful grasp of her arm, elbow, or shoulder to get her attention.

Always on guard, always at her side; that is who he was — who he is. She, of all people, would never deny that she took comfort in that.

A larger part of her knew that the comfort she found in him was often due to the protection he offered her — and in a professional capacity, at that. She walked and he was to be her shadow, her sword, and her shield if and when she needed it. She need not ask for it and oh — did she take it and him for granted some days. Honestly, how could she not? That isn't to say that she was inattentive or she wasn't aware of her surroundings… but more to say that anything she saw or noticed in her surroundings, she could lean toward Ignis knowing that he already has his eyes on it. It's faith — it's trust — that if nothing else, he was focused…

…and it's that very same trust that fuels and give voice to the small voice in the back of her head that tells her “This one is safe.”

The voice stays small no matter how many times the thought pops into her head, but its message is always the same — that he's safe. It repeats each time she inches out of her comfort zone with him, whether it be to tell him something about herself or speaking more freely in his presence. The strength at which it reaffirms that he's safe — she's made him safe — grows the more time she spends around him… and she takes comfort in that, too. That, she knows is a dangerous thing to take for granted but she does so anyway.

It's what coaxes her time and time again towards a place of familiarity with Ignis. Here and there, it'll tug her towards something more, but she's been good about not getting too caught up in the emotions that surface when he is near…

…but she is not perfect. No one is.

In this instance, she falters after a sigh of frustration, venting about a complication that she ( quite honestly ) didn't want to deal with. Leaning back against the side of her desk, she voiced her frustrations — more to herself than to the bodyguard lingering near her. She runs her hand through her hair, trying to think of just what she'd tell the business partner that she now had to answer to, and Ignis is at her side by the time the limb drops.

Him touching her is nothing new… but the caress she receives is.

Calloused fingers trace the line of her jaw and his thumb finds a place against her lips. “You don't need to tell them anything”, he tells her and she knows full well that it's to say that he's go it handled. However, she doesn't quite process what's said. The brunette's thoughts, instead, are more focused on the way it was said — on the way his touch lingers against her skin. She watches his gaze drop to her lips and catches the restraint that flickers across his features like a dying flame. Try as he did to pretend that this was a casual interaction, Dakota knew it was not.

Oh, how easy it is for her to listen to that little voice that tells her that he's safe. At the slightest pressure from his thumb, her lips part as if to say “Please”.

Unprompted | @rexpyre

[ofdetonation]

@ofgravitation inquired : there are two cups of tea floating behind her when she heads down the hall to katsuki's room. it was cooler tonight than it had been the past few, and knowing he slept early and had probably just returned from his work study, ochako wanted to make sure he had something warm before bed. she herself, was in his hoodie he'd let her 'borrow.' yeah, like he was gonna get it back. knocking lightly at the door she peeked inside with a smile and closed the door behind her. she comes towards him first, kissing his cheek. " i made some tea! thought you'd want something warm before bed. it's kinda chilly out! " she hadn't worried about him in the cold at all, nope. reaching for the cups, she releases her quirk and hands one to him. " how was your work study? " ╱ unprompted.

exhausted, katsuki was feeling the effects of working harder in his studies. doing placement with endeavor's agency today had taken a heftier toll on the blond compared to the last few days, having been pushing himself to a new limit to try and make up for one of his weaknesses ; that didn't mean it was going to be easy. quite the opposite. if anything, the young boy who was already so capable of doing anything he could put his mind to ... was struggling.

now in comfortable clothes consisting of a long sleeved shirt and pants, the blond works on finishing up his study for class. it's an odd hour for katsuki to be doing homework ... but with his focus so driven on his work studies, the blond only had this window of opportunity to do any work assigned to him by aizawa.

and even then, his attention is diverted by the brunette entering his room, striding over with a kiss to his cheek and some tea to combat the weather. his pen sits itself on paper while he reaches to encompass the mug with both hands, his already warm disposition being warmed further by the heat of the freshly made tea ╱ he hums, taking a small sip. oh. was it matcha ?

❝ kicked my ass, ❞ he answers honestly, tired gaze glancing up to her while he holds the mug firmly in his grip. ❝ endeavor's not been holding back. i've been trying to improve my power output so i can move faster, but the bastard's always one step ahead. not to mention i wanna leave that stupid spoonbill in the dust ... ❞

ah. he means hawks.

katsuki's thumbs graze over the ceramic of the cup while he stares intently at its contents, brows knitting together. he takes a sip. and, as he puts the mug aside on his desk, the blond tugs her over ⸺ yes, he knows she's wearing his hoodie, but he makes no comment ⸺ for a quick kiss to her cheek.

❝ you're doing your work study with frog girl at ryukyu's, right ? ❞ he tilts his head a fraction, brow raising. ❝ tell me 'bout that. ❞

[amidst-wonderland]

lilac

pairing: general gray family warnings: mentions of predatory behaviour that are implied, underage smoking is mentioned, strong language. 'queer' used casually, not homophobically - also, jack is gay and i'm queer. summary: rosie's not keen on her dad's new star hot-shot actor.

"she fancies him,” rosie knowingly hums but bitterness lingers in its delivery. hovering by the window and peering down at her baby sister who’d now draped herself over the yellow cab’s door like a mewling lovesick pup. she can’t see violet’s face but rosie’d put money on the expression not being too far removed from that adoring smile she’s perpetually wore across the dinner table. “can hardly blame her, but–”

    nora lightly scoffs at her elder daughter, flicking over the worn script. “she’s jist taken a likin’ tae ‘im. he’s a sweet-talker in a nice suit here tae impress yir da. can hardly try it on wae you.” she waves a hand motioning it in the general direction of rosie’s prominent bump, ash dripping from the lit straight. “got one of those hollywood types already, don’t you? speaking of, yer da’s got some work on offer if he’s lookin’ ‘something-hoaliday’ ‘hink it’s called – continent shite.’”

   the brunette ignores the offer, jibing again at her sister’s crush on the upcoming actor. “you know what she said to me, the minute i walked in the door? no, ‘hello’, no ‘how’s the baby’ just, ‘he says i could be the next doris day, ro!’ clearly never heard the wean bloody sing.”

    “or seen ‘er dance.”

     he has.

     rosalin hadn’t been home to her siblings much since falling pregnant but tonight's dinner guest had become quite the regular visitor in their home. she’d heard from her younger brother. jack explained this new mystery man, a friend of george’s who he met at a co-worker’s engagement dinner. he was from the stage now wanting to branch into film, “mum’s taken to him, well, said to aunt linda she sees a bit of dad in him, which is rather queer if you ask me considering vi’s stropping around the apartment like he’s the gentleman caller. georgie’s stopped picking up the telephone because of the pestering, had to tell her off.”

     jack continued ramble with general observations: the brief and playful pokes, rosy cheeks, the giggles and hair-twirls also how he’d caught them sharing a cigarette in the kitchen during george’s thirtieth birthday then a dance to one of sinatra’s. not to mention - although jack made sure to - the teen had gained a rather affectionate pet name, "flower".

     rosie frowns as her nostrils flare when catching a glimpse of violet’s pink skirt disappearing into the back of the cab before michael shuts the door behind her. she hastily decides to play devil’s advocate before his return, continuing to watch him instead of turning to her mother. “do you think dad would entertain it? he’s only a little older than me.”

     twenty-five.

     nora pauses, her pen’s scribbles halting in its tracks, scrapping against the paper. michael had a way about getting what he wanted, after all the shelby inside him was grimly decaying like some sticky, clingy tar as opposed to dissipating, but he consistently left his children out of the equation. much to his own detriment whilst they were little but there was no gain in this specific hollywood game. he’d won. gotten his lead actor, there was hardly a need for the hook, line and sinker foreplay act played subliminally through his freshly seventeen-year-old daughter. “wouldn’t feel the need to.”

     rosalin grimaces at her mother’s admission.

     she didn’t really know.

     “she’s just a kid–”

     “swallow it hen. filmin’ starts in the next few weeks and him’n’ that leigh-lassie will be all over the papers.”

     feeling a light burning sensation in her chest and bile rise in her throat causing a strain, “i hope he’s nice.”

     “well, if ‘es no, he’ll have tae deal with her glesga-bred brother, that an yir faither's kilt three blokes.”

so, i saw priscilla and wanted to write this, i did explicitly write this as open-ended, take it how ever you will with rosie's last line. i've never really written for violet and i thought it would be fun - don't worry this very year this is set (50-'51) she does meet someone her own age, however it was james dean - vi really knows how to pick a bi doesn't she?

anyways it's pretty obvious who this is about but i didn't want a name drop, similarly with rosie's husband who i have named elsewhere (it's weird because i wouldn't consider it rpf, but it technically is).